Three Beating Hearts, page 29
“Damned if I do, damned if I don’t, yeah?” I return my focus to the ceiling tiles.
“We can get you into surgery first thing tomorrow morning to fix the valve, if you sign the papers to do so.”
As the nurses make their way through their preoperative checklist and testing, I stay silent, lost in my own head. How did it get this bad? How did I allow myself to get here?
It’s the first time, I’ve truly had any regrets. I could’ve found a way to fix this years ago, I’m sure. I could’ve hit the pause button, taken a leave of absence, told Cooper I needed some time—but I didn’t. For a few moments I allow myself to think that, then I push those thoughts away. I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t hesitate, if I didn’t evaluate the ‘what ifs’—but it’s too late for that. The goal was to not just live, but to truly live this life. I saw hundreds of cities. I traveled. I laughed. I learned. I had successes and failures. No. We. My band. My family. We did all those things. And I’m not mad. I wouldn’t change a thing. There isn’t one of those moments that I would take back or chance missing out on.
This is the life I chose. Though there is a part of me that has a bad feeling about this, I’m content. If this doesn’t go well, my life, though short, was full—mostly. I know there is one thing missing.
Chapter Forty-Four
Stasia
Looking back on it, I don’t remember a lot of what I learned in school—not specifics, anyway—but as I stand there facing the windows at the far side of my room, all I can think about is my junior-year psychology teacher explaining the five stages of grief. But for us, I feel like it hasn’t been steps, but more so, that each one of us has picked a bullet point that belongs to us. For Theo, its anger. At a time where we should all be there for each other, none of us have really spoken, but the few times anyone has reached out to Theo, they’ve been met with short, harsh answers and a large wall he refuses to let anyone over.
For Blake, it’s denial. He is on a constant loop of ‘This can’t be happening. This doesn’t make any sense’. Bargaining is Cooper’s current mindset. He’s living in the past, walking himself through every opportunity he ever might have had to step in. “What if I had done this sooner…? If only I could back and say…” Xander? Well, he’s acceptance. Not in a ‘I don’t care’ way, because he’s hurting. More in a ‘hug my wife and kid a little tighter, because you never know how long this life lasts’ kind of way.
Then there’s me…depression.
I haven’t taken care of myself in days. I haven’t eaten properly, and unless sitting on the floor of my tub, fully clothed, for an unreasonable amount of time while the water runs over me counts as a shower, I haven’t taken one. I’m not crying anymore. I’m not sure there’s any tears left to shed.
I hear my door open and steps near me, but I don’t turn to look at who has joined me. People have been going in and out all day. It doesn’t faze me anymore. Plus, I don’t really care who it is. I turned off my ‘give a damn’ feature days ago.
“Fifteen years of staying invisible and now I’ve been front page news twice in two weeks.”
I lift my head from my hands so fast that the room spins.
“Not the way I’d prefer to be recognized internationally,” he continues, “but I guess it is what it is.”
I want to turn around. I will myself to face him and confirm that the voice actually belongs to Dominic, that I’m not hallucinating or imagining things, but I can’t. The footsteps get closer, and he steps in behind me, his chest at my back, and he places his hands on my shoulders the way he so often does. I lean back into him and inhale. It smells like him. Sounds like him. I shake my head back and forth. This must be a dream.
“Look at me.” He pushes his hands against my shoulders in an attempt to turn me. I close my eyes tight and keep my feet planted. If I turn and all of this is my imagination playing tricks on me, the moment is over. If it is just a mirage, I don’t want it to end.
“Stasia,” he says, “look at me. I’m right here.”
I turn and keep my eyes shut tight. His hand is at the side of my face, and I rest my head heavier against his palm. He runs a thumb across my cheek. I open my eyes and he’s still there. I part my mouth like I’m going to speak, but no sound comes out. Confusion shuts down my mind, and none of my brain’s synapses fire.
“How did this happen?” I wrap my fingers into the front of the shirt he wears, determined to keep him close to me and ensure he doesn’t go anywhere. “How are you okay? How are you here?”
“I don’t know what happened with the media, honestly. Trust me… It was a shock to me when I heard it. Someone is about to get fired, though, I can tell you that.” He smiles and a light laugh escapes his lips.
“This isn’t funny, Dom. None of this is funny.” I step away from him, though I don’t want to. I’m torn. I want to be close to him, but have I ever even been close to him? Beneath those gorgeous green eyes and the scars that cover his chest lies a person I don’t know—and never have. My words catch in my throat but I manage a whisper.
“You scared me.”
“I scared me, too.”
He pulls me in close and I lean against his chest, my ear pressed to the area over where his heart beats.
“So…you’re…better now?” And as the words leave my lips, I know there is such thing as stupid questions.
“No, I’m not.”
It’s likely the most honest he’s ever been with me.
“How…? How are you…?” I rush the words, and they fumble and fall out of my mouth. “Your surgery…?”
