Beautiful Graves, page 18
Joe chuckles darkly. “Whatever you say, Lynne.”
“Don’t Lynne me. What we did to Dom right now was horrible.”
“Drop the guilt-fest.” Joe shoves his feet into his sneakers. He is going to see Presley. There’s nothing I can do to stop him. “No one’s buying it. And even if I did—I don’t feel guilty about kissing you.”
“Why are you so angry?” I ask. He’s not always angry. Most of the time, he is resigned to our fate.
“Because,” he says, calm, collected, and bored. “We never broke up. Technically, Ever, you’re still my girlfriend.”
It’s like a punch in the face, and as such, I stagger back. “You can’t be for real right now.”
“I can, and I fucking am. No breakup talk—no breakup.” He shoves his shoelaces into his sneakers, as opposed to tying them.
“How we broke up was terrible, but we did break up. I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“You hurt yourself too. You chose mainstream.”
His words hit me. I remember them from all those years ago.
Mainstream people aren’t revolutionary. Nothing good ever comes out of them. Average equals comfort.
But I need comfort. I need safe.
“You stopped being a choice the day I kissed your brother,” I rasp. “We can’t do this to him, and you know that.”
“God, you’re like a broken record. Your morals bore me.” He lets out a short breath. I see his frustration. All the things he’s given up over the years for Dominic. The attention. The sleepless nights. The worrying. Always low on the totem pole. Even now, Dom is the golden child. The one who went to college, who got a good job, who is getting married. “And the worst part is, I am the only aspect in your life where you do the good thing, even if it’s not the right thing. Everything else about your relationships, including Dom, is fucked up because you always take the easy way out.”
He is right. He is right, and it’s time I own up to all my mistakes. Especially the one I left in California.
Joe’s shoulder brushes mine. He stalks out of the room. And then I hear the words that undo me. They pull at me like a frayed old sweater. Until I’m nothing but a long string of pain.
“I loved you, Ever Lawson. But I want you to know, you’re the worst thing that’s ever fucking happened to me.”
EIGHTEEN
I drive us back to Salem, not allowing Dom to get behind the wheel. Now we’re both leaning on the car, the silence between us so palpable I can taste it on my tongue. Since I don’t trust him with a vehicle right now—or a coffee machine, for that matter—I tell him I’ll take his car to my apartment to pick up Loki, and then I’ll bring it back. Dom doesn’t argue. Like with everything else, he is understanding and cooperative. Perfect. He kisses my neck, pressing me against his sports car, his hands on my waist.
“Did you have a good time at Mom’s birthday?” he murmurs into my neck.
“Of course.” My mind involuntarily drifts to Joe. I think about his words. About that kiss. It still lingers on my lips, an unspoken secret.
I need to tell Dom. I can’t plan a wedding with this man without coming clean about everything.
I need to tell him that this is too soon, too much. That we don’t have to tell people, but the engagement needs to be on hold. Otherwise, we’re just going to hurt more people. And ourselves.
When I try to pull away, Dom hugs me tighter and says, “Put Loki in his carrier, grab a few clothes, and hurry up. I need to be inside you.”
The proof of his desire for me is nestled between my legs, through our clothes. It twitches against my groin, demanding to be taken care of.
“We need to talk first,” I say.
“About what?” He pulls away, scanning me. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”
I chuckle, feeling extra dead inside. “We just need to smooth some things over.”
I can tell he is unhappy about this, but he nods. “All right. I’ll wait.”
“I might take a second. I need to get some tampons.”
Actually, I don’t. I don’t have my period. But there is no way I can have sex with Dom, even on the off chance that he’s okay with what happened with Joe.
Dom kisses my forehead. “I’ll buy ’em. You go pack for the night.”
“It’s just on the way,” I protest.
“The Walgreens is right across the street.” He laughs. “And you’re taking my car, remember? So it’s not like I’m at risk of driving into a wall or something.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t even joke about that.” And then, before I forget, I say, “I love you.”
“Love you too.”
