Nick

I wake up as they’re closing the ambulance doors. An oxygen

mask is over my mouth and nose, and my body doesn’t feel like it can
move. Pins and needles shoot through my glass-cut legs. The jeans
I have on are caked in blood. Muffled voices and sirens fill my ears,
but I can’t make out any distinct words. It felt like the car got hit by a
ten ton eighteen wheeler not a small white box delivery truck. If God
wants to claim my soul, now is a good time to do it.
Isolated thunderstorms like these are common for Manhattan
during mid-September, rattling the skyline with a cumulonimbus cloud
that sends bolts of electricity across the sky. Normally I wouldn’t
have gone out in this, but that selfish brother of mine…my fists
tighten to the point I feel my veins ready to rupture. I use to hate
thunderstorms. When I was four, Olivia told me the thunder booming
overhead was God, angry I upset her yet again. The lightening was
His warning that told me to get out of her path before she struck me
across the mouth. Random beatings occurred when the sky
darkened and she heard voices inside her head, instructing her to
take her anger out on me.
Struggling for each breath, I hope my wife makes it. Why did I
allow her to get in that car with me tonight? Before I met Sam, my life
was typical of a young bachelor living in the city that never sleeps. I
cruised around without a care in the world and attended the opening
of every Broadway production released. Late nights, parties, and
reckless dating followed. Nothing would slow me down until the
evening I saw Samantha Dent standing outside the Lunt Fontanne
Theatre. Bestowed with a mane of jet-black hair and a pair of
kryptonite eyes, she lured me to her side and swung her golden lasso
around my neck.
I clap my hand on my forehead. Turning to remove myself from
the stabbing pain in my left leg, I try to recall the past hour.
Suddenly, I remember Britt. She’s in trouble or so Matt assumes.
Watch, I wouldn’t doubt it if the boy cried wolf, but this time the
consequences are damaging. If anything happens to Sam, I will hold
him personally responsible.
 As if I watch a movie in slow motion, my brain forces me to
relive the accident. The screeching sounds of the tires as they
hydroplaned across Seventh Avenue – the sound of metal bending
and grinding as the two engines made impact – Peyton’s voice
ringing in my ear. The one thing missing was Sam. Raising my
hand, I notice how badly its sliced as if I stuck it down the garbage
disposal. I suppose my face can’t look any better. Probably
resemble something close to the Joker from Batman. Turning my
head slightly, I watch the neon lights disappear as we pull out of
Times Square.
“What hospital?” I choke out.
“Lenox Hill,” an African American EMS answers.
“Is my wife okay?”
“Sir, you have to remain calm. We’re almost there.”
Doesn’t answer my question so I ask again. “Tell me if my wife
is all right.” I tear off the oxygen mask and fling it at him, striking his
shoulder. Raising as high as I can go before my back gives out, I
prop my elbows behind me. “Dude, if this was your wife, you’d want
to know if she came out of this alive. I’m asking you one simple
question.”
He takes out a syringe of all things. Jesus Christ, this is why I
hate medical personnel. “I asked you not to move.”
“Stick me with that and I’ll sue your ass,” I warn, aiming my
finger at him. Studying Matt all these years came in useful. “May I at
least borrow your phone? Mine got demolished.”
“Who do you need to call?” he questions, scrunching his brows.
“God,” I answer. “Fork over the cell phone, please.”
He ignores me.
This is unbelievable. I glance down when he inserts an IV
needle in my hand. Hey look at that, I’m attached to flammable fluid.
Not that I was ever into pyromania, but as loopy as I feel anything is
possible. I’m the good son. The one who doesn’t get into trouble and
had a spotless report card all twelve years of school. Even went on
and got my MFA. Didn’t see mouth getting his Master’s Degree. Do I
sound spiteful at all? High time I start, don’t you think? Tomorrow is
my birthday. Brand spanking new outlook on life. No longer will I
cater to the needs of that self-centered, egotistical jackass.
My Gestapo EMS wheels me inside the ER and passes me off
to a doctor and his three residents. They take me into X-ray and
transfer me on the coldest steel table they can find.
 “I’m fine,” I tell them, but they seem to have gone deaf and
don’t listen. Got to admit, I make the world’s worst patient. Olivia use
to dread taking me to the doctor’s office because he’d ask me what
hurts and I’d throw my arms in the air and shrug.