“I haven’t even had surgery yet.” He steps toward me once again and takes my hand in his. “That’s why I’m here. I was getting prepped for surgery when I heard the news you all heard. I’m supposed to be in surgery already. But the media released this headline, and everything was spinning out of control. I wanted to make this story right before I went into the operating room. That, and I wanted to see you again before I do.”
“I…”
I’m not flattered. His grand gesture of coming to see me before he commits to surgery is not being accepted the way he likely anticipated.
“Dom…you are sick. You can’t just be signing yourself out of hospitals and avoiding treatment. That’s what got you in this position in the first place. If you don’t go to a hospital where you belong and get the treatment that you need, the next time they report this it won’t be false.”
“I just needed to see you.”
His words warm my heart, but the part of me that is concerned about his obvious disregard for his own health outweighs the part of me that’s happy to see him.
“Ames said that this is a problem that has to be fixed immediately, and that if what happened on stage happens again, you might not come back from it.”
Dom turns away from me and walks toward the door, shaking his head.
“Even in this moment, after everything I’ve been going through and all the stories the media is pitching—somehow his name still surfaces.” His voice is cold and hardened, one that I hardly recognize coming from him.
“He saved your life.”
“I didn’t ask him to.”
He walks away as I take a quick, sharp breath then swallow back the forming tears. I think all along I knew that the reason Dom hasn’t solved this problem was because he never really wanted to. He, apparently, accepted death a long time ago.
I follow to the kitchen where he leans into the counter and stares into the granite as if he can see the reflection in it. As he stands there with his eyes downcast and fatigue seemingly setting in, a flood of emotions runs over me—the book, the songs, the secret.
“This is what he was holding over you?” It comes out in more of a yell than I meant it to, but anger sets in where sadness had once lived. All this time Ames could have said something. Instead of holding on to this secret and using it as some kind of twisted leverage, he could’ve saved Dom’s life sooner than he did—and he chose not to. I start to wonder if Ames has any humanity left in him at all. “I want to know everything,” I demand. “All of it. Every detail.”
“I don’t have that kind of time right now.”
I can feel my eyes widen and surprise take over me.
“And neither do you,” he says, his voice forming into a calm, soft tone. “I need to go back to the hospital. I’m not taking any more chances. I know now that this is what I have to do. Regardless of what that means for my future, I understand I won’t have one if I don’t start making the right choices now. And you? Well, I need you to round up the guys. Tell them I’m okay, and tell them I’m sorry. Can you do that for me?”
I nod a slow, light nod. I know he needs to go back to the hospital, but this is heart surgery we’re talking about. I don’t want to let go of his hands.
“It will be a few days before we talk again. But I’m going to change my permission forms. I do want you to know everything. I want you to be there when I open my eyes—if you want to be there, of course.”
My slow nod turns into a quicker motion that almost makes me dizzy. I collapse into his chest, and he wraps his arms around me, running his hand over my hair and trying to calm me down.
“I just need you to be okay,” I say through the tears, and he nods, his chin moving gently against the top of my head.
“I will be. I’m not going anywhere this time.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Dom
As promised, Stasia was there when I opened my eyes, days after my successful surgery. It’s not uncommon to spend time on a ventilator after a valve surgery, but that was the hardest part for Stasia. She, apparently, doesn’t handle the tubes and machines well. I lost count of the days but, eventually, I was able to move from the CICU to the regular cardiac floor. There’s a light knock at the door early one morning and I let my head fall to one side of the pillow, coming face to face with a tired-looking Cooper.
I turn away because looking at him hurts my chest more than the incision does.
Cooper shuffles into the room and takes a seat next to me, leaning forward into the bed.
“Are you okay?” His voice cracks as he asks, and it’s the quietest I’ve ever heard Cooper speak.
“I will be,” I whisper in a tone that matches his. He places his hand against my arm and his eyes look wet with a layer of tears.
“Fifteen years, Dominic.” He shakes his head. “How the hell have you gone on like this? Kept all of this to yourself for fifteen years?”
I shrug but only fractionally, even the smallest motion pulls at my chest muscles in a way I’m not ready for. “I just wanted to play music, Coop. I’m a drummer. It is the biggest part of me. And I feared that if I took any time off, you all would spend more time worrying about me than enjoying this life we’ve been gifted. I didn’t want anyone to think I couldn’t do my part anymore. And the tours, the albums, it all just kept coming, and I was getting by. Then all of the sudden, I was so far in I couldn’t backtrack. I didn’t want to give any of this up. I wasn’t ready to let any part of this lifestyle go.”
“You should have told us,” he says through an exhausted exhale.
“I know. I know that. How are the guys?”
Cooper lets out a light scoff. “Relieved. Angry. Happy. Pissed. Emotional.”
“The usual, then.” He laughs, and I do too, but only lightly, followed by a small cough, and I wince.
“They want to see you. I told them to give you some time. You’ll be here a while. Heal up a bit, then we will bring the boys in. Okay?”