He sends me off with a pat on my ass. In the car, once it’s quiet, I replay tonight’s scene with Joe in my head over and over.
I loved you.
Joe used past tense, while I’m still here in the present, pining for him.
It occurs to me that after I tell Dom about my kiss with his brother today, he’ll almost certainly break off the engagement. What frightens me even more is the feeling that’s tethered to it. Of relief. Not because I don’t love Dom, but because I’m in love with his brother too.
Maybe taking a step back from the entire Graves family would be a good thing. I could tell Nora to move in with Colt, anyway. Living by myself for a while would do me good.
When I walk into my apartment half an hour later, Nora is not there. I can’t remember the last time she’s slept at home. At this point she’s just paying half my rent. I grab a quick shower, push Loki into his carrier, and pack a light bag.
I’ve picked up the sticky note pad by the fridge, about to write Nora a message, when my phone rings in my back pocket. I pull it out and see Joe’s name across the screen. My heart skips a beat. For a second, I contemplate not answering. Or at least, I pretend to contemplate this, because there’s no way I can resist the urge.
I swipe the screen, sighing.
“Look, I know there’s still stuff to talk about—”
He cuts me off. “You need to go to the hospital.”
“What?” I ask.
“Salem’s general hospital. You need to go there. Right. Now. Dom’s in critical condition.”
I drop the sticky notes and the pen on the floor. My legs are shaking. I try to breathe, but the air gets stuck in my throat. “What do you mean? How? Why?”
“Ever. Ever. Ever.” Joe’s voice is husky, like he’s been screaming. The lack of his casual indifference throws me into the depths of hysteria. “It happened about half an hour ago. He crossed the street back from Walgreens. Got hit by a truck.”
“Oh my God!” I yelp. “What happened? Was the driver drunk?”
I need something, or someone, to be mad at. The roaring engine and the rain hitting Joe’s car tell me he is on his way too. I kick into high gear, running around the apartment, putting my shoes on.
“They don’t know,” Joe says, finally. “They don’t know shit, Ever. I only got the call ten minutes ago. A couple witnesses who were there said that he fell right into incoming traffic. On a red light.”
“Like . . . collapsed?” I choke out.
Another beat of silence. This time, I realize, Joe is trying to control his emotions. “Yeah.”
“But why? Why would someone just collapse like that? It doesn’t make any sense.”
He doesn’t answer.
“People don’t just fall into traffic. Something must have happened,” I continue arguing with no one in particular.
I can’t think straight. I run out the door before remembering I don’t have my keys.
“Cab it,” Joe says. “Don’t get behind the wheel. It’s pissing rain and you’re in no condition.”
I don’t have the mental capacity to argue with him right now, so I just ignore his words. “Where are Gemma and Brad?”
“On their way. I shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes. I just left Pres—”
Presley’s apartment. Or bedroom, more specifically. He doesn’t have to say it. Not so surprisingly, though, I don’t give a damn right now.
“It’ll take me ten minutes,” I hear myself say. “Call me when you get there.”
I don’t know how I do it. The mundane small things that usually require no special effort from me. Buckling my safety belt. Maneuvering the steering wheel. Waiting on traffic lights. Especially as I slide into the designated parking spot in front of the emergency room. I kill the engine, curl my fingers around the steering wheel, and let out a scream so shrill it makes me nauseous.
Then I wipe my tears, get out of the car, and walk over to the emergency room’s reception. The receptionist directs me to another wing. Apparently, Dom is in surgery. I’m in some kind of a waiting room, with depressing blue chairs, a smaller reception area, and big windows overlooking the parking lot.
I’m standing in front of a set of doors leading to a hallway with another set of doors. Dom is somewhere back there, though I’m not sure what kind of surgery they’re performing on him. I don’t know anything, and it is driving me mad.
I don’t allow myself to think about the fact that his last visit was to Walgreens, to get me tampons. For my fake period. I don’t dwell on how stupid it is. How meaningless. I can’t do this to myself right now. Instead, I pace from corner to corner, playing with my diamond ring on my finger. He can’t just die. People don’t get engaged and die on the same day. This is not how the world works.