There were a few times I’d even pass the buck off to Matt and
use him as my scapegoat to avoid being sent to the men in white
medical jackets. If I got sick, I’d make sure he got it too and went as
far as heating a thermometer against the light bulb then shove it in his
mouth. Eventually Olivia caught on when the damn thing blew up
and my brother pointed at me and said he did it.
“Torn ligaments in your left tendon,” the doc tells me.
“Then amputate my leg and get it over with,” I sarcastically
snap. “I have to check on my wife so hurry up.”
“You will need a head CT-scan.”
What the hell? “Dude, I’m speaking in complete sentences. If
you want to examine someone’s brain, send my brother in. He’ll give
you enough to fill ten medical journals.”
A neurosurgeon slides the blue curtain aside and glances at my
chart. “Good evening,” he says, smiling as if I should jump up and
kiss him. Removing a flashlight from his pocket, he shines it in each
eye and tugs my lids open wide. “No orbital floor fractures.”
“Come again?” I have a slight gash on my forehead. What’s
that got to do with my eyes? Put me in the ER and I become mini-
Matt. Scary, isn’t it? “People, I appreciate the special treatment, but
I’m not the one that needed the Jaws of Life to rip a door off to extract
me out of a car. Would one of you tell me if my wife is dead or alive?”
And yet another doctor comes barreling through. Must be a
slow night in the ER. This guy is taller than the others and still has a
surgical mask and scrub cap on. “Nick Leyden?” he asks.
I raise my hand. “Present.”
“I want to give you an update on your wife.”
About damn time. Grinding my elbows against the hospital
bed, I sit up and attempt to read those deep blue eyes staring into
mine. There is no evident signs I should be panicked, for some
reason I can see that even though with the light blue surgical mask
covering a good portion of his face it’s difficult to get a good grasp on
his expression.
“The MRI shows a few nerve fibers are passing through the
level of injury to her spine,” he points out as if I have any idea what
he’s getting at. “We utilize a standardized neurological assessment
recommended by the American Spinal Injury Association, also known
as ASIA. What your wife sustained is an ASIA-C spinal cord injury to
the T-6 level.”
Which means what? English, doctor, speak fucking English. “I
don’t understand,” I say, my voice growing edgier.
“We’ll know more as the night progresses. I have her on
Solumedrol to help decrease the swelling of the spinal cord inside the
canal.” He turns to the neurosurgeon and whispers something I’m
unable to hear.
“Wait,” I call out as he slips behind the curtain.
“He’s going to check on your wife,” the neuro guy tells me. “As
for you, I want to make sure you didn’t suffer any head trauma.”
“I have several screws loose,” I grumble as they stick me in
tube and scan my brain for possible inactivity.
“Leyden!” I hear someone call from the hallway.
Who the hell is asking for me? I go to move when a voice
blasts from a speaker.
“Remain still until the machine finishes scanning.”
But I distinctly heard my name being shouted.
The neurosurgeon slips inside the room and shuts the machine
off. “You’ll stay here overnight and I’ll discharge you tomorrow.”
Before I can react, he moves me into a wheelchair and takes
me down a long hallway. “Why are you making me stay? All I have
is a swollen ankle.”
“You have four cracked ribs, which I’ll tape after you change
into a hospital gown. You’ll also need several sutures for those
lacerations. What’s your level of pain?”
I cross my arms and wince. Ow, I can’t apply any pressure
against my chest. “Six,” I answer.
“I’ll get you some Motrin. Would you like a nurse to help you
change clothes?”
Reverting to my hellion days, I’m about to request an illegally
hot blonde, but I bite my tongue. “No thanks.” As he rotates on his
heel, I stop him. “Hey, doc. What’s your name in case I need you?”
“Eric Stafford,” he answers and then walks off with my chart.
At least I have one doctor I can go to for updates on Sam. The
other guy seems more knowledgeable about her condition, but I
haven’t gotten his name yet. Thing about hospital rooms are they’re
obnoxiously bright with the most uncomfortable beds and paper-thin
pillows. It’s difficult to change clothes with an IV needle sticking out
of my hand. Bet Dr. Stafford forgot I’m hooked up to it when he ran
off to do his rounds. Removing it, I hear a loud beep. Jesus, what
alarm did I set off now?
