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“Don’t tell me how to act.” I shove his hand away before marching toward the doors leading inside the hospital. Not for the first time do I ask myself who the fuck he thinks he is.
At least I know it’s not a problem with her health that brought her here. Which only leads me to wonder why she was contacting people from what I can’t help but think of as her former life. If it’s that ex of hers, I swear to Christ, I don’t care what Vincent thinks or how torn up she is. There’s no way I’d be able to act like anything about that is normal.
I reach the ICU with no problem and am immediately questioned by a nurse sitting behind the desk in the center of the hall. “Can I help you?” she asks, looking me up and down. I can’t tell if she approves of what she sees or not.
What I don’t need right now is her restricting my access, so I make a point of being cordial, even resting my forearms on the counter and leaning in slightly. “I hope you can. A friend of mine came in to visit somebody who’s here in your ICU. We were supposed to meet up in the garage before she came up, but she was in a hurry. I have no idea which room the patient is in.”
“And what would the patient’s name be?”
Damn it. “Um…” My eyes dart around, my thoughts spinning. What do I say? Normally I’d throw some money at the problem and trust it to go away, but this nurse doesn’t look like the type who’d go for that. Ethics and whatnot.
Then, I see Delilah, sitting in a room across from where I’m standing, her head in the lap of the person lying in the bed. “There she is.” The nurse sounds like she wants to stop me, but she has another thing coming if she thinks that would work. Nothing in the world could keep me from that room. My shoes slap against the tile floor as I round the desk and approach a glass-walled room.
Immediately, my original theory flies out the window. All it takes is setting eyes on the girl in the bed. For one horrifying moment I’m propelled back to that night, to finding Delilah curled up on that filthy mattress in that decrepit house. This girl still has her hair, but her face is a mangled, bandaged mess.
Delilah hasn’t raised her head. I don’t even think she heard me approach. From where I stand I hear her murmuring softly, sweetly, and I realize she’s singing even if I can’t make out the tune. She’s holding the girl’s hand, too, rubbing her thumb over the girl’s knuckles.
Now I’m regretting being here. There’s something almost solemn about this. I don’t want to break into the moment. It would be like doing a tap dance in church.
“Stay with me,” I hear her whisper before sniffling loudly. “Please, don’t leave me. Who am I without you? Don’t you know you’re half of me? You can’t leave me in this world, you just can’t.”
I thought she was alone. That was how she made it sound. She kept something from me, kept someone from me.You didn’t have any right to know. Of all the times for my father’s voice to ring out in my head. But he’s right—rather, I’m right. She had no reason to tell me. She owes me nothing.
“I know you’re there.” She hasn’t lifted her head an inch, still staring at the wounded girl like if she stares hard enough all will be well.
“What?” I murmur in shock.
“I heard you talking to the nurse. Are you going to stand there like a creep or are you going to come into the room?” She sounds broken. Flat, almost lifeless. Whoever this is, whoever they are to her, this is eating her alive. God knows I can relate to the feeling.
“What is this about?” No matter what my brother thinks about me, I know better than to throw my ego around at a time like this. I speak softly and approach slowly like I would if I was trying to talk sense to a wounded animal.
“It was all for nothing. I did all of it for nothing. She ended up like this anyway.”
I round the bed slowly, taking a seat in the empty chair opposite where Delilah sits. Her eyes are red, puffy, and a damp spot on the blanket reflects the tears she’s shed. “I don’t understand,” I admit. “Who is this? What does she have to do with anything?”
We may as well be complete strangers. She looks at me with such cold, hard resentment. “Luca Bruno, meet Deanna Jones. The real Deanna Jones. My twin sister.”
Of all things I thought I might hear… “What are you saying? You aren’t Deanna?”
“My real name is Delilah, always has been. I only made up that lie about it being my professional name because I didn’t want to get caught not responding to Deanna. I was sort of thinking on the fly.”
She turns her face away from mine, looking at the unconscious girl in the bed. A tear rolls down her cheek and glistens in the light coming through the window behind me. “This is the real Deanna. This is who Jock would have picked up that day if I hadn’t been the one on my way to the corner to get her something to eat.”
I can’t get a grip on any of this. It’s like trying to hold water in my hands with my fingers spread apart. “You’re twins.”
“Identical. Right down to our tattoos.” Her chin quivers. She reaches out, brushing a piece of hair away from Deanna’s forehead. “Though I don’t know if we’ll be identical anymore after this. Oh, my God.”
I don’t get it. I can’t wrap my brain around it. “So it was you he picked up. Was anything Greg said true? Was she ever—”
“Yes, she used to escort. But I couldn’t let her… especially not when it was Greg who…” Her head swings back and forth when emotion cuts off her voice.
“So you took her place. Because you didn’t want to hurt her.”
“What?” she snaps. “Is that so unbelievable? I guess it would be for somebody like you.”
“I never said it was unbelievable,” I mutter while struggling against the indignation swelling in my chest. “I’m trying to understand, is all. You’ve lied all this time.”
“Please. Worse things have happened, wouldn’t you say?”