A petite blonde woman in blue scrubs dashes across the hallway toward the waiting room. She’s out of breath. Is she one of the doctors who is performing the surgery? Can she tell me anything? I’m about to ask her, but she bypasses me, slapping her hands over the reception desk.
“Belinda?”
“Dr. Nelson!” The receptionist stands up and reaches over the counter to give her a brief hug. “I’m so sorry. What a nightmare.”
The blonde lets out a low moan, leaning into Belinda’s shoulder. “I called Dr. Hansley. He’s performing the surgery right now. It’s a penetrating brain injury.”
“Did he say how it’s going?”
The blonde shakes her head no.
I tell myself that they might not be talking about Dom. It’s juvenile to think there’s only one surgery going on in this hospital at this moment. I stop pacing, listening to their conversation nonetheless. It’s the only thing I can do right now.
The blonde notices my presence for the first time. She turns to me, her face open and friendly despite her obvious distress. “Sorry, are you waiting for someone?”
“Yes.” I find my voice—barely. “Ah . . . Dominic Graves.”
“Are you a friend of his? A patient?” The blonde woman strides over to me. Up close, she is beautiful, in a cool, swanlike way. Then, before I can answer, she offers me her hand. “I’m Dr. Sarah Nelson.”
“Sarah!” I take her hand, squeezing. Relief washes over me. She is the woman from the fridge magnet, of course. From the charity event Dom attended earlier this year. “Dom told me about you.”
I think about the time he mentioned that a doctor named Sarah had told him to check on Craigslist for missing posts when Loki disappeared.
Sarah gives me a sad smile. “Oh. Thank you.”
“Do you know anything about his . . . situation?” I lick my lips. It is so nice of her to be here, to make sure that he is okay. I’m not surprised, though. Dominic is an amazing guy who digs his way through a lot of hearts and stays there.
Sarah blows out a breath. “Well, I called the neurosurgeon who’s operating on him as soon as they told me he’s here. They’re performing a delicate brain surgery. He only said that Dom fractured his skull, that there is bleeding in multiple areas, and some tearing of brain tissue.”
I drop my face into my hands and weep. I hate that I’m so powerless. That things are out of my control. I hate how unnecessary this situation is. How random.
Sarah reaches over, rubbing my arm. “I know. It’s terrible.”
Instead of answering her with words, I just bawl harder. She clasps me into a hug. I don’t know why everyone I love ends up dying or seriously injured. Mom. Dom. Maybe I’m cursed. Maybe the best thing I can do for Dad and Renn is stay the hell away from them. Maybe they know that, which is why they never call anymore.
No wonder you are obsessed with gravestones. You have the tendency to put people under them.
“I should call his family . . . ,” I hear Sarah murmur in my ear, thinking aloud. “See if Gemma and Brad are aware.”
I pull away from her, sniffing. Finally, I feel like I’m not totally useless. “They know. They’re on their way here.”
Sarah frowns. “They are?”
“Yeah. I spoke to Joe . . . I mean, Seph, about twenty minutes ago. Everyone’s coming.”
For the first time since we met, Sarah takes a step back, drawing an invisible line between us. She looks at me like I’m a different person. “Who did you say you were again?”
“I didn’t,” I hiccup, offering her my hand. “I’m Everlynne.”
“Everlynne . . . ?” She wants credentials. Doesn’t take my offered hand.
“His fiancée.” I turn my empty hand just so, revealing a sparkling diamond ring.
“His fiancée?” she repeats.
“Yes.”
“Interesting.”
“Why?”
Dr. Sarah doesn’t look so friendly anymore. “Because I’m his girlfriend.”
NINETEEN
The floor doesn’t shatter beneath my feet. The world doesn’t explode into miniscule pieces. And still, something breaks inside me. It is so fundamental, I know I will never, ever be the same person I was two minutes ago.