You’d think the SWAT team is charging down the hall. The
door bursts open and the tall, blue-eyed doctor emerges from the
shadows and takes one look at the IV drip. “Why did you take the
needle out?”
I point at the obvious white and blue smock they gave me.
“How else am I to get dressed?”
He reinserts the needle and tears off a piece of medical tape to
lie overtop as if that’s going to stop me from ripping it out again. This
guy doesn’t know me too well. He twists my hand with clear tubes
shooting out of me like an octopus and shoves another one up my
nose.
“Get that out,” I tell him.
His hand braces against my shoulder, pushing me against the
lumpy pillows. “Would you rather I put a tube down your throat?” he
barks. “The oxygen will help take the pressure off your chest. Lie still
and breathe.”
I watch him wheel a swivel table over to the chair he’s placed
beside the bed. A bucket is full of different suture materials. “How
many stitches am I getting?”
As he threads the needle, he answers, “Depends if I have to
sew your lips together if you give me a hard time.” His eyes gaze
unrelentingly into mine and somehow it changes the atmosphere,
turning it up a few degrees. Flickers of electricity travel through the
air. I think I like Dr. Stafford more. At least he has bedside manner.
This guy is like a drill sergeant.
“I have to call someone,” I say through the haze my thoughts
hang under. Brittany Tanner. What happened to her?
“Your mother is on her way,” he tells me as he flushes my
wounds with saline.
My eyes flash open. Who contacted her? I try to sit up, but the
spinning teacup ride my head is on won’t let me. “How does she
know about the accident?”
“It’s all over the news. She called the hospital and found out
you’ve been admitted.”
That means Matt should arrive any minute. Let him get his
mouth stapled shut. Gestapo doc may come in handy. “Besides the
fracture in my leg and the cracked ribs, anything else broken?”
 His eyes narrow as he snaps on the rubber gloves. God, this
reminds me of those medical shows on TV. If he tells me to bend
over, I am out that door. “Well, the head CT-scan didn’t show any
cracks in your skull and there’s no internal bleeding. You do have
bruises and cuts covering seventy-five percent of your skin and
you’ve lost a fair amount of blood. Not enough to require a
transfusion, but you will be lightheaded for a few hours, which is why
they want to keep you overnight so they can pump fluids into your
body and make sure your white cell count doesn’t drop.” He leans
over me and runs five stitches across the gash in my forehead. “You
are lucky to walk out alive. Must have a special guardian angel
watching over you.”
Yeah right. I don’t believe in the afterlife. “What about my
wife?” I ask quietly, lifting my hand off the bed. It feels so cold with all
the liquid running into my veins.
“She hasn’t awaken yet, but her vitals are stable. She has what
is called a thoracic spinal cord injury. Her ribcage was able to protect
and stabilize the middle area of her back when the vehicle was hit,
but it affected the area below the level of injury at the T-6. She has
full head and neck movement, mobility in her arms, wrists, and
fingers, but as of now, it doesn’t look like she’ll have any use of her
lower body and legs.”
“W-what are you saying?” I stammer.
Something in his eyes changes. No longer is he gazing at me
like a typical doctor. It’s as if he actually cares more than he wants to
let on. I’ve heard some docs take a more humanistic approach with
their patients and don’t dump their emotions at the doorstep.
“Paraplegia.”
My chest tightens and shakes like it’s suffering a mini-seizure. I
can’t breathe. Raising my eyes to the ceiling, I fight to make sense of
that word. Paraplegia. He might as well have taken a gun and blown
a hole through my heart because it holds no pulse. Unable to speak,
I lie there helplessly as if I’m the one whose been paralyzed.
“We’re taking her into her first surgery in a few minutes to
decompress the spine. It’s an incomplete injury. There is some
residual motor function below the level including the anal muscles.”
He finishes the last suture and cuts the string with a small pair of
scissors. “There may be some more nerve fibers passing through the
level of injury once the swelling subsides so there is hope for her
muscles to strengthen if we can get enough of the scar tissue
removed.”
“Oh God,” I gasp out, twisting my head to the side so he can’t
see me fall apart. “It should have been me.”
His warm hand closes over my shoulder. “It shouldn’t have
been either of you,” he softly says as if he doesn’t want me to hear.
“Nick!” Peyton yells, running to my bedside and ignoring the
doctor. “I’ve called every ER in midtown looking for you. You had me
so scared.” She squeezes my hand and sees me wince. “Sorry,
didn’t mean to press down on the IV.”
