Brecken lands beside her with a head nod and a frown for me. Rina closes in on my other side. She’s not sitting–no doubt she’s too on edge for that. She’s standing, and she’s not wearing scrubs which tells me that she wasn’t working tonight but came in anyway because of Margot.

  Halle and Jonah are ambling down the hall, her head on his shoulder, her face red and blotchy from crying.

  Margot thinks no one has ever genuinely loved her.

  I wish she could see the state we’re all in, if for no other reason than to know just how much she is loved.

  “I haven’t asked,” Rina says, breaking the not-so-peaceful silence, her voice raspy. “I can’t.”

  “They managed to get her in there, but it was touch and go,” I reply, straightening my legs and resting my head against the wall. “It’s my fault.” No one says anything and I can’t look at any of them. “We had a fight. I walked in on Julien professing his love before he kissed her, and I lost it. I said…” I swallow, getting choked up as more tears threaten. “I said awful things I didn’t mean and then I left her in the stairwell. That’s where it happened.”

  We all fall silent for a few minutes. There is no way to follow that up with anything, and I appreciate them not throwing out bullshit platitudes or encouraging words to try and make me feel better. I don’t want to feel better. I want to continue to sit here and bleed the way she’s bleeding. I want to trade places with her, but I can’t. So instead, I hurt, and I bleed, and I deserve it.

  “Julien is in the PACU (post anesthesia care unit),” Rina announces. “He made it through surgery, but he’s going to be in rough shape for a while. They had to remove his spleen.”

  “His wife is also in custody. The police caught up to her at Logan Airport,” Jonah continues, as he and Halle sit down on the floor against the wall directly across from me.

  I can’t go to the waiting room.

  It’s just too damn far away from her.

  “I spoke to a cop friend of mine downtown,” Josh says as he approaches us, sitting down beside Halle. She takes his hand, giving it a squeeze. “The bitch who did this isn’t going anywhere ever.” He glances around before shuddering. “I hate this place. I hate it so goddamn much.”

  I nod to him, because I get that. Josh was attacked not even a year ago and spent quite a while in this hospital. In that same OR with Wes working his magic.

  “I’m glad you came, though,” Aria whispers. “It will mean so much to Margot.” Her voice cracks and I hear her puffing out a few deep breaths while trying to hold it together.

  And here we are, a sad sort of vigil waiting to see if our girl makes it.

  “I don’t care if she’s in custody. I don’t care that Julien made it.”

  I feel a hundred eyes on me, but again, I don’t care. Fuck Julien and his crazy wife. Fuck them. Margot who would never ever hurt anyone in a million years is in that OR fighting for her life. And I’m helpless. Totally, completely, utterly Helpless. I can’t take it anymore.

  I stand up, marching toward the OR when Jonah hops to his feet, getting in front of me and blocking my path. “You can’t do it, mate. You can’t go in there.”

  “Jonah,” I say his name slowly, so he comprehends the full weight behind it. I don’t even care if he’s taller. It’s only a couple of inches, and right now, I could really go for beating someone up. For punching and hitting and transferring out all of this horrible, useless pain that’s eating me alive, picking at all my rotten organs. But it’s not enough. I need more pain.

  Brecken moves in beside him, Josh falling in line as well.

  “Clearly, I am not a medical person,” Brecken starts, in that drawling wry tone of his, “but you look like hell, and I imagine feel a million times worse. Do you think that would be helpful to her right now? To have you in there while they’re trying to save her and you’re nothing but a miserable sack of regretful shit? Tell her you’re sorry after she wakes up.” My fists ball up, my already broken skin on my right hand cracking back open. Brecken grins like he’s egging me on. “I can take it, motherfucker. If that’s what you think you need, I can take it. The question is, do you really want to dole it out?”

  I don’t. I mean, obviously I don’t want to hurt my friends. I just can’t handle this. This listlessness. This unmovable weight that’s making me jittery and edgy and insane.

  “I just want to look through the window,” I grit out.