Dom has a girlfriend.
Dom is two-timing me.
The clues start ding-ding-dinging in my head. Oh, how small they looked, separated from one another, seemingly unrelated and innocent.
How Dom never, ever took me out on a date in Salem.
How he worked way too many hours—even for a nurse—and didn’t come home for three and four nights in a row sometimes.
How Joe said he didn’t feel guilty for kissing me. The way he would always allude to Dom not being the saint I’d pegged him to be.
The disgust he felt about my and Dom’s relationship—does he know Dom is cheating on me? Of course he does. If Sarah knows Gemma and Brad, she knows Joe too. And then it hits me . . .
The necklace.
The necklace.
The necklace.
The letter S. Sarah.
She and I occupied the same bed, rolled in the same sheets, kissed the same skin of the same man all these weeks and months. Now that I think about it, she is everywhere in his apartment. On magnets on his fridge. In the way the mugs are always coordinated by color neatly in the cupboard. The women’s deodorant he’d let me use once and said belonged to his mother . . .
“I’m not sure how you expect me to respond to what you’re saying.” Sarah speaks, and although her voice is curt, I can see her chin is wobbling. “Dom and I have been together for three years.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling sorry for me, not for her. “It’s the truth. He asked me to marry him tonight. At his mother’s sixtieth birthday dinner.”
Sarah closes her eyes. I can tell it’s sunk in. That she believes me. Me, I’m still struggling to come to terms with this new reality. Dom can’t be a cheating dirtbag. This is not who he is. He is the Savior of Lost Girls. The sweet, dimpled, mild man who stormed into the picture and made it all better.
“How long have you been together?” She wipes her eyes.
“Three months.” It feels inadequate in comparison to her three years. I feel inadequate. She is a gorgeous doctor. I’m a . . . I’m me. What was Dom thinking? Why did he start things with me?
“I guess that’s why he stopped inviting me over to his parents’.” A brittle laugh bubbles up her throat. “I thought it was because of my night shifts and his schedule. Wow.”
The double doors between us slap open. Joe appears like a mirage, oozing dark energy. He sees Sarah and me standing in front of one another and makes a face. It is something between Shit and Dom, you dumb fuck. It is an exceedingly Joe-like expression.
“Seph,” Sarah moans. Her shoulders sag. “Oh my God.”
I don’t know if she is saying this about the accident, or about the acuteness of Dom’s situation, or about the cheating, or about all of it.
“Sar. How’re you holding up?”
Seph and Sar. This is all the confirmation I need that these two know each other.
“Terrible,” she says.
Joe’s eyes travel to me. He is checking the temperature. Trying to gauge how angry I am.
Because it is easy—and because he deserves it—as soon as he reaches for me, to give me a hug, I slap him. This time I get his left cheek. Two slaps in one day is some kind of record, I’m sure.
He rubs at his cheek. “I deserve that.”
“You bastard,” I hiss.
“Guilty as charged. We’ll revisit the subject later.” He turns to Sarah. “Any news on him?”
Sarah is hugging herself. I can tell that she is watching our interaction closely, and that she finds it very odd. She shakes her head. “Not yet, but I was going to try to get into the operating room.”
“You should do that,” he says firmly. “Now.”
After looking between us helplessly, Sarah stalks off down the corridor. Joe and I are left alone. It seems stupid to talk about Dom’s infidelity when he might not even make it. Then again, there is nothing else to talk about. We don’t know anything. As screwed up as it is, Dr. Sarah Nelson is exactly the distraction I need to forget that my fiancé is currently fighting for his life.
“He is two-timing me,” I say matter-of-factly once Sarah is gone and it’s just the two of us between the mint-green walls. I notice that Belinda the receptionist is showing a healthy interest in what’s going on in her waiting room. She’s been reading the same page in her novel for ten minutes now.
Joe scratches his jaw, looking away. “He’s my brother, Ever. What was I supposed to do? Rat him out?” His jaw hardens. “I tried to indicate to you in numerous ways that it wasn’t the end of the world if we kissed.”