He grasps my hand in a firm squeeze before letting it go and leaving the room.
* * * *
Recovery is long and hard. It is part of the reason I’ve avoided any major medical attention for as long as I have. It will be months before I feel normal again, if I feel normal again. Weeks have passed, and though I’m making progress, I’m still weaker than I want to be, still moving slower than I’m used to.
I sit in the grass in front of the familiar heart-shaped stone. Fresh flowers sit at the base of it.
“I thought I might find you here.” Ames’ voice sounds normal in tone, but not in confidence. The sarcasm and aggression that lives in almost every word he speaks is gone, and his voice sounds miles away, like maybe whatever fight he had in him is gone, too. “How are you feeling?”
“All things considered? Really good. Healthy. Happy.”
“That’s good to hear.” I look his direction and our glances meet. It does seem it is a genuine comment. “We have a lot to talk about.”
I nod and resume staring at the words carved into Raya’s headstone.
“I’m not going to apologize,” Ames says, pulling his vape pen from his pocket.
“That isn’t surprising—”
“I’m not going to apologize because it would be futile. It wouldn’t fix anything. Dom, what I did? Anyway, an apology would be an insult.”
I don’t disagree. “Why did you do it?” I tried not to ask, but I need the answer. He kneels in the grass next to me, pulls a lighter from his pocket, leans forward and lights the candle. The flame flickers back and forth in the light breeze. Ames adjusts his position and sits next to me, staring forward where his little sister’s name is.
“I spent years harboring this hatred toward you. Truthfully, though we were friends, I think it started long before Raya died. You got all her best moments, Dom. When she needed something, she chose you. You were more of a brother to her than I ever was. I thought, maybe, I hated you for that. I realize now that it wasn’t hatred. It was jealousy.”
Raya had a contagious personality. Everything about her was lovable, bright and warm. Even then, before all this, she was the opposite of Ames. The thing is, I think he suffered for it. Being the sibling of a sick child is a tough break in itself. The focus was almost always on Raya. It had to be. There were several times growing up that I watched as Ames got left behind. I’m not sure he ever truly learned how to be a child, Maybe that’s why he is hardwired in resentment now.
“You got more time with her than I did,” he continues in a broken voice. “I never understood how you could just not tell me she was dying. That was my sister, man. My parents…me? You sat by and looked us in the eyes and gave us no warning that she had stopped fighting.”
“That’s what she wanted, Ames.” I turn toward him, “She begged me not to tell you. All she wanted was to live her last weeks in full. They did everything they could for her. She wasn’t even a candidate for a heart transplant because her other organs were starting to take a toll. She didn’t choose to die, Ames. She chose to live while she still could.”
“Was she in pain?” A single tear falls, though he wipes it away quickly in hopes not to let me see him vulnerable.
“Yes.”
He looks toward me and parts his lips. He takes a breath, and when he lets it out, it stays visible in the air.
“That’s why I never gave you any of the details. It isn’t because I didn’t want you to know. It isn’t because I didn’t think you deserved it. Ames, it was awful. Her last moments were not good ones. I didn’t want you to remember her that way. She didn’t want you to remember her that way.”
He is silent for a while, letting the information set in.
“My parents had the books from the library shipped over to you fairly quickly,” he begins in a quiet voice that reminds me of a younger version of himself. “No one went into her room, though. For years, it sat untouched. One night when I was home in between traveling, I broke the lock on the room and I just sat on the floor against her bed, among all the things that made her her.
“Then I saw the book. It was sitting in a pile of her belongings the hospital had sent home. I opened up to a random page and the words were so beautiful, so carefully crafted.” He looks at me for a moment, like it is causing him physical pain to finally admit the truth. “Dom, I thought they were hers. When I started this, I thought she’d written them. I found something in me I hadn’t had in a long time—motivation. I wanted to perform again. I wanted to record again. For a short time, I felt like she’d left them behind for a reason. I was already two songs into recording when I opened to the back page and saw a note to her, from you, and I just… I don’t know. I was so angry. It was just another reminder that you were more family to her than I was. I made a lot of bad choices out of that rage, Dom. I know that.”
I have spent the better parts of the last few months carrying around a hatred and irritation toward Ames, and right now, more than ever, I don’t have the strength to keep on at this level.
“I’m going to tell everyone, Dom.”
I don’t expect the words he spoke, but his confidence returns, and I can tell he has thought about this long and hard.
“I don’t know what will happen from here or how this will play out, but I will tell the truth. You deserve it.”
I stare at the stone and trace Raya’s name with my eyes. She would kill us both if she saw us like this.
“Don’t.” I shake my head in a defeated way. “You were right. These words deserve to be shared. They were written for her, and they shouldn’t be hidden away.”
His expression lightens as if I can see the resentment fade away and the slate wiped clean.
“I can’t just keep making money off an album I didn’t write. I have gotten a little lost over the last few months, but I’m not completely soulless. Enough is enough. It has gone on too long as is.”