  “I’ll do it,” Rina offers, squeezing my shoulder and pulling me back a step because somehow I ended up toe-to-toe with Jonah, Josh, and Brecken. “I’ll go watch.”

  I meet her steadfast gaze and nod. Then I shuffle another step back, spin around, and kick the wall a few times since I can’t punch people, and Margot will go ape-shit on me if I ruin my hand more. My head drops, my forehead pressing into the disgusting hospital wall.

  I’ve never felt this out of control in my life.

  “Did you know that Jonah and I had a huge fight last week?” Halle says out of absolutely nowhere. “We did. It was one of those epic fights where I screamed and threw things. I threatened to leave him. To go and never come back.”

  “What the hell did you do, man?” Brecken questions, and even though I don’t want to listen, I am and wondering the same damn thing.

  “A patient gave me her number,” he admits sheepishly. “I hadn’t realized it. She came on to me during her exam and I declined her. I declined her,” he repeats again, this time with a lot of emphasis I assume is for Halle’s benefit. “Anyway, she must have written it down on a piece of paper and dropped it into my lab coat without me being aware.”

  “Yeah. And I found it. A woman’s phone number in his pocket. Bitch even put a heart instead of the dot for the I in her name. How freaking cheesy is that? So you can imagine my nuclear level of jealousy. I’m a redhead; we’re fiery people. And because I’m fiery, I threw a glass figurine that shattered everywhere. Only…that glass figurine wasn’t just any glass figurine. It was a glass figurine of a heart Jonah’s wife, Madeline, had given him on their first wedding anniversary.”

  Wow. Jonah lost his wife to cancer several years back. I can only imagine the significance of that glass heart. I twist around, my fingers intertwined behind my head, my elbows butterflied as I stare at Halle who is openly weeping in Jonah’s arms. He kisses the side of her face, grazing his knuckles up and down her arm, and my heart clenches.

  “I realized what I had done,” she continues, wiping a few tears from her red cheeks, “and I freaked. I felt horrible for breaking the heart and horrible because even though I knew Jonah wouldn’t cheat and that he loved me, I’d said a lot of things in the heat of our fight. So I ran. I ran out of the building and went to go across the street and…” She trails off, hiccupping out a sob.

  “And very narrowly missed being hit by a car,” Jonah finishes, his eyes on hers. He leans in and kisses the tip of her red nose.

  “Jesus,” Josh whispers.

  I shake my head. I get what they’re doing. I get what they’re saying. People fight. People say things they don’t mean when they’re angry and upset. I get all that. They’re trying to let me off the hook, but I don’t want to be let off the hook. I don’t deserve to be let off the hook.

  Not until Margot does it for me.

  “Hey, Drew?” Aria asks, jumping up, and clearing her face of her own moisture. She stands before me. “Who’s my favorite author?”

  I roll my eyes. “Neil Gaiman.”

  She gives me the saddest of sad smiles. “Before Wes and I got back together, I said the first part of this quote to him. But I think it’s the last part that is really meant for you and Margot. Will you hate me forever if I quote the whole damn thing?”

  “I’ll never hate you.”

  She meets my eyes, cupping my face and mopping up my tears.

  “Have you ever been in love? Horrible, isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses. You build up this whole armor, for years, so nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life… You give them a piece of you. They don't ask for it. They do something dumb one day like kiss you, or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so a simple phrase like ‘maybe we should just be friends’ or ‘how very perceptive’ turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a body-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. Nothing should be able to do that. Especially not love. I hate love.”

  She crinkles up her nose at that last bit and I belt out a humorless laugh, my voice shattering.

  “Stop blaming yourself for what others have done. You didn’t stab Margot. You didn’t turn her ex-boyfriend’s wife into a psycho. You got jealous and had a fight because you love her. And when she wakes up, tell her you’re sorry and move on with your lives. Margot understands making mistakes. She gets the flaws of other people, probably better than most. She forgives and loves in a way I’ve never seen anyone else do. But most importantly, she gets you. You get each other, and one fight over misunderstandings and jealousies is not going to demolish that. Your relationship is forever; you just hit a bump in your road.”