“Don’t Lynne me. What we did to Dom right now was horrible.”
“Drop the guilt-fest.” Joe shoves his feet into his sneakers. He is going to see Presley. There’s nothing I can do to stop him. “No one’s buying it. And even if I did—I don’t feel guilty about kissing you.”
“Why are you so angry?” I ask. He’s not always angry. Most of the time, he is resigned to our fate.
“Because,” he says, calm, collected, and bored. “We never broke up. Technically, Ever, you’re still my girlfriend.”
It’s like a punch in the face, and as such, I stagger back. “You can’t be for real right now.”
“I can, and I fucking am. No breakup talk—no breakup.” He shoves his shoelaces into his sneakers, as opposed to tying them.
“How we broke up was terrible, but we did break up. I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“You hurt yourself too. You chose mainstream.”
His words hit me. I remember them from all those years ago.
Mainstream people aren’t revolutionary. Nothing good ever comes out of them. Average equals comfort.
But I need comfort. I need safe.
“You stopped being a choice the day I kissed your brother,” I rasp. “We can’t do this to him, and you know that.”
“God, you’re like a broken record. Your morals bore me.” He lets out a short breath. I see his frustration. All the things he’s given up over the years for Dominic. The attention. The sleepless nights. The worrying. Always low on the totem pole. Even now, Dom is the golden child. The one who went to college, who got a good job, who is getting married. “And the worst part is, I am the only aspect in your life where you do the good thing, even if it’s not the right thing. Everything else about your relationships, including Dom, is fucked up because you always take the easy way out.”
He is right. He is right, and it’s time I own up to all my mistakes. Especially the one I left in California.
Joe’s shoulder brushes mine. He stalks out of the room. And then I hear the words that undo me. They pull at me like a frayed old sweater. Until I’m nothing but a long string of pain.
“I loved you, Ever Lawson. But I want you to know, you’re the worst thing that’s ever fucking happened to me.”
EIGHTEEN
I drive us back to Salem, not allowing Dom to get behind the wheel. Now we’re both leaning on the car, the silence between us so palpable I can taste it on my tongue. Since I don’t trust him with a vehicle right now—or a coffee machine, for that matter—I tell him I’ll take his car to my apartment to pick up Loki, and then I’ll bring it back. Dom doesn’t argue. Like with everything else, he is understanding and cooperative. Perfect. He kisses my neck, pressing me against his sports car, his hands on my waist.
“Did you have a good time at Mom’s birthday?” he murmurs into my neck.
“Of course.” My mind involuntarily drifts to Joe. I think about his words. About that kiss. It still lingers on my lips, an unspoken secret.
I need to tell Dom. I can’t plan a wedding with this man without coming clean about everything.
I need to tell him that this is too soon, too much. That we don’t have to tell people, but the engagement needs to be on hold. Otherwise, we’re just going to hurt more people. And ourselves.
When I try to pull away, Dom hugs me tighter and says, “Put Loki in his carrier, grab a few clothes, and hurry up. I need to be inside you.”
The proof of his desire for me is nestled between my legs, through our clothes. It twitches against my groin, demanding to be taken care of.
“We need to talk first,” I say.
“About what?” He pulls away, scanning me. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”
I chuckle, feeling extra dead inside. “We just need to smooth some things over.”
I can tell he is unhappy about this, but he nods. “All right. I’ll wait.”
“I might take a second. I need to get some tampons.”
Actually, I don’t. I don’t have my period. But there is no way I can have sex with Dom, even on the off chance that he’s okay with what happened with Joe.
Dom kisses my forehead. “I’ll buy ’em. You go pack for the night.”
“It’s just on the way,” I protest.
“The Walgreens is right across the street.” He laughs. “And you’re taking my car, remember? So it’s not like I’m at risk of driving into a wall or something.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t even joke about that.” And then, before I forget, I say, “I love you.”
“Love you too.”
