The Edge of Reason, page 26
My mouth is so dry. It feels like I’ve been swallowing cotton and washing it down with sand for days. Whatever Drew just did is already helping because I am most definitely more aware. My mind is clearer. I can feel more too, which is not all that great.
Christ, what did that woman do to me? Did I have surgery? This feels like way more than what Julien had when I first saw him.
“Are you in pain? Your heart rate and blood pressure are shooting up.” Drew sounds awful. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a worried or discomposed Drew before. He’s always so collected and confident. It’s throwing me. How bad off am I?
“Yes,” I push out, only that really doesn’t sound like me. My voice is so meek and gravely and fractured. I blink slowly, scrunching my eyes closed immediately after, against the intrusive light that feels like it just singed my corneas. “Bright.”
“Margot,” Drew practically shouts. It hits my head in the worst of ways.
Jolting out of his seat, he hovers over me and likely finds me miserable against all these external stimuli. He quickly shuts off the overhead light and I’m able to open my eyes, blinking rapidly as I acclimate to my surroundings.
“Baby,” he breathes, his tired gray eyes instantly pooling up as he searches my face.
He looks like hell. Good hell, but hell all the same. His eyes are incredibly bloodshot with dark purple bruises beneath them. His hair is a tousled mess and his scrubs are incredibly wrinkled. He looks like he hasn’t left my side, allowing himself to age a year for every hour I’ve been here. Which begs the question…
“How long?” I swallow, trying to clear the grit from my throat. “How long have I been here?”
“It’s about three in the afternoon. So about twelve hours since your surgery.”
Okay, so not that long. I still have about a million questions I need answered, but I’m already so tired and I just opened my eyes. I’ve never felt this sort of heaviness before. This crushing weight that seems to dwell on my eyelids.
“I’m so tired.”
“You lost a lot of blood. They transfused you, but your hematocrit is still only twenty-two.”
I let my eyes close at that. I lost a lot of blood. Because being stabbed in the back does that. Christ, I can’t even… How does one make sense of that?
“Margot,” he whispers, his hands cupping my face and forcing my gaze back to his, his expression so loving and yet so broken. “I know you’re tired and in pain. I get that, and I don’t want to bog you down when you feel like this. But, before you fall back to sleep, I need to tell you that I’m sorry.”
I reach up gingerly, because absolutely everything hurts, and rest my hand over his. He smiles, but it’s achingly sad, as if he’s afraid I’m going to push him away. Never again, I think, but can’t manage to say.
“I have no excuse for the things I said. For the way I behaved. I was jealous and angry and so fucking stupid,” he emphasizes. “I didn’t mean anything I said. I swear to God, I didn’t. You’re not a mistake. Never in a million years could you be. I thought I lost you after my awful words, and then I came back to the stairwell…,” his voice cracks on the word, tears spilling over the edges of his eyes, rolling unchecked down his cheeks. “And then I thought I lost you again.”
His forehead meets mine and he kisses my nose so gently I hardly feel the brush of his lips.
“I promised I wouldn’t tell you how much I love you until you woke up and now that I’m looking into your pretty eyes, I’m terrified of losing you all over again.” He licks his lips. “I love you, Margot. So much it hurts like nothing else. And yet, it makes me so goddamn strong and whole. That’s what you do to me. You make me whole in a way I’ve never been before. In a way I cannot be without you. I don’t deserve your forgiveness or your trust and certainly not your love, but if you’re willing to give them to me, I’ll spend forever proving to you that you made the right choice. That I’m your right choice.”
God, this man…
He has no idea.
“You already have all three. You always have. I wasn’t going to let you get away, Drew. I was going to get you back. You’re who I want. Always. No one else. I just got held up a little.”
I wink, and he laughs bitterly, and yet all his stress and worry and sadness are eclipsed by this overwhelming joy and relief that sweep over him. It lights up his eyes and pulls a smile from his lips.
He’s beautiful. And he loves me. And he’s mine.
He’s my choice and I’m his. Funny how that happens. How years of friendship can transition into this. Into something so magically and whimsically right that it’s almost tragic it wasn’t discovered sooner. How sad all that time in between must be for missing out. And yet, I know it’s not. Without all that, we’d never be here. We’d never be us. Drew and I are not the stuff of happenstance or new encounters. We’re the trust that is forged in fire. Nothing less would do for our damaged souls.
Love, for us, was simply not enough.
“That’s a horrible joke right now.”
“It is, but if I don’t joke then she wins, and I can’t have her win.”
His head dips down and with the utmost care he places the sweetest, softest kiss on my lips. “I love you. I’m going to say it so much you’ll be sick of hearing it.”
“I don’t think that’s possible. You’re the first person to ever say it to me and mean it.”
“No, sweetheart. You have a very long list of people who love you and mean it. They’re all here anxiously waiting for you to wake up. They’ve been here all night. They haven’t left.”
I don’t want to cry because I know it will hurt like hell if I do, but I can’t stop it.
“We’re your family, freckles. The people you call. The ones who come. That bubble of unconditional love in the center of your gut. It’s time to let go of all that self-doubt and second-guessing. There’s no more room for that with us.”