  “And if she doesn’t wake up?”

  “She will,” Aria says with so much confidence, I can’t help but take some of that for myself. “Margot has too much life, too much love, and energy not to live through this. She’s not done, and she’s not done with you. Don’t give up. She needs her hero and that’s you.”

  “I’ll never give up on her,” I promise, my conviction humming throughout my entire body. Giving up isn’t an option for me. That’s something I’ve never done.

  I helped raise three boys from Southie–and in case you’re wondering, they’re different from regular boys. I fought the adversity of going to a crap public school in a rough neighborhood and got into Tufts without a scholarship. I paid for that education with loans and delivering pizzas at nights and on weekends. I got into Harvard Medical School and let me tell you, they don’t love poor boys from their hood. They like out-of-state, famous-last-name, big-endowment dollars.

  I was not one of those guys. Not until I won that money in medical school. But I made it anyway. Then I placed a residency at MGH–#4 on the best hospitals in the country list. I earned Chief Resident and a fellowship and an attending position. But that’s all work, right? The dividing line I always drew in the sand between me and love.

  I wouldn’t cross it for Aria.

  I expected her to give up everything for me without reciprocation.

  It was lamely alpha and misogynistic. But I think it came down to one simple truth: I didn’t care enough to put her first nor put in more effort than I put in at work.

  With Margot, it was effortlessly different.

  Even though we worked together, I thought of ways, excuses, to ditch out and just be with her. Lying in bed talking. Laughing in the rain. Watching her sing awful karaoke with my brothers. She filled me up, repaired my gaping holes. Reminded me that while I may save lives, I shouldn’t neglect mine. That difference was everything.

  “I can’t lose her, Aria. I’m so happy you have Wes because I have Margot and I love her. I love her in a way I couldn’t love you. I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m not. I just–”

  Aria’s fingers clamp over my lips. She smiles so brightly, her crystalline blue eyes glassy with her exquisite pain.

  “And I love Wes in a way I couldn’t love you. It’s the way we’re supposed to be. Friends who love but aren’t in love.”

  That’s the most insanely perfect way to put it. I hug her, kissing her temple. “You better not be trying to get with my future wife, because I just saved the hell out of yours.”

  I laugh, squeezing Aria tighter against me, staring straight at Wes. “So she said yes?”

  “No, she didn’t,” Aria huffs, pushing against my chest and stepping back. “He asks like shit.” I laugh again because that’s so Aria.

  “You’re too stubborn. Life’s too short.”

  She rolls her eyes at me and all seems simple and right. But…

  “Wes?” I question, edging near him. Rina is nowhere to be found. I’d bet serious money she’s in the OR helping them get Margot ready to move to the PACU.

  “She lost a lot of blood. A lot of blood. We transfused her and repaired her renal artery. We saved her kidney, but it’s not in great shape. We also repaired a laceration to her bowel. She’s fixed up, Drew, but I cannot speak to whether or not she’ll wake up. Her body went through one hell of a trauma. Had a lot of blood loss. Has been coded twice.” I narrow my eyes, and he nods solemnly. “She crashed in the OR, but we got her back.”

  “Right. I get it.”

  He gave Margot everything he has and that much is evident in his dour expression and quiet tone. But still, his words cut me to shreds.

  “Don’t look so hopeless. She’s a fighter and tougher than anyone I know. I’m just saying, we’re going to have to wait and see.”

  Thirty

  Margot

  * * *

  You know that crap in movies or soap operas where people wake out of a coma or come out of surgery and their hair is all done, and they don’t look like they were just hit by a truck or I don’t know, say, stabbed in the back, while feeling a bajillion times worse?

  Yeah, that’s bullshit.

  Because I can’t move. I legit cannot. I keep telling myself to move my hand or open my eyes and I cannot make it happen. It’s this weight holding me down. This heaviness and while that sounded all sexy when I read the Fifty Shades series, it’s not so much in real life.