He sends me off with a pat on my ass. In the car, once it’s quiet, I replay tonight’s scene with Joe in my head over and over.
I loved you.
Joe used past tense, while I’m still here in the present, pining for him.
It occurs to me that after I tell Dom about my kiss with his brother today, he’ll almost certainly break off the engagement. What frightens me even more is the feeling that’s tethered to it. Of relief. Not because I don’t love Dom, but because I’m in love with his brother too.
Maybe taking a step back from the entire Graves family would be a good thing. I could tell Nora to move in with Colt, anyway. Living by myself for a while would do me good.
When I walk into my apartment half an hour later, Nora is not there. I can’t remember the last time she’s slept at home. At this point she’s just paying half my rent. I grab a quick shower, push Loki into his carrier, and pack a light bag.
I’ve picked up the sticky note pad by the fridge, about to write Nora a message, when my phone rings in my back pocket. I pull it out and see Joe’s name across the screen. My heart skips a beat. For a second, I contemplate not answering. Or at least, I pretend to contemplate this, because there’s no way I can resist the urge.
I swipe the screen, sighing.
“Look, I know there’s still stuff to talk about—”
He cuts me off. “You need to go to the hospital.”
“What?” I ask.
“Salem’s general hospital. You need to go there. Right. Now. Dom’s in critical condition.”
I drop the sticky notes and the pen on the floor. My legs are shaking. I try to breathe, but the air gets stuck in my throat. “What do you mean? How? Why?”
“Ever. Ever. Ever.” Joe’s voice is husky, like he’s been screaming. The lack of his casual indifference throws me into the depths of hysteria. “It happened about half an hour ago. He crossed the street back from Walgreens. Got hit by a truck.”
“Oh my God!” I yelp. “What happened? Was the driver drunk?”
I need something, or someone, to be mad at. The roaring engine and the rain hitting Joe’s car tell me he is on his way too. I kick into high gear, running around the apartment, putting my shoes on.
“They don’t know,” Joe says, finally. “They don’t know shit, Ever. I only got the call ten minutes ago. A couple witnesses who were there said that he fell right into incoming traffic. On a red light.”
“Like . . . collapsed?” I choke out.
Another beat of silence. This time, I realize, Joe is trying to control his emotions. “Yeah.”
“But why? Why would someone just collapse like that? It doesn’t make any sense.”
He doesn’t answer.
“People don’t just fall into traffic. Something must have happened,” I continue arguing with no one in particular.
I can’t think straight. I run out the door before remembering I don’t have my keys.
“Cab it,” Joe says. “Don’t get behind the wheel. It’s pissing rain and you’re in no condition.”
I don’t have the mental capacity to argue with him right now, so I just ignore his words. “Where are Gemma and Brad?”
“On their way. I shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes. I just left Pres—”
Presley’s apartment. Or bedroom, more specifically. He doesn’t have to say it. Not so surprisingly, though, I don’t give a damn right now.
“It’ll take me ten minutes,” I hear myself say. “Call me when you get there.”
I don’t know how I do it. The mundane small things that usually require no special effort from me. Buckling my safety belt. Maneuvering the steering wheel. Waiting on traffic lights. Especially as I slide into the designated parking spot in front of the emergency room. I kill the engine, curl my fingers around the steering wheel, and let out a scream so shrill it makes me nauseous.
Then I wipe my tears, get out of the car, and walk over to the emergency room’s reception. The receptionist directs me to another wing. Apparently, Dom is in surgery. I’m in some kind of a waiting room, with depressing blue chairs, a smaller reception area, and big windows overlooking the parking lot.
I’m standing in front of a set of doors leading to a hallway with another set of doors. Dom is somewhere back there, though I’m not sure what kind of surgery they’re performing on him. I don’t know anything, and it is driving me mad.
I don’t allow myself to think about the fact that his last visit was to Walgreens, to get me tampons. For my fake period. I don’t dwell on how stupid it is. How meaningless. I can’t do this to myself right now. Instead, I pace from corner to corner, playing with my diamond ring on my finger. He can’t just die. People don’t get engaged and die on the same day. This is not how the world works.