He’s right. I’ve doubted for so long. And where has all of that second-guessing and doubt gotten me?
Drew kisses my lips again, my nose, my forehead. “No tears. I hate to see you in pain.”
“Yeah. This sucks.”
He chuckles. “Hit your button,” he orders, placing the red button for the patient-controlled anesthesia in my hand. “You can sleep. I’m not going anywhere without you.”
“I don’t want to ask…,” I trail off, unsure how to broach the subject. But I need to know about Julien and Brielynne. Mostly Brielynne.
“He made it through surgery after she attacked him a second time. They removed his spleen, and unfortunately, he’s right down the hall.” His nose scrunches up and I grin. “Brielynne is in the custody of BPD and last I heard they weren’t letting her go anytime soon. I’ve made a few cop friends in my tenure as an emergency room physician and they assure me they’re not letting her go. Josh is on it as well.”
I nod slowly, my heavy eyes succumbing to the desire to close.
“Okay. I’m going to sleep for a bit.” I hit my button, letting whatever good stuff in the form of drugs they’re giving me flow through my veins. “Go home and shower,” I say, but it comes out in a slur of sound.
I hover on the edge of consciousness for a few seconds, but I quickly give up the fight. Drew will be here when I wake up. Of that I’m sure.
Thirty-One
Drew
* * *
I watch until I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Margot is out, then I lean down and kiss her lips. “I’ll be back before you wake up again,” I promise. I hate leaving her. It gnaws at me, and I wonder if this feeling will ever dissipate now that I know she’s going to be okay and now that I know she’s going to be mine for real.
I doubt it.
I think I’ll always worry about Margot.
Whether I need to or not. She’s been through some of the worst this world has to offer. More than most people could bear, and yet, my resilient girl comes out better and stronger each time.
It will remain to be seen what this trauma does to her.
I kiss her forehead, running my fingers along her dark curls, matted and unkempt and thickened with touches of her blood.
Mine runs cold.
That woman is going to pay and she’s going to pay dearly. With everything she has, I’ll make her pay. Lingering on Margot a moment longer, I force myself to pull my shit together.
I have a million things to do. Like get in touch with my guy in BPD and make sure that Brielynne is still in lockup. At some point, Margot is going to have to testify against her. I have no idea what happened in that stairwell. What Margot saw or can even remember.
But dipshit Julien told the police he has no idea who stabbed him. Why? Fuck if I know. Why would he want to protect his wife after all she did to him? After all she did to the woman he claims to love?
It makes no sense, and without Julien, this woman could walk.
I reach the nurses’ station and find Vanessa there. She’s been an ICU nurse forever and she’s the one I requested to be in charge of Margot’s care. “Hey,” I say, and she glances up, the pinched scowl she had while staring at the computer softens when her eyes meet mine.
“Any progress?”
“She woke up. I lowered her sedatives and she came around.”
She smiles. “That’s fantastic. I’ll give Wes a call and let him know. He’s been popping in and out all day but didn’t want to disturb you with her.” That brings a faint grin to my lips. Wes is a good guy and I owe him everything.
“She was in pain,” I tell her. “I had her administer a bolus dose of the fentanyl, and it knocked her back out, but I want him aware of that.”
She nods. “Sure, I’ll go in and adjust the dose. We have some room to move up, per his orders, but he didn’t want to overload her system.”
“Perfect. Thank you. I’ll be back in less than an hour. If she wakes up before I return, can you call or text?”
“Of course. I’ve got her.”
“Thank you, Vanessa. I really appreciate it.”
I throw her a wink and then walk down the hall. I really need to go to the waiting room and update everyone; then I need a shower and a change of clothes. But I have a stop to make first.
Julien is sitting up in bed, awake, and staring aimlessly out the window. He looks lost in thought and horribly uncomfortable. His wife did a real number on him.
“Is she awake?” he asks, obviously having caught onto the fact that I’m hovering in his doorway.
“Do you give a shit?”
His head turns slowly in my direction, likely because he can’t move all that quickly. “Yes. You know I do.”
“Actually, I don’t. Because if you gave even the tiniest shit about Margot, you’d make sure your wife never walks the streets again.”
“It’s my fault she did this. I cheated. I pushed her by trying to win Margot back. Then I threw her over the edge when I told her I wanted a divorce.”
“So you feel safe then?” I lean against the edge of the metal door frame, crossing my arms over my chest as I stare him down. “I mean, if they let her out today and your pathetic ass was walking around the streets, you wouldn’t worry that Brielynne would try to kill you again?”
Julien sighs, twisting back to the window. “She’s going back to England. She’ll leave and never return. Brielynne isn’t someone who would fare well in prison.”
“Am I supposed to care that she wouldn’t be able to get her nails done or wear her designer clothes?”
I catch him frowning, but he chooses not to respond.
“You don’t deserve Margot. You never did. You’re too selfish. Too self-involved. You’re not her hero and you’d never put her first.”
“Then why are you standing here? Just to gloat about how much better suited you are for her than I am? She chose you. Now you can go.”