  Because I don’t hear meaningful conversations that I’ll catalogue for later. I don’t get Drew weeping over our non-existent baby.

  I get, beep. Beep. Beep.

  I’m assuming that’s my heart rate and from a nursing perspective, it sounds decently good. Not too slow. Not too fast. I’m also assuming they have me on multiple IV drips, but believe I’m going to turn into some kind of junky once I come out of this mess and turn to smack or crack or heroin or oxy to manage the pain. I get it. It happens. But since I don’t plan on that being my future, some real pain relief would be awesome right about now.

  Because FUCK! This HURTS!

  So all I have is the pain and no awareness beyond it, which is sort of frustrating if I’m being honest. I mean, I’m awake. At least I feel like I am. Yet, I can’t open my eyes, and I can’t squeeze the hand that’s holding mine, and I can’t move my limbs.

  To add insult to injury, I’m likely peeing into a bag being fed from a catheter that’s in my urethra. And not to be super gross, but how long have I been out? Long enough to have needed to poop? Did I do that in front of people?

  Yes, these are the things floating through my mind at this very moment in time when I’m locked inside myself and cannot move.

  The last thing I remember is that cement landing. That’s it. I remember closing my eyes after psycho bitch Barbie stabbed me.

  Jesus, I was stabbed.

  In the back.

  My chest clenches and I note that beep, beep, beep grows a little faster. How did that happen to me? Where is she now? Is she still here, lurking? No, she said she was going to leave on a flight, but she could have been lying. And who found me on the stairs? What happened after I closed my eyes?

  Somehow, here I am, half-awake and likely dead, and I need to smack Drew for telling me I was a mistake and that we’re done. The boy is high if he thinks that’s the case.

  “Is she awake? Her heart rate just went up.”

  Those are words I can’t respond to, so I don’t bother trying. I don’t think they were even directed at me, though I can’t hear anyone else speaking. I don’t even try to discern if I know the voice they came from. I just go back to sleep because that’s way easier and a hell of a lot less painful and scary.

  “Margot, sweetheart. I’m starting to get worried.” That’s Drew. I’d know that surly authoritative tone anywhere. It sounds like he’s speaking so close to me, and it pulls me away from the comfort of the darkness. “You’re supposed to be awake by now.” Yep, that totally means I’m peeing into a bag in front of him. Humiliation complete. “I’m asking you to open your eyes now so you can bitch me out. I’ve spanked your beautiful ass, but right now, I’m the one who deserves the lashings.”

  That makes me want to smile. I should be mad at him, but I can’t find that part of me anywhere. I’m just so grateful I’m alive–because that’s what this has to be–and that he’s here, insisting I open my eyes and flagellate him.

  I try to squeeze his hand.

  “Holy shit. Did you just squeeze my hand?” Clearly, I’m superhuman and make strides like an Olympic athlete. “Do it again.”

  Christ, he’s so demanding. I’d tell him to knock that stuff off if I didn’t like that side of him. I think it’s hot and he knows it. Sick and crazy sort of work together. That’s what I was trying to tell him in the stairwell. Just thinking of that place makes me shudder in the worst possible way.

  I try again, but this time, I’m not sure I get there. I can’t open my eyes. What the hell are they giving me? Is this what Michael Jackson felt like? I can’t open my eyes or breathe properly. Why can’t I breathe? It’s freaking me out.

  “That’s it; I’m cutting back on your sedation med. I told them to get rid of it after your surgery, and they kept it on board. It’s a low dose, but I’m thinking even a low dose is too high of a dose for you. Your kidneys are working for shit, sweetheart. No wonder you’re not clearing drugs properly.”

  Okay. That doesn’t sound good at all. I catch faint movement and buttons being pressed on what is likely the IV keypad.

  “There, you should feel better in a few minutes. I think you’re more sensitive to this stuff than they assumed.” I think he’s right. I take children’s Benadryl because one measly tablet of twenty-five milligrams knocks me on my ass for hours. And that’s without whatever kidney issues he’s speaking of.

 

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