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“I heard what he said. He made it clear what he thinks of me.”
“But do you know what he thinks of her?”
Her soft tone makes me pause, makes me consider my next words before releasing them. “No. But I saw his reaction when he saw her. It...it wasn’t what I would expect—knowing Stewart as I—we—once did.” I look up to see her nodding, her mouth tight. “He loves her.” The words crush out of me, words that I have held back from myself, refusing to see what was so clearly laid out in devastating order before me. She moves beside me, taking the seat to my left, her hand reaching out and looping through mine, tugging it to her.
I know,” she whispers.
I lean into her, smelling the scent of her perfume, different than what she used to wear. Her hair is now dark, a chocolate brown that suits her, and she is wearing a suit. I frown, looking at the dark pinstripe of her pants. I don’t even know where she works—if she is still in accounting or if she has moved to a different field. I look at the bed, at the still figure there. “What do I do, Dana? This whole thing is so f**ked up...”
“You talk to him,” she whispers, patting my hand. “Go out and talk to him, away from her.”
I shake my head. “I’m not leaving her. Not when any moment...” my words break. I swallow. “The doctor says she’s still unstable.”
She grips my arm, the hold tight. “You don’t need to fight over her body. Talk outside, let her have peace to heal.”
I turn, letting her see, through my eyes, my resolve. “Bring him here. She’s as much a part of this as we are. I’m not stepping away from this bed till they pull me away. Please.”
Her eyes sink a bit, and I can see disappointment in their depths, her grip weakening on my arm. “Fine,” she lets go of my arm. “I’ll go talk to him.”
“Hey,” I call out, a moment too late, when the door is swinging shut behind her. I reach for the handle, but her foot kicks back, holding the door, her eyes looking expectantly my way. “I missed you. Thanks for coming.”
She steps backward, and I move forward and we hug. A tight embrace that reminds me of what I have missed out on. “I love you,” she whispers.
“I love you too.”
STEWART
I walk down the hall, nurses barely glancing up—the drama of earlier gone. They have now accepted the fact that Madison has two boyfriends, and that we are both present, the additional female regarded as a non-issue. I check my messages outside, six new voicemails all urgently demanding a callback. I have not called them back but they weigh on my mind, poking my brain at inopportune moments.
Madison has never asked me to cut back my hours. She accepted my schedule, my obligations. She just explained, in no uncertain terms, that schedule would mean non-exclusivity.
A part of me wonders if I’ll be able to do it. Be able to cut back. Work less. Delegate more. Six voicemails. I shouldn’t be thinking of them—not when her life hangs in the balance.
I hesitate outside the door, taking a deep breath and steeling myself. For the image of her, plugged in and supported with cords and machines. For the image of him, my baby brother, stars in his eyes and all grown up, ready to fight me over the woman I love.
I push the door open and step into the room, his head tilting up, his eyes steady on mine. He stands on the opposite side of her bed and I step forward, until the only thing separating us is her body. His eyes are wet but steady. This is not the same man who crumbled under my words an hour earlier. This man has fight in his eyes, strength in his shoulders. And I am suddenly hit with a burst of pride in him.
I come to a stop and we stare at each other for a long moment without speaking.
“You can’t have her.” His voice is strong, resolute.
I glance to the monitors. “Neither one of us might get that opportunity.”
Anger lights his face. “She’ll make it. You don’t know her. She’s strong.”
I want to respond, to put him in his place but the truth hits me hard. I don’t know her. I know her body, ever last inch of it. I can close my eyes and draw out every curve of her skin, freckle on her face, flex of her muscles. I can tell from her breathing when she is about to come, can describe the moan she makes when she needs it harder, the gasp when my length has hit the place where she likes it. But her? I have spent too little time with her. I love her, but I need more time to know her. I don’t know what time she wakes up in the morning, don’t know her favorite ice cream flavor or what caused the small scar on the back of her knee. I don’t know her mother’s name, her TV shows, or how she likes her steak. But I do know that Paul is right. She has fire. She has fight. If there is a way, her mind will make it happen. I look down at her. “You love her.”
“Yes. I’m not letting her go.”
I pull my gaze back to him, my eyes heavy, not wanting to see what rests there. Resolve. “You fall in love easily, Paul. You don’t know what—“
“You don’t know me anymore, Stewart. You don’t have the right to tell me how I love. I’m not the nineteen year old kid you walked out on.”
No, he isn’t. I feel lost, like I have no footing in this room and am questioning every word that comes out of my mouth while he—he is so secure. Strong. Like this is his room and I am an intruder in it, instead of the opposite way around. “She was mine first, Paul. I had her. I told her to find someone to keep her entertained.” I looked at him. “Entertained, Paul. That was it. I was always the primary in this relationship. You were the secondary.”
“Your work is the primary. Everything else in your life comes secondary.” His voice rises and he points to me, then to her. “Tell me that isn’t true. Tell me you didn’t put her to the side while you slaved away for your job. Tell me she wasn’t an afterthought to your business and deals.”
I can’t. I softly run a hand over hers, wanting to get on my knees and beg for forgiveness. I curse his presence for being here right now. When all I want is to be alone with her and tell her how I feel. Tell her the mistakes I’ve made. Apologize for any and every time that I put her second in my life. I clear my throat. “I can’t fix what I’ve done. I can only change going forward.”
“Bullshit. You aren’t going to step in as a Monday-morning quarterback. I gave her my heart two years ago, spent every day of that time being there for her. This is the woman I wake up next to every day. Every day except when you snap your fingers and steal her for the night. I breathe and live for her. She is mine, despite what you think or say.”