I smile a little at that, but it feels empty given where I’m standing at the moment. Considering the incredibly long and difficult road of recovery Margot has ahead of her. Nothing about this feels like a win. This guy really doesn’t get it.
“Honestly, I could give a fuck if your wife tried to kill you, or even if she succeeded, but she attacked Margot. Nearly killed her. Don’t you care about that at all?”
“I love Margot. I loved her instantly, which is why I spent three months with her when I shouldn’t have before I returned home to England. It’s why I tried to win her back after I returned. And yes, I know Brielynne tried to kill her. I know she did unspeakable things to her. But like I said, I drove her to that. And I won’t put her in an American prison. What’s done is done.”
“Do you know what we call lying to the police in this country?” He shifts ever so subtly in his bed. “It’s called obstruction of justice, asshole, and it’s a felony. You and your wife can enjoy prison together. Maybe they’ll even allow you two to visit each other once in a while.”
“I’m her husband. I believe in this country spouses aren’t forced to testify against one another. I already told you, and it’s final, I won’t put her in prison.”
“You won’t,” I tell him with an unmistakable air to my voice, not even trying to play it off. “But I will.”
I hold up my phone, shaking it back and forth, so he catches it out of the corner of his eye, and then I throw him a wave, because the prick is going to prison, too. Fuck him. His wife deserves everything she gets. She deserves to spend every damn day of the rest of her life in a Boston prison being someone’s bitch and forced to wear orange and eat crap food.
She does not deserve England or freedom.
Not after what she did.
“And if this isn’t enough, Margot is in fact awake. Plus, I have a host of witnesses who will testify that they overheard Brielynne screaming at Margot in the lobby of this very hospital, promising that she was going to kill her. So…yeah. Fuck you.”
Then I walk out.
I don’t even care to acknowledge his expression or see what my words did to him. As far as I’m concerned, they both deserve whatever awful life they get. I have no idea if this recording is admissible in court. I doubt it, actually. But hopefully, it won’t be necessary.
The waiting room is still packed with Margot’s people. I mean, Jesus. They’re practically sprawled over every surface. But add to that, Josh’s new boyfriend, Des, my brothers, my mother and stepfather, and it’s a full house for my sassy little mouse.
All eyes shoot instantly in my direction, expectant and anxious for the news they know I’m here to deliver.
“She’s awake.” I hold out my hands as half of them jump to their feet. “Well, she woke up, I should say. She didn’t stay awake long. She’s in a lot of pain and extremely fatigued from the surgery and blood loss, but she’s Margot. Already cracking inappropriate jokes and everything.”
You can feel the tension in the room evaporate. The dense fog that had been blanketing everyone lifts and in its wake, there are smiles and tears of joy.
Everyone asks me a million questions. Questions Margot is also likely wondering about. I answer what I can, but if I want to get back here by the time she wakes up, I don’t have the luxury of lingering.
Halle stands up, glances over to Aria and Rina, and with few words, the three of them leave for Margot’s room, but before they do, Halle stops right in front of me, staring curiously at me with those big blue eyes of hers.
“I hope you fixed what you thought you broke.”
“I did. According to her, I hadn’t broken anything.”
“Of course, you hadn’t.” She smiles at me like she knew it all along and I was a fool for thinking otherwise. “It seems the only people who didn’t know how much you two love each other were the two of you. I’m glad you fixed that mistake. Love isn’t meant to be paralyzing. It’s meant to be freeing.”
I consider that for a moment. “True. But fear can make love feel impossible and there is nothing more paralyzing than that.”
“That’s the thing.” She tilts her head, her copper hair spilling over her shoulders. She smiles coyly. “When you allow yourself to fall in love, you hand over your fears in the form of your heart to that person. After that, all you can do is hope to hell they keep it safe instead of dropping it for someone else to pick up and toy with.”
Maybe that’s where Margot and I went wrong all this time.
We’ve both been toyed with one too many times that it took us an eternity to believe in trust again. Maybe that’s why we held on so tight to our hearts, cautious and reluctant to hand them fully over to the other.
I give Halle a big hug. Rina and Aria too.
And after hugging my family and promising everyone that I’d keep them updated on her progress, I head out.
I told Margot I’d be there when she wakes up and I won’t break her trust, or her heart, again.
Thirty-Two
Drew
* * *
“Say it in the streets, that’s a knockout. But say it in a tweet, that’s a copout,” Margot sings to who the hell knows what. There is no music playing in the car because she turned it off. In favor of this, I suppose. “You need to calm down. You’re being too loud.”
I glance in her direction as I turn onto Marlborough Street and head for my building. “Should I be worried?”
“I don’t get the whole shots of Patron line. Is it because it quasi-musically rhymes with know?”
“You’re scaring me a little. Just so you know.”
“I know shots of tequila, particularly Patron, are all the rage for you baby boomers, but I hate tequila.”
“Baby boomers?” My eyebrows hit my hairline.
Margot shrugs and then winces. “Well, I’m not really sure what your generation is called?”
“Considering I’m not in my sixties or seventies, we’ll go with not baby boomer.”