A petite blonde woman in blue scrubs dashes across the hallway toward the waiting room. She’s out of breath. Is she one of the doctors who is performing the surgery? Can she tell me anything? I’m about to ask her, but she bypasses me, slapping her hands over the reception desk.
“Belinda?”
“Dr. Nelson!” The receptionist stands up and reaches over the counter to give her a brief hug. “I’m so sorry. What a nightmare.”
The blonde lets out a low moan, leaning into Belinda’s shoulder. “I called Dr. Hansley. He’s performing the surgery right now. It’s a penetrating brain injury.”
“Did he say how it’s going?”
The blonde shakes her head no.
I tell myself that they might not be talking about Dom. It’s juvenile to think there’s only one surgery going on in this hospital at this moment. I stop pacing, listening to their conversation nonetheless. It’s the only thing I can do right now.
The blonde notices my presence for the first time. She turns to me, her face open and friendly despite her obvious distress. “Sorry, are you waiting for someone?”
“Yes.” I find my voice—barely. “Ah . . . Dominic Graves.”
“Are you a friend of his? A patient?” The blonde woman strides over to me. Up close, she is beautiful, in a cool, swanlike way. Then, before I can answer, she offers me her hand. “I’m Dr. Sarah Nelson.”
“Sarah!” I take her hand, squeezing. Relief washes over me. She is the woman from the fridge magnet, of course. From the charity event Dom attended earlier this year. “Dom told me about you.”
I think about the time he mentioned that a doctor named Sarah had told him to check on Craigslist for missing posts when Loki disappeared.
Sarah gives me a sad smile. “Oh. Thank you.”
“Do you know anything about his . . . situation?” I lick my lips. It is so nice of her to be here, to make sure that he is okay. I’m not surprised, though. Dominic is an amazing guy who digs his way through a lot of hearts and stays there.
Sarah blows out a breath. “Well, I called the neurosurgeon who’s operating on him as soon as they told me he’s here. They’re performing a delicate brain surgery. He only said that Dom fractured his skull, that there is bleeding in multiple areas, and some tearing of brain tissue.”
I drop my face into my hands and weep. I hate that I’m so powerless. That things are out of my control. I hate how unnecessary this situation is. How random.
Sarah reaches over, rubbing my arm. “I know. It’s terrible.”
Instead of answering her with words, I just bawl harder. She clasps me into a hug. I don’t know why everyone I love ends up dying or seriously injured. Mom. Dom. Maybe I’m cursed. Maybe the best thing I can do for Dad and Renn is stay the hell away from them. Maybe they know that, which is why they never call anymore.
No wonder you are obsessed with gravestones. You have the tendency to put people under them.
“I should call his family . . . ,” I hear Sarah murmur in my ear, thinking aloud. “See if Gemma and Brad are aware.”
I pull away from her, sniffing. Finally, I feel like I’m not totally useless. “They know. They’re on their way here.”
Sarah frowns. “They are?”
“Yeah. I spoke to Joe . . . I mean, Seph, about twenty minutes ago. Everyone’s coming.”
For the first time since we met, Sarah takes a step back, drawing an invisible line between us. She looks at me like I’m a different person. “Who did you say you were again?”
“I didn’t,” I hiccup, offering her my hand. “I’m Everlynne.”
“Everlynne . . . ?” She wants credentials. Doesn’t take my offered hand.
“His fiancée.” I turn my empty hand just so, revealing a sparkling diamond ring.
“His fiancée?” she repeats.
“Yes.”
“Interesting.”
“Why?”
Dr. Sarah doesn’t look so friendly anymore. “Because I’m his girlfriend.”
NINETEEN
The floor doesn’t shatter beneath my feet. The world doesn’t explode into miniscule pieces. And still, something breaks inside me. It is so fundamental, I know I will never, ever be the same person I was two minutes ago.
Dom has a girlfriend.
Dom is two-timing me.