Doc No-Name clears his throat. “The patient has to remain
calm. Might I suggest you come back in the morning?”
She continues caressing my hand and bows her head. “I had
to get over here to make sure you’re okay.” Her eyes beg for some
kind of forgiveness. “I was so consumed in the whirlwind dervish with
Matt, but I didn’t want it affecting you. When I heard the cars collide
my heart dropped. I can’t lose you.”
Confused doctor cocks his head to the side and puts his suture
kit together. I guess the white jackets hear a lot of crazy things –
mismatched fragments of people’s lives that don’t make sense.
Unpleasant memories come back to me, causing me to
shudder. I can’t help but blame Matt for this. Once again, he
selfishly expected me to clean up his mess while he walked away
without a scratch. “This isn’t your fault,” I reassure her. “Matt is the
one I blame.”
“But I’m the one who called you right before the collision.”
The doc pulls apart white medical tape. It sounds like
Styrofoam plates rubbing together. “Ma’am, can you kindly step into
the hallway while I tape his ribs?”
Peyton shoots her eyes over her shoulder. “Don’t you think I’ve
seen a man’s naked chest before?”
“Not this man,” he answers. A new sound darkens his voice
making it seem as if he has some reason to dislike her.
“I’m staying if you don’t mind,” she firmly tells him, keeping her
butt planted on the edge of the bed.
“Actually, I do mind, lady.” His voice remains even, but his
eyes are furious. I would get stuck with bipolar doc.
Motioning her closer, I whisper, “He lacks bedside manner.”
 She rolls her lips together and scarcely nods then flashes her
eyes over to him. “How come your name isn’t embroidered on your
jacket like the rest of the doctors?”
“I’m not on staff at Lenox Hill,” he says. “I’m a specialist whom
happens to be in Manhattan on business. I volunteer my services to
this hospital on an as need basis and work closely with Eric Stafford.
Are there any other questions? Because I have to get this man’s ribs
taped so I can scrub in and get to the OR.”
“Do you have a name?” she questions.
“Doctor Matthews.” The hostility doesn’t leave his eyes.
Avoiding his gaze, I concentrate on a warped ceiling tile that
has a brown water spot in the corner. The ache in my ribs burns as
he tapes them together. “What kind of specialist?” I ask, midway
through the taping.
“I’m a physiatrist, but I was once a neurosurgeon before I
switched fields.”
“What kind of doctor is a physiatrist?” Peyton asks, looking
extremely bewildered.
Those hardened blue eyes slowly rise over me to meet her.
“Google it, sweetheart.”
Did I mention this guy is sadistic? I think he’s getting a sick
thrill out of torturing her to death. If she isn’t careful, he’ll throw an IV
in her hand and hook her up to all these fancy monitors. Hmm,
maybe I should let him. It would give me a clear getaway so I can
sneak into the OR and hold Sam’s hand during surgery.
“Ow,” I wince, clutching my chest.
“What’s wrong?” he asks anxiously, but not distracted enough
to discharge me tonight.
“I think you taped them too tight.”
“Afraid of a little pain?” he mutters under his breath. His eyes
dart into the hallway as my brother rushes in the room to save me
from execution. “You, out of here now.”
Matt stops dead in his tracks; convincingly annoyed someone is
kicking him out. “Excuse you?”
The doctor has his finger pointed at the door. “Visiting hours
are over.”
 Matt

Whoever that pompous doctor thinks he is has another thing

coming. I return to the waiting room and find Britt staring out the
window. She’s lost in a cloud of fog that surrounds the city. Beeping
monitors jump out of different rooms, but she’s not paying attention to
anything but her own silent agony.
“Sweetheart,” I say, approaching from behind with my hands
folded over her shoulders, “you can’t blame yourself.”
“How can I not?” she mutters quietly, keeping her head bowed.
“If it wasn’t for me, Nick and Sam wouldn’t have gone out in the
storm.”
Unfortunately, she saw the tail end of the accident scene. After
running inside the Millennium Broadway Hotel on 45th Street, she
must have heard the impact and gone to investigate. That’s when
she noticed my brother lying on a stretcher and called me. I can’t
imagine the terror she felt when she saw him in such despair.
“I have something to tell you,” she says, cautiously elevating
her gaze as she turns around. “I called off the engagement earlier
tonight.”
