Vital Sign (24 page)

In spite of the growing knot in my throat
, I look up from the floor to stare straight ahead at a deep pink vertical scar. It’s wide and long, extending the full length of his sternum.

My head lowers and my eyes drift askew of their own volition. The sight of his scar makes me sad for him and resentful all at once.
Two-year-old questions surface again and I feel like I’m drowning in my emotions. Why does he get to live? Why did Jacob have to die? Why do I have this stupid guilt keeping me from walking away from it all? I know none of this is Zander’s fault. I’ve been fighting so hard to not fall for him. I know that it’s shitty of me to hold a grudge against him for reasons that make zero sense. Maybe I don’t have a grudge at all. Maybe I just hate that I feel guilty for being attracted to him. For wanting him. For
needing
him. I feel bad that a small part of me is thankful that he’s the man who received my husband’s heart.

Tears stream from
my eyes, making me want to hide. I want to hide from everything. Zander’s hand lifts to cup my cheek and he gently lifts my head to face him. The anguish that I saw for a moment has been replaced with a look of sympathy. A look of love.

“
I don’t hate you,” I cry. “I’m glad that you’re alive. I guess—I guess that sometimes I’m just not glad that
I
am.” My admission feels like it’s more for me than it is for him.

He sighs heavily and pulls me to his bare chest with such force that the breath in my lungs rushes out. Our bodies meld together. The anger that I’ve cultivated for so long is gone and I let go. With my cheek pressed to his chest
, I sob to the sound of the steady, strong heart that I’ve loved for so long. It’s a heart that I’ll continue to love. Even if it now belongs to Zander. Maybe,
specifically
now that it belongs to Zander.

“I’m sorry, Zander. I’m
so sorry,” I sputter against his chest through heavy sobs.

“Me too, baby
,” he whispers, his lips and nose resting against the top of my head. “I need you,” he breathes heavily, his voice filled with emotion.

“Me too,” I admit.

His lips cover mine, leading us in an unrushed, passionate kiss that soothes both of us. It’s been a stressful day for both of us. I try hard to ignore the nerves that have left me tattered and focus on just him. Just us. I ignore the last two years. I ignore what I know I have to do if I have any hopes of moving on with Zander.

He
releases me and leads me to the bed, pushing gently on my shoulders until I sit on the edge. He gets down on one knee, lifting one foot then the other to slip off my heels. His lips are soft against the skin at my ankle. He drops kisses where the straps of the heels have rubbed, creating subtle red marks.

“
I need you, Sadie,” he repeats low enough that I think he’s talking more to himself than to me. “All of you,” he goes on. Zander gets to his feet and steps between my knees, spreading them wide to accommodate his body. His fingers glide lightly up the back of my neck to lace into my hair. He tugs, gently forcing me to look up at him. “Sadie, please say that I can have all of you. Tell me that you don’t hate me for what he did, for who I am. Tell me that you can accept me the way I am.” His voice is lusty and full of emotion. Being back in Atlanta to face his world and mine has both of us shaken and needing something to cling to. He needs me. This smart, strong, wounded man
needs
me, and in spite of myself, I’m sure that it’s clear that I need him too. I need him so much it hurts.

I nod my head.

“No. Tell me. Please,” he insists.

“I don’t hate you
,” I answer softly. “I swear it. I could never hate you.” More tears edge into my eyes, the source of this emotion a mix. It’s a culmination of events and circumstance two years in the making.

Zander pulls me to my feet
and reaches around, unzipping my dress in the back. He grabs hold of the chiffon fabric, gathering it up in his big hands, and pulls it up and over my head. His sapphire eyes are burning bright with lust and just about the full spectrum of emotions.

Once m
y breasts are freed from the dress and exposed, I feel his fingers hook into my lace panties. He drags them down my legs to join my dress on the floor. His eyes pour over every square inch of my exposed skin, making me feel beautiful instead of insecure. He makes me feel needed. Treasured.

The pad of his thumb brushes over the scar where the bullet ripped through my flesh, seemingly erasing the negativity that
’s attached to it. His touch is magic. The light to my dark. The only good in my ocean of bad.

