“What is it?” Three short words, but her love and care are evident.
“Mira. At the hospital. The baby…” I choke up, unable to say more.
“I’ll be right there.”
“Jordan’s already on his way to get you.” I hold the phone to my chest for several minutes after she hangs up. This may be as close to holding her as I get tonight, and I cherish it.
At the hospital, Adam texts that Mirabelle’s been moved to the obstetrics ward, but I wait for Alayna before going up there. I can’t see my sister like this. I’m weak. I’m a mess. I need my strength.
Then, there it is—my strength. Alayna walks in wearing yoga pants and a T-shirt, and she’s more beautiful than anyone I’ve ever seen. My pulse slows ever so slightly, and air seems to finally move through my lungs better than it had just a moment before. She does this for me. She gives and gives, without knowing, even when I distance myself from her. Even when I’ve wounded her, she’s here to repair me.
The truth of my situation is beginning to take root inside me. Everything about her is light. I cannot continue to keep her in darkness forever.
When she reaches me, we fall into step together. We head to the elevator, and I catch her up on what I know. When she reaches her hand out to me, I take it. I shouldn’t. The last thing I want to do is complicate things for her. But I can’t not touch her any longer. I hold it as long as I can before the feel of her skin against mine makes me want more of her, all of her. Then I let it go, and forbid myself the comfort of her touch again.
Before we’ve reached Mirabelle’s floor, I’ve already broken that deal. I brush my thumb across her cheek. It’s a habit, I realize, to hold and caress her. I have to try harder.
We find the rest of the family rather quickly. My parents, Chandler, and Adam are all waiting outside Mirabelle’s room. I tense. It’s too reminiscent of the last time I came to the hospital to see a woman in the maternity ward. Fortunately, the story I receive this time is very different. Adam insures us that Mirabelle—and the baby—are fine. For now. She’d gotten dehydrated, that’s all.
I want to fucking kill her. Rushing to the hospital out of dead fear because she didn’t bother to carry around a water bottle?
But of course I don’t really want to kill her. I’m relieved. I’m so very relieved. And I have to believe that there is some sort of justice in this world, some sort of higher power that recognizes the goodness of the woman that I’m fortunate enough to call my sister. While many of the women in my life seem to be cursed for loving me, Mirabelle seems to have remained unscathed. I spend a silent moment in gratitude, thanking whoever or whatever for sparing her.
My eyes flicker to Alayna. Now, whom do I have to pray to in order to save her?
Chapter Twenty-Three
I’ve called Adam to check up on Mirabelle five times in the last two days, and I’ve texted even more frequently. Of course, I’d always worry about her, but the separation from Alayna makes me even more anxious in general. Since I still can’t find the words she needs to hear, I attempt to avoid all thought of her. It’s impossible, but I try anyway, throwing my energy into preparing for my trip this afternoon to finish the deal with GlamPlay and worrying about Mirabelle.
I’ve just settled in at my desk after lunch with a cup of black coffee when Patricia intercoms me. “Mirabelle Sitkin on the line for you.” Seems my sister’s beat me to the call today.
“Send it back.” I take a large swallow from my coffee, letting the phone ring three times before picking it up. I’m not sleeping well, and my morning caffeine has seemed to have worn off. “Mirabelle, aren’t I supposed to be the one checking up on you?”
“That’s exactly why I’m calling.” Her voice is light and bubbly. “Adam says you’ve been harassing him.”
“Harassing? That’s a fine description for brotherly concern.”
“And I adore the concern. I really do.” She lets out a sigh. “But between you and Mom and Dad and Adam…I think a once-a-day friendly text will do just fine.”
I sit back in my chair and swivel back and forth as I speak. “You know, if you’d let me hire a nurse to follow you around like I suggested, I wouldn’t need to check in.”
“Hudson, I don’t need a nurse. I’m married to a doctor. Remember?”
I shrug even though she can’t see it. “And you were married to a doctor when you were admitted to the hospital three nights ago. It’s obviously not enough.”
“Oh, my God. Are you serious?”
“Very.” I stop my swiveling and lean on the desk in front of me. “But if you say you’re fine and promise me that you’re drinking and resting—”
“—I am!”
“Then I’ll agree to one call and one text a day.” This is a hard concession for me to make. I pinch the bridge of my nose as I force myself to accept it. Besides, I reason with myself, I have to fly to Los Angeles for the weekend, and I’ll likely not have time for anything more.
“Deal,” she agrees. “I’m glad we got that worked out. But that isn’t really why I’m calling.”
“Oh?” And now I remember why I’d done all my checking in with my brother-in-law. I was afraid of the conversation that I’m certain she’s about to embark on.
“Nope. You and Laynie…”
It’s kind the way she trails off, letting me fill in the blanks rather than asking me straight out. But I know that if I don’t answer the way she wants, she’ll become more direct. I’m not surprised that she’s asking. She’d noticed we were…strained…when we visited her at the hospital. She’d even sent Alayna and me out of the room to repair whatever was wrong. The time alone with Alayna was hard. Still worked up over the cause for our emergency visit, the rift between us seemed so inconsequential. But, of course, it isn’t. And though I wanted to do nothing but pull her into my arms and confess every secret, including how much I love her, I refrained.
For Mirabelle’s sake, we agreed to set aside our issues and put on a happy face. It seemed like my sister bought it. She convinced Alayna of that, anyway. I knew better. Mirabelle has a knack for reading people. She has a knack for reading me. I’ve never been able to fool her.
So I don’t begin to think I can fool her now. “I fucked up, Mirabelle.” That about sums it up.
“What did you do?” Her voice is low and tense, and I momentarily regret saying anything. Not because I’m not willing to share but because I’m worried about stressing her out.
But it’s out now. I don’t have to say everything, but I have to say something. “I lied to her.”
“And she found out?” She doesn’t ask the details of my deceit, which I appreciate.
“Yes. She found out. But there’s more I haven’t told her, more I need to say.” I’m surprised that I’m spilling my soul so easily. And it feels good. All the build-up, I think I’ve been desperate to talk to someone. Since I’d never initiate a conversation, I’m suddenly grateful that Mirabelle did.
“Okay.” She takes a breath that’s deep enough I can hear it through the line. “So you need to tell her, but you haven’t?”
“No.”
“Because you’re afraid of…what?”
“Losing her.” Just saying the words makes my throat tight.
“But you won’t know that unless you tell her. Will you?”
Isn’t that the question of the decade. The question of my lifetime, actually. It’s been four days since I declared we needed time. Four nights that I haven’t buried myself inside her, haven’t felt her clench around me, haven’t fallen asleep to the sound of her rhythmic breathing. Four days and nights—it feels like forever. And still I don’t know what I should do.