Shout (The Voice Trilogy Book 3) (4 page)

              “That is unreal, Sophie, did you say it back?” she asks with baited breath.

              “Of course I said it back, are you kidding?” I fill my chest with breath and continue while she smiles like an idiot. “Of course, I love him, Olivia. How could I not?”

              “Well,” she starts as she hops off the bed, “I knew you loved him. I just wasn’t sure you knew it yet.” She turns and looks at me with a sly grin, knowing how reluctant I have always been to confess my feelings. When you open your heart and admit to your feelings for someone, you become beholden to those feelings, a slave to those feelings. I’ve been a slave to infatuation and irrational attachment. I won’t go back. I am saved from any further probing by the ring of her phone. She sprints across the room to catch it.

              “Yes!” she exclaims, holding it up before she answers. “It’s Nina.” She paces back and forth across the hallway, throwing me a wink and a thumbs up every once in a while. Disappearing behind a closed door, she tries to dig deeper. She volleys calls between Kylie and Nina until she is satisfied that she has pieced together a story.

              By the next morning, Olivia has managed to crack the code. We walk and talk and she fills me in on every little sordid and calculated detail. Nadja’s twisted sense of loyalty and betrayal is beyond me. She used Kylie, broke her heart and blamed her for it, claiming it was all in the name of love. Then just as quickly as she arrived, she disappears for two days and shows up with her ex.

It took hours for Kylie to crack, she was so humiliated and hurt, but she and Olivia had once been close, I knew she would get it out of her eventually. The way Nadja led her on is sickening, her claims of wanting to protect Rhys from embarrassment and ruin were just a Band-Aid to Kylie’s aching heart. She lied to Kylie, she lied to Bianca, she lied to everyone.

Olivia concludes that the baby must belong to the ex, but I'm not so sure. I'm not sure there is a baby at all, but only time will tell. I can’t imagine the turmoil this would all be causing Rhys. Part of me wishes he was here to help me through, yet another part is relieved that he is not so we can figure all this out without his interference, without him ‘protecting’ me by keeping it all away from me. Olivia hits the shower in triumph while I pace the kitchen and process

              “Sophie!” I hear the door swing open and Matthew’s heavy footsteps as he bounds through the foyer. I catch him coming around the corner, winded, but a positive grin on his face. “Sophie,” he stops to catch his breath and rests his hands on my shoulders, centering himself, focusing on me. “Sophie, Michael asked for you.” As his words sink in, my heart leaps into my throat and I tear up the stairs and into my room, grabbing my purse and rushing out the door, hot on Matthews heels. I am overwhelmed with glee at the idea of being even in the same building as Rhys.

              When I walk into Michael’s room the strangest sense of relief crashes over me, wave after wave, until I am a sobbing, soggy mess. Anyone witnessing the ordeal would believe I had walked into my own father’s room to discover him alive and well, just a little worse for wear, but this isn’t my father; this is Michael Slate,
the
Michael Slate, and he summoned me. I stand at the door, unable to move, unsure of what to do, and mortified by my emotional outburst over this man I have met but once for just a moment.

              “My goodness, young lady, why do you weep like that?” He motions for me to come closer.

              “I...I’m sorry, Mr. Slate, I am just so glad to see you, happy that you are okay.” My voice cracks as I wipe away tears, trying to clear my vision.

              “Dear sweet girl, no wonder my son has fallen so hard for you. Come in and sit, Sophie, we have a few things to discuss.”

              “Discuss?” I question, pulling a chair up to his bedside. There is something so familiar about this man, so gentle, he puts me right at ease, although I can’t fathom what we could have to discuss. “Shouldn’t you rest?”

              “No, my dear girl, I have been doing nothing but resting due to these militant nurses.” He winks at the short Latina nurse who is checking his IV and she blushes deeply, fluttering her eyelashes at him before leaving the room, leaving us alone. “Now, I assume you have seen my son?”

              “No, sir.”

              “No?” The shock in his voice echoes from the cold hospital walls. “How is it possible that you haven’t seen him yet?”

              I pause for a moment, remembering what Rhys has told me about his mother and father, wondering if it is a good idea to even bring her up.

              “Well, um….,” I struggle to find my voice, “Bianca.”