I work with shaky fing
ers to free him from his pants. The slacks and boxer briefs fall to the floor and Zander steps out of them, pushing me back onto the bed. He hovers above me, his eyes tender and kind. Loving and intense. Scared and insecure. My sweet black sheep. I cup his face in my hands and pull him down to me. A gravelly groan escapes him and he devotes all of himself to this moment. His lips kiss mine passionately, his tongue slipping in and out of my mouth, brushing against mine. He hooks his fingers behind my knee and gently pulls it up, allowing his hips to settle deep between my thighs.

“Zander,” I whisper his name just to hear it.

“I’m right here, baby,” he murmurs back between warm, wet kisses on my neck.

The wide tip of his erection bumps against my slick center. I squirm beneath him
, begging for him to fill me. Zander grips his rigid length and positions himself at the opening to my ready body. His dark blue eyes watch me carefully as I take in every inch of him. He slowly buries himself deeper and deeper until my flesh is fully sheathing his erection. My body accepts all of him almost greedily, my muscles clenching and tightening around him on their own. Zander leans down, caging me with his body. I run my fingers lightly over the scar on his chest, feeling so painfully relieved that he got Jake’s heart. My first love’s heart saved my future love’s life. I can’t feel much of anything right now except relief that Zander is here with me. The methods by which he got his transplant don’t matter to me. What matters is that Alexander McBride is with me right here, right now.

He withdraws and slowly pushes back into me. Tears fill my eyes
, but Zander catches each of them with the pad of his thumb. He wipes them away and takes his time making love to me.

Making love.

April 27, 2013

The sun has barely risen. It’s just above the horizon, sending shades of orange and pink out across the sky. I glance back at Zander and choke down my soft crying.

We made love last night and
talked. Everything he told me has forced me to make a decision, to pick a heart to break. I pick mine. I’ll break my heart. I’ll shatter it into a million pieces if that’s what it takes. I’ll do it for Zander. I’ll do it for me too.

The emotion we shared last night was so different. Zander made love to me. He worshipped every inch of my body. He looked at me with such reverie it made my chest ache and tears swim in my eyes. Without saying a word
, he said so much. I don’t want to lose him to a past that has already taken so much and I know that if I don’t do the right thing, the hard thing, he’s as good as gone, just in a different way than Jake.

My mother is right. I have to close a door before I open another. It’s time to close Jake’s door.

My note is quick and to the poin
t.

Zander,

I think we both know what I have to do. Give me time. Give me room. I’ll find my way back.

-Sadie

I quietly gather up my things and take a deep breath, deciding not to look back at the peaceful looking black sheep in the bed sleeping.

It’s a Saturday morning and plenty of people are starting to mill around
in the hotel lobby, getting their complimentary coffee and starting their day. I think if the situation was any different, I may actually give a damn that I’m clearly making the walk of shame with smudged makeup, tangled hair, and a slightly wrinkled coral sundress. I can’t find the emotion to care if I wanted to. Tears silently slip down my face as I pull out my phone and text Mom.

I need you. Come over?

-Sadie

I send the text and hold my hand up
, motioning to the doorman for a cab. I slip into the back seat with my bag and prepare myself for heartbreak.

“803 Chestnut Lane,” I mumble to the cab driver.

My phone chimes with an incoming text from Mom.

On my way
.

***

I’ve been home for less than half an hour. I turned my phone off as soon as I got home because I knew Zander would try calling when he found my note. I’ve cried and tried my best to explain everything to Mom, knowing that she’ll listen and give advice. She’ll hug. She’ll push, squeeze, and corner me in the right direction. I’ve opened Pandora’s Box and there’s no shutting it now. There’s no stopping it. There’s no slowing it down.

“Oh
, baby girl,” Mom coos gently with her eyebrows furrowed.

The doorbell rings and my heart sinks. I know who it is. Zander. I look to
Mom for help.

“I can’t do that for you, baby girl. You tell that man what’s in your heart.”

The bell rings again and I wipe my face with the wad of tissue in my hand as I head to the door to face my black sheep.

I open the door and lean against the frame
, feeling like I may be too weak to do this. Seeing a disheveled Zander on my porch in a white t-shirt and jeans makes my heart clench. He runs his hands through his hair and holds up my note.

“What the fuck is this?” he whispers
, clearly hurt and confused.