“You did?” I can’t help but smile. “Does that mean – ”
“I need time to myself,” she interrupts. “But it’s not fair for me to
string Michael along when he’s not the man I want to spend the rest
of my life with.”
But it means she’s no longer entrapped in a relationship,
leaving me a clear shot. I don’t understand the bleakness in her blue
eyes. It’s as if she’s unhappy with her decision to end things with the
loony therapist. “Princess,” I say in my softest tone, sliding my open
palms up her arms with exaggerated slowness. “I love you and if it’s
time you need, take it. I’m not going anywhere except in your bed
when you let me.”
She enters my arms and lays her cheek against my heart. “I
love you too, Matt. I want to be with you, but I’m scared.”
I kiss the top of her head. “Why?”
“Because once you get comfortable again, what if you relapse
and we fall back in the same destructive pattern that tore us apart the
first time?”
 Bracing a steady hand around her head, I keep her anchored to
me. “I won’t,” I reassure her. “I lost you once. I can’t lose you a
second time.”
Her arms tighten around me. “You swear?”
I cling to her until I can’t breathe. And then I cover her lips with
mine and kiss her until my brain reminds me we’re standing in a
hospital with dozens of nurses and doctors roaming the halls. “Move
back home. Terminate your lease and lets give us a real honest to
God shot.”
She buries her face in my chest and wipes a tear off her lash.
“You’re the only home that’s familiar.”
“I’m sorry,” I apologize. “I’m sorry for all the hurt I’ve put you
through.”
“Me too, bud.”
Finally, we got through the eye of the storm. Peyton no longer
wants to hang me out to dry and I have my girl back where she
belongs. “I do have a surprise for you.”
She absorbs this for a second and surveys my face. “Why
does that sound ominous?”
Shit, she knows me too well. I take her hand and lead her to a
sofa facing the window. “Kelly is moving back to the UK. Her work
visa expires and she doesn’t want to renew it. I’d like to give the
endorsement to you.”
Her brows snap together. “You…what?”
Umm, why does she sound angry? “I did it for you.”
Shaking her head, her cheeks turn a rosy shade of red. “Damn
it, Matt. This is what I mean. Your best intentions turn out to be your
worst.” She gets up and strides over to the window, planting her
hands on the ledge. “For the past nine months, I’ve watched you plot
each step for you to wreak havoc on the girl’s life just because she
did what any other teenage girl did and fell for two brothers. That’s
not right.”
“Exactly, she’s crazy and had to be taught a lesson.”
Britt whirls on me and smacks her hand against my chest. “No,
you aren’t listening to me. What you did isn’t right.”
My furious glower makes it hard for her to maintain eye contact.
“You left me with no choice.”
“You are blaming me for screwing two women over?” She
snorts out a laugh and then shakes her head with a finger in the air.
“This is so typical. Have to hold someone responsible for your lapse
in judgment because God forbid the almighty Matt Leyden admits he
makes mistakes.”
The skin around my mouth tightens. I’m offering her a contract
that will give her a leg up if she decides to pursue theatre and
Broadway. Why can’t she see how much this benefits her not me?
“You refuse to see any good in me,” I snap, pulling my clenched teeth
apart.
She rolls her eyes then focuses on me with obvious effort.
“Someone saved you from a courtroom battle, but I hate to say this,
you deserve to be knocked off your high-horse instead of people
constantly running to your rescue.”
We turn away from each other, but our shoulders are touching.
“It’s what put Nick and Sam in the hospital,” she says bitterly.
“Your little brother could have lost his life tonight and who knows what
condition Sam is in.”
I turn around and shake her. “This has nothing to do with me.”
Prying me off her, she jumps back a few steps. “I freaked out
on the phone because I did think that guy was on something, but he
kept walking once I got inside the hotel. When I tried calling you
back, you turned your phone off again. I kept calling to tell you not to
have Nick come out because the rain had gotten worse. But you
reacted on impulse as usual.”
“To save you!” I shout. God, what do I have to do here?
Britt grits her teeth and groans. Staring at me with a mixture of
confused attraction, she tightens a fist at her side.
I nonchalantly stuff my fingers in my jeans pockets and leave
my thumbs hanging out. “Lets move this to a private room.”
“So I can give you a lump on your head and a reason to get
admitted next?”