The clues start ding-ding-dinging in my head. Oh, how small they looked, separated from one another, seemingly unrelated and innocent.
How Dom never, ever took me out on a date in Salem.
How he worked way too many hours—even for a nurse—and didn’t come home for three and four nights in a row sometimes.
How Joe said he didn’t feel guilty for kissing me. The way he would always allude to Dom not being the saint I’d pegged him to be.
The disgust he felt about my and Dom’s relationship—does he know Dom is cheating on me? Of course he does. If Sarah knows Gemma and Brad, she knows Joe too. And then it hits me . . .
The necklace.
The necklace.
The necklace.
The letter S. Sarah.
She and I occupied the same bed, rolled in the same sheets, kissed the same skin of the same man all these weeks and months. Now that I think about it, she is everywhere in his apartment. On magnets on his fridge. In the way the mugs are always coordinated by color neatly in the cupboard. The women’s deodorant he’d let me use once and said belonged to his mother . . .
“I’m not sure how you expect me to respond to what you’re saying.” Sarah speaks, and although her voice is curt, I can see her chin is wobbling. “Dom and I have been together for three years.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling sorry for me, not for her. “It’s the truth. He asked me to marry him tonight. At his mother’s sixtieth birthday dinner.”
Sarah closes her eyes. I can tell it’s sunk in. That she believes me. Me, I’m still struggling to come to terms with this new reality. Dom can’t be a cheating dirtbag. This is not who he is. He is the Savior of Lost Girls. The sweet, dimpled, mild man who stormed into the picture and made it all better.
“How long have you been together?” She wipes her eyes.
“Three months.” It feels inadequate in comparison to her three years. I feel inadequate. She is a gorgeous doctor. I’m a . . . I’m me. What was Dom thinking? Why did he start things with me?
“I guess that’s why he stopped inviting me over to his parents’.” A brittle laugh bubbles up her throat. “I thought it was because of my night shifts and his schedule. Wow.”
The double doors between us slap open. Joe appears like a mirage, oozing dark energy. He sees Sarah and me standing in front of one another and makes a face. It is something between Shit and Dom, you dumb fuck. It is an exceedingly Joe-like expression.
“Seph,” Sarah moans. Her shoulders sag. “Oh my God.”
I don’t know if she is saying this about the accident, or about the acuteness of Dom’s situation, or about the cheating, or about all of it.
“Sar. How’re you holding up?”
Seph and Sar. This is all the confirmation I need that these two know each other.
“Terrible,” she says.
Joe’s eyes travel to me. He is checking the temperature. Trying to gauge how angry I am.
Because it is easy—and because he deserves it—as soon as he reaches for me, to give me a hug, I slap him. This time I get his left cheek. Two slaps in one day is some kind of record, I’m sure.
He rubs at his cheek. “I deserve that.”
“You bastard,” I hiss.
“Guilty as charged. We’ll revisit the subject later.” He turns to Sarah. “Any news on him?”
Sarah is hugging herself. I can tell that she is watching our interaction closely, and that she finds it very odd. She shakes her head. “Not yet, but I was going to try to get into the operating room.”
“You should do that,” he says firmly. “Now.”
After looking between us helplessly, Sarah stalks off down the corridor. Joe and I are left alone. It seems stupid to talk about Dom’s infidelity when he might not even make it. Then again, there is nothing else to talk about. We don’t know anything. As screwed up as it is, Dr. Sarah Nelson is exactly the distraction I need to forget that my fiancé is currently fighting for his life.
“He is two-timing me,” I say matter-of-factly once Sarah is gone and it’s just the two of us between the mint-green walls. I notice that Belinda the receptionist is showing a healthy interest in what’s going on in her waiting room. She’s been reading the same page in her novel for ten minutes now.
Joe scratches his jaw, looking away. “He’s my brother, Ever. What was I supposed to do? Rat him out?” His jaw hardens. “I tried to indicate to you in numerous ways that it wasn’t the end of the world if we kissed.”