My face contorts a little and new tears spill onto my cheeks.
“I—I can’t,” I make a weak effort at explaining myself but find that I fall short where words are concerned.

“For God’s sake, Sadie, are you really going to stand here and deny me the one thing that I know I was born to do? To be?
Is that what this is?” he asks, waving the note in front of my face. “Because if you are—if you insist on closing that door—I’ll be forced to tell you that facing a future without you in it is a future I want no part of. I’ll be forced to tell you that I’ll wake up every day searching for you beside me. I’ll be forced to tell you that I’ll be ruined for any other woman. Maybe I already am.”

Zander’s eyes are tender and pleading
, which rips and claws at my already shredded heart. He lifts a hand, placing it against my cheek. He’s trembling and it kills me. I reflexively lean into his touch. It’s magnetic. It pulls at me every time I’m near and there never has been much resisting it.

“What is it that you were born to do, Zander?”
I ask, knowing that what he has to say is going to hurt, but it may give me the strength to go through with what I know I have to do. It may give me the strength that it’s going to take for me to close Jake’s door so that I can walk through Zander’s open one.

“To mend you when the world breaks you. To keep you safe. To tell you when you’re wrong but scream to the world that you’re right. To stand beside you no matter what comes
our way. To wager my next breath, against all odds if I have to, just to see you happy. To love you.” He explains it simply, but the intensity burning in those sapphire eyes speaks to me the loudest of all.

I see so much in those eyes. I have since they met with mine on the beach. Zander, more often than not, doesn’t require words where I’m concerned. He looks my direction
and even with my back to him, I feel the weight of his gaze. My body has always turned to him involuntarily and responded to the summons that his dark blue eyes issue.

“Zander
…” I’m too weak to speak. I’m too weak to even stand here in front of him. I want so badly to be courageous and tell him that I want the exact same thing as him and that I wish I could be the same for him. I wish for so much that may never come to fruition. I’ll keep wishing, nonetheless.

“Shush, baby. Come here.” He holds out his hand
, inviting me to my favorite and most dreaded place on the planet.

I put my hand in his and step into him, resting my ear against his chest. Listening. Absorbing. Feeling that familiar thump coming from within Zander’s muscle
-planed chest. I absorb what I can so that the coming days, weeks, months, however long it takes, without him maybe be a little more bearable.

“You have to let me do what I have to do
. I can’t let you in here,” I say, stepping back from him and holding my hand to my chest, “…until I let Jake out.”

Zander’s face contorts with
the understanding of what I’m asking him to do.

“Wait for me. Please just wait for me.”

“I’ve been waiting for twenty-nine years, Sadie. What’s a little longer, right?” His sad smile nearly breaks me. “See ya, Slim,” Zander whispers, his voice tight with emotion. He plants a tender kiss on my forehead and then turns to walk away.

I watch as
the Lincoln drives away. If Zander looked back, I wouldn’t even know it, because I can’t see through the windows. He’s done what I asked him to do. He’s left me to do what I have to. So why the fuck does it hurt so much?

***

May 1, 2013…

I glance over to
Mom, knowing that she’s ready to push and squeeze and corner me. I know that she loves me. I know that she wants the best for me. I know that she wants me to stop fighting against the current of my grief, but I can’t. I just don’t know how.

“Sadie, it’s time to stop this
.” She motions to my room, which has become a shrine to the love that was ripped from me. I don’t have to look around to see what she’s talking about. I know what she means. His laundry, his knick knacks, his shoes. It’s all here right where he left it.

“M
om, please don’t start. Not now.” I shake my head, my hands held up.

“If not now, then when
, Sadie?” she snaps as she stomps further into my room, cornering me. “You sent that man away so that you can finally let go and yet here you are, still fighting! Still hanging on to the past!” she crows in a high-pitched voice. “When. Are. You. Going. To. Let. Go?” she whispers, her words a staccato.

Pushed. Squeezed. Cornered
.

“When you’re seventy years old and your life has passed right by you? When your chance at love and children and any semblance of happiness has
gone by?”

“You just can’t give me an inch
, can you?” I hiss.

“An inch? Sadie, I’ve sat back for over two years watching you hate your life and everyone in it! Enough
!” she snaps, her voice shaky and rife with desperation.