Feels like a sudden heat rash blisters on the back of my neck.
“Britt, pull my collar down and tell me if I got prickly heat.”
She quirks a brow, but does as I requested. Her fingertip runs
over my skin. “You look fine.”
“Fine enough to give the old hospital bed a good workout?” I
ask, turning quickly and sliding my hands around her ass.
“Should have known this is one of your games.” She’s cradled
against my chest and can’t break free. “This is crazy.”
“No crazier than waking up in a Craftmatic adjustable bed,
naked and on top of me.”
“You need a shiner to go with the lump.”
 I bite my bottom lip and smile. Thrusting her against me, I
indicate I mean business. “We can put scrubs on and play horny
doctor and naughty nurse.”
“Why is it every time I see you two, you are suction cupped
together?” Peyton queries directly behind me.
Britt squirms free and stiff arms me. “I know how this looks, but
I would not put myself in his arms voluntarily.”
I stare at my girl for a drawn out second. “You told me I’m your
dream come true.”
“Did I fall and hit my head?” she asks.
Alright, if this is how she wants to play, I’ll bite. “Do your
clothes spontaneously fall off when you’re around me?”
Peyton deliberately steps between us and turns to face me.
“Zip up your pants for a second. Your brother has requested to see
you, although I have no idea why.”
“I got kicked out by the medical Nazi.”
Peyton smiles slightly and folds her arms. “He’s in surgery.
You’re safe for now.”
“I’ll wait for you out here,” Britt says.
And then my mother wanders down the hallway. I’m at her side
and take hold of her arm. “How did you get here so fast?”
Olivia sweeps the wet hair off her face and shakes the water off
her black umbrella. “I drove ninety miles an hour to get here when I
heard about Nick. Is he okay?”
Takes me a minute to register this. It’s eleven-fifteen. The
accident happened at approximately seven something, but the
ambulances didn’t pull into the ER until after eight-thirty. Ugh, I hate
number crunching this makes my dyslexic brain hurt. “When did you
hear about it?”
“Matthew, I don’t have time to get into the nitty-gritty. What
room is he in?”
Peyton catches my bewildered expression. “I’ll take you to
him,” she offers with me following right behind.
I might as well be invisible once Olivia sees her baby lying in
the bed with his right hand wound with gauze and an IV drip sticking
in his left hand. Doesn’t appear to have any broken bones but he
does look like a patchwork quilt with all those stitches. Ooh, there’s a
purplish-blue shiner over his left eye. I could do some serious
blackmail if I was mean enough to whip out the iPhone and snap a
pic of his mug, but I won’t because despite what people think, I do
care about my brother.
“Nicky,” she gasps, rushing to his side.
Let the drama begin. Drum roll, please. I guarantee you, if this
were me lying there she’d tell me to get up and walk the kinks out.
She plants her butt in a hard plastic orange chair by his side
and takes his hand between both of hers. “I got here as quickly as I
could.”
Of course you did, Mommy-Dearest. Can’t have precious Nicky
feeling unloved.
He can hardly keep his eyes open. What kind of meds are they
pumping into him? I squeeze the IV bag and get swatted in the arm
by my mother.
“You didn’t have to come,” he says in a lifeless tone.
“Nonsense, there’s nothing that could keep me from your side
tonight.” She raises his arm and kisses his torn up knuckles. “You
look so battered and bruised.”
“I’m alright,” he chokes out after a harsh cough that makes me
wince as he grabs his chest to prevent every rib from splintering.
The air is thinning and the smell of death and decay makes my
stomach twist in a knot. I don’t do well around bodily fluids or the
sight of blood and vomit. Hospitals are breeding grounds for bacteria.
Wonder if the doctors would mind giving me a surgical mask. Can’t
afford to get sick.
“You summoned me,” I announce at the foot of the bed.
Nick levels his eyes on me. “I’m too doped up on pain killers to
talk to you.”
“Then why ask for me, Nickclueless?”
Peyton grabs my arm and pulls me into the hallway. “Why can’t
you show a little sympathy and support? Even your mom has gone
out of her way to console him, but you are only antagonizing and I
won’t allow it.”
My startled eyes widen. “You won’t allow it?” I parrot.
Appointing herself as my brother’s bodyguard, she barricades
the door and forbids me from reentering the room. “Nick is in a lot of
physical pain and he has no idea if his wife will make it through
surgery so I strongly suggest you find the hospital chapel and say a
prayer for Samantha.”