              “Bianca, of course. Say no more, Sophie, say no more.” He shakes his head and reaches to his bedside table, grabbing a pair of readers and a small stack of papers. “Don’t you worry about Bianca anymore, young lady, we will rectify this immediately. I was able to see him for a bit this morning. The boy is being quite lazy if you ask me. Always with the dramatics.” He looks over his glasses with a wink and a crinkled nose. “I’ve been told the swelling has subsided so they will be taking him off of those God awful drugs. He should be back to himself in no time”

I am amazed that he can have a sense of humor, lying in a hospital bed while his son hovers precariously in a coma; yet I am completely overwhelmed and distracted by the idea of finally being able to see Rhys, my heart could burst, yet, it is fear that chokes me. What will he look like? God, I don’t want to cry, but I already feel the tears sneaking in. Every fear from the last few days comes rushing in and I am drowning in ‘what if’s?’ When I look up, I see Mr. Slate’s questioning face.

              “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you,” I mumble, trapped in my own mind. I barely make eye contact and he just grins.

              “It’s quite alright, my dear, I didn’t say a word. I was just watching you, admiring you. My son has told me so much about you, I feel like we are old friends, or family, perhaps.” My chest warms at his words and my heart swells, pushing a heavy tear down my cheek. “I think you should take some time to go see him first. We can talk when you return. Call the nurse for me and we’ll get someone to accompany you to make sure there aren’t any misunderstandings.”

 CH. 5

              The wind is knocked from my lungs when I step into his darkened room. His skin is cool and tacky. Limp fingers splay from his open hand; his arms lay lifeless at his sides. Machines pump blood into his body, oxygen into his lungs, and life into his heart. His full lips are slack and gray, desperate for the heat of a kiss to wake him from his slumber. I lean over and kiss him gently, careful not to disturb the breathing tube, but his mouth is hard and unresponsive. Like a fool in a fairy tale, I step back for a moment, hoping for him to wake up, but he just lies there.

The heart monitor doesn’t skip a beat, not even a flutter. I slide my fingers into his open hand and squeeze, setting a slow, pulsing rhythm like the beat of a heart, squeezing his hand and releasing; my own life support, something to distract me from the silence, the crushing lack of his voice that scares me and takes me to a place I do not want to be. The place where I am alone, no family, no heart; that’s about as alone as it gets.

I must have sat there just watching his chest rise and fall for over an hour, the stagnant beat of the machines lulling me into a state of hypnosis. I breathe in when he inhales, and I exhale with him. His breaths are shallow, but getting deeper with every pull.

              “You will not leave me alone, do you hear me?” I rest my arms on the bed and lean into him. He does not smell like my Rhys. He smells like antiseptic and fresh plastic. Just a hint of his rosemary and mint shampoo remains behind his ear, and I take a deep hit, pulling him as far into my lungs as I can.

              “Leave it to you to do something so dramatic just to get me back here. Everything has to be big with you, always showing off.” I lay my head down on the bed next to our entwined hands and take a deep breath, cooling my throat. “You have my attention now. I am sorry that I left, that I didn’t stay and just tell you the truth. I wish that I could do that now. Do you even know I am here? Do you want me here?” His pinky flutters.
Did I feel that? Did I make it up
? An almost imperceptible squeeze from all fingers makes my heart pound.

              “Do that again,” I quietly demand. His fingers tighten around mine and my heart leaps into my throat. A violent tattoo thumps against my chest. I pick up his call button and ring for the nurse. His head rolls to the side and a gentle flutter crosses the dark lashes that lay on his cheek. He squeezes my hand again. I grasp him so strongly wanting to give him strength, my strength. The nurses rush into the room and shoo me away from his bed, ripping him from my grip as they check his machines and talk to him. His eyes flutter, but don’t open.

              “Mr. Slate, can you open your eyes?” the nurse asks, checking his pulse. “Mr. Slate, do you know where you are?” I watch as his head rolls and his beautiful green eyes open. He looks right at me and my heart stops. A small smile cracks across his stiff mouth and I stop breathing for a moment. Dropping my shoulders, I can finally breathe deeply and a sigh of relief starts deep in my toes. He tries to talk, but the breathing tube down his throat won’t allow it. One of the nurses turns to me and herds me towards the door.

“I need you to step outside, miss.”

“But,” my tongue is twisted and the thought of leaving his side is atrocious.

“It will only be a few moments. Just so we can remove his breathing tube and check his vitals. Just wait right outside, I’ll come get you.” She gently nudges me out the door and closes it behind her, and I wait. After what feels like an hour, although, I’m sure it was maybe five minutes, the door opens and I walk back into the room, watching as a nurse hands him a cup of ice chips. Slowly they make their way from the room, one by one. When we are alone again, he is lying with his eyes closed and I am anchored to the corner, wondering if it was all a dream.                            

“Sophie,” his hoarse voice pulls me from my shock and I rush to his side, sweeping his hand into mine. I caress the back of his hand with my damp cheek. My heart full of relief, but fractured from such intense worry. It aches in my chest, threatening to burst. I climb onto the narrow hospital bed and I curl around him, my head resting on his chest. The thump of his heart against my ear is magical and the feel of his warm breath sliding down my neck has me floating. We have another chance. I get another chance. I look up into his face and find his eyes wide and warm. Dark circles cast a shadow down his cheek and his jaw is covered by a faint beard.

              “You scared me,” I whisper.

              “I had to get you back here,” he teases, pulling me closer. His grasp is weak, so I press myself against him. The nurses don’t let me linger for long, and he isn’t awake for more than a few minutes before the exhaustion and residual drugs take him back into a deep sleep but, my heart is lighter for the few moments we have.

              When I return to Michael’s room, he appears to be asleep, but as I try to duck out quietly he sits up with a sly grin.

              “Don’t go, Ms. Noelle,” he chuckles, “I was just playing possum. The nurse keeps trying to give me a sponge bath and she just won’t take no for an answer.” He winks at me and I burst into laughter, over tired, delirious laughter that catches me off guard, but makes him chuckle with pride at his joke.

              “I see what my boy likes about you, my dear, that smile is enough to light the night.” I feel myself turn crimson and bite back my laughter out of embarrassment. “Don’t stifle that enchanting sound; it makes me feel young to make a beautiful woman laugh.” I smile at him and take a seat next to the bed.

              “You sell yourself short, Mr. Slate,” I tease as he pulls a stack of papers into his lap and slides on his bi-focals.

              “Please, no formalities. I want you to call me Michael.” He looks over the rim of his glasses and waits for me to agree.

              “Yes, sir,” I remark, without thinking.

              “Sir? Now you are laboring to make me feel old again, young lady.” I open my mouth, but not a word slips out. “Relax, I’m teasing. You’re adorable when you blush.” I sit back and try to fight off the red as he shuffles the papers in his lap. “Now, it has occurred to me that my son will want to go over most of this with you, but there is one caveat that I would like to address. Whereas, I would seldom doubt his judgment when it comes to matters of business, I always do my due diligence.”

              “I’m not sure I understand what we are talking about.”

              “My son let a very valuable piece of property go after you left; a piece of property that he had fought hard to keep, most notably against my wishes. I have a keen sense that you had something to do with that.”

              “I’m not following you, sir, I’m sorry.”

              “A charitable trust was set up in your name, Ms. Noelle. An educational trust, and its first rule of business was to save PS138. Rhys had invested in a very restricted piece of property directly adjacent to the school, one he had planned to develop against stiff opposition from the community and the school board. He was working to have that school shut down to clear the way for his development.”

              “I know what you’re talking about, but I don’t understand what it has to do with me?”

              “It has everything to do with you, my dear. I had been urging him for over a year to let that property go, to donate it and move on, but he had his heels dug so far into the dirt there was no moving him. He is a shrewd business man, but has always been better than me at leaving his heart at the door. Emotional decisions are not his style; this was most definitely an emotional decision. And, as it is the decision I was always hoping he would come to, I have to ask myself, why?” I don’t know what to say. He shot me down and barely listened to me that night. I surely had nothing to do with that decision. “Now, it’s quite obvious that he is taken with you, I thought it only proper that we get to know each other better since we will inevitably be working together.”

              “Now, I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

              “No, you wouldn’t, but you will. And in any case, that’s not important now. What is important, Sophie, is how you feel about Rhys. I think I can guess.” I am stunned into silence, not sure what he is asking or what he wants. “He loves you.” He watches my reaction closely, but there is no surprise, just a wash of comfort in hearing someone else’s utterance of the words. “I don’t know that he had a chance to tell you, but he does.”

              “Yes, sir, he did” my voice cracks slightly and look into his eyes and letting the moment stretch.

              “I see. Well, thank the good Lord for that then. I do believe the man upstairs was looking after us that day. He will be ok, you know. He has a few battered bones and a few other minor scrapes, but he will be ok. It is just that brain they are worried about, but he will be ok, just as I will be, just as we all will be.” My chest swells at the familiar way he addresses me, as if we truly are family.

              After a long, awkward conversation full of questions, but no direct answers, I am still left in the dark, feeling as if I have passed some test set forth by Michael. I can’t believe Rhys gave that land back. I’m so very proud of him. I ask Michael to make sure I can stay the night with Rhys and call Olivia to have her bring me some things. There is no way I am leaving his side again, not until we can walk out of this hospital together.