“I’m not a child. Don’t talk to me like that.
It’s hard, okay? I can’t help that I feel the way I feel.” I stand squared off against Mom, hating what’s coming but knowing that I need this. I need her to do what she does best. Push. Squeeze. Corner. It’s like ripping a bandage off, or downing a shot of tequila. No one
enjoys
those things. People don’t slowly peel up the adhesive edges of their bandage. No one slowly sips on a shot of cheap tequila so that they can revel in the burn. They take a deep breath and get it over with. I need to find courage and bravery to get it over with. 

“No
, but you can certainly choose to let it all go, to stop pushing everyone away,” she pleads. “You can choose to let
Jake
go!”

“I’m handling my grief how I want,
Mom. I’ll figure it out,” I mumble, knowing that it’s a lie. I’m putting myself up on the gallows for Mom to crucify the demons that live within me. These demons that grief, bitterness, and isolation have spawned and nursed for 763 days.

“Your brand of
handling
it isn’t handling it at all! He’s gone, Sadie. He’s not coming back. It’s time to stop this and let him go. Please!” she begs as her voice becomes shaky and full of emotion. She inches closer to me with her arms out, inviting me into the first safe place I’ve ever known. It’s the place that almost everyone feels safest. With your head on your mother’s shoulder, the world could be crumbling into nothingness, but you’d never know, because you’re in the safety of your mother’s arms. 

I shake my head and hold my finger up
, signaling her to stop right there. I can’t do this. I won’t retreat to that safe place, or argue with her about Jake’s death or how I’m handling it. I can’t take it. I just need her to push my buttons like she’s good at so I can rip the bandage off. I’ve lost Jake and Zander and my heart can’t take anymore hurt. “Don’t. Not now.”

“Yes. It’s time to go there, Sadie,” she insists stepping closer to me.

“Don’t, Mom.”

“You’ve got to trust me, Sadie,”

“Stop!” I cry out, really meaning keep going. I think she knows. My mother knows me better than I know myself.

“I won’t stop
!” she reminds me, her voice rising. “Not until you let go. You’ve got to go there. You’ve gotta go to that place you’re most scared of. You have got to admit that he’s gone.”

“Fine!
Is this what you want?” I march into the closet and wrap my arms around as many of Jake’s clothes as I can, still on hangers, and rip them from the rack. Hangers fly in every direction. I storm out of the closet and hurl the clothes onto the bed. It should take every bit of strength I have to throw the heavy mass of garments, but the anger I feel makes the clothes feel feather light. “Come on, Mom! Tell me! Is this what you want from me? To get rid of all of his stuff? Make it look like he was never even here? Is this what I get for catching that man that night? Is this my punishment?” I stomp back into the closet and grab more clothes, pulling them from the rack like I’ve lost my mind. In truth, I may have.

Mom stands at the foot of the bed
, watching me carefully, her expression blank. I catch sight of the tears gathering in her eyes like heavy rain drops, ready to spill onto her cheeks. It’s the only evidence that proves this isn’t something she’s enjoying. The rational part of me knows that. The screwed up part of me can’t fathom that anyone could ever hurt this much but I do. I hurt so much that I can’t breathe.

I hurry over to Jake’s nightstand and yank the top drawer completely from its rails. His trinkets, pieces of paper, business cards, a bottle of cologne and other miscellaneous things go flying into the air like confetti. “Is this what it takes?!” I scream at the top of my lungs. I stoop down to the floor in front of his nightstand. The second drawer is next to withstand my wrath. I pull it out and begin throwing the contents onto the carpeted floor. My eyes scan the room for more evidence of Jake’s life. I get to my feet and round the bed to my side. My arm flies out,
grabbing the framed picture of me and Jake from the top of my nightstand. It hits the wall and shatters. Sharp bits of glass scatter on the carpet.

I’m hyperventilating now. My heart feels like it’s breaking all over again. I stumble across the room
and back into the closet. I bend and scoop up the laundry basket with Jake’s last outfit sitting in the bottom. With the basket in front of me, I carry it out into the bedroom. Tears run like rivers down my face. I glance to Mom, looking, praying,
pleading
for her to stop me, to tell me I’ve done enough. To tell me I don’t have to do anymore of this. Not today. My silent plea goes unanswered. Mom eyes me and my basket without saying a word.