You mean she could die? My heart plummets. Pushing off the
doorframe I’m leaning against, I walk over to the nurse’s station. The
hothead doctor that threw me out an hour ago is writing something on
the OR board. “Excuse me,” I say over his shoulder. “Can you tell
me what room Samantha Leyden is in?”
He tenses by the mere sound of my voice as if I’m scraping my
nails down a chalkboard. “She just got out of surgery.”
“Thank you, but your geriatric ears didn’t hear what I asked.
Get a new hearing aid it might do you wonders.”
“Allow her a few minutes to come off the anesthesia.” He has a
silver clipboard in his hand he’s staring at. I watch him scribble his
initials beside a surgery set for September 20th, which is the day after
tomorrow. Being slightly nosy, I study the board. Surgery is for Sam.
He feels me breathing on the back of his neck and turns his head just
a fraction. “Is there something else I can help you with?”
“You don’t like me very much,” I say in a low and direct voice.
It’s written all over his face. I’m good at reading expressions and
observing people. This guy can’t stand me otherwise he wouldn’t
have drop-kicked me out of my brother’s room like that.
“I don’t know you from Adam, but I don’t like your
condescending tone.” He snaps the lid on the marker and slams it on
the ledge. “If you’ll excuse me, I have rounds to do.”
Alright, I’ll find my sister-in-law on my own. Sneaking past
Nick’s room, I head for acute care. It doesn’t take long to find her.
The shades are drawn and the room is dark except for the heart
monitor and some other gadget they have hooked up beside the bed.
I have half a notion to turn around. The smell alone is nauseating.
But then a faint voice calls out from the night.
“Is someone there?” Sam asks. “Please answer me. I can’t
see…oh God, I can’t see.”
She’s blind? Cautiously, I approach her bedside and find her
face is covered in bandages. She looks mummified. Blood-saturated
gauze, medical tape, and bandages are wrapped around her and I
am afraid to think if she has any face underneath all that.
“Your eyes are covered that’s why you can’t see.” I squeeze
her hand – the only part of her body that isn’t wrapped.
“Matt?” she chokes out. “Is that you?”
“It’s me, Sam. I’m right here.”
Her grip tightens. “Where am I?”
“You’re in the hospital.”
No doubt, it’s painful for her to speak let alone breathe. I’m
surprised they don’t have her on a ventilator. Is there a single bone
intact anywhere on her? I sit on the edge of the bed, but I’m afraid to
touch her. Unsure how bad her injuries are, all I’m able to do is hold
her hand. She’s lucky to be here tonight, but then I think maybe it’s
not a blessing if her quality of life is gone. If it wasn’t for the seatbelt,
chances are she would have gone headfirst out the windshield. A
chill creeps down my spine at the thought.
The door opens a crack and in walks the ensemble of white
jackets. My guess is we have a plastic surgeon and a general
surgeon of some sort. Both men stand at the foot of the bed staring
at me. One is a lot older with silvery grey hair, wire-framed glasses
and the other guy has a full head of dark wavy hair and a stubbly jaw.
“Are you a family member?” older doctor asks me.
“Brother-in-law.”
Sam hasn’t released my hand yet. “Can he please stay?”
The younger doctor walks around the bed and checks her
vitals. “Samantha, my name is Eric Stafford. I’m the neurosurgeon
that performed the spinal decompression this evening.” He glances
at the other doctor. “This is Reid Armacost, plastic surgery.”
Oh no, when you send the plastic guy in it means total facial
reconstruction. At least Sam’s unable to read my expression.
“We took a few skin grafts,” plastics guru says. “It doesn’t
appear as though you will need any rhinoplasty. There is no
evidential clotting or perforation in the septum. What I’d like to do is
keep the bandages on until tomorrow to allow more of the swelling to
go down. We will remove the ones around your eyes this evening.
I’m going to give you a decongestant spray along with pain
medication.”
“She doesn’t need plastic surgery?” I ask to make sense of this
for her. “Is that what you’re saying?”
“Samantha sustained a fracture to her right zygomatic bone.”
“Cheek bone,” another doctor clarifies from the doorway. He
peeks his head in and decides to hang around for a few minutes.
“You’re getting preferential treatment,” I whisper to her. “It
takes three medical geeks to explain one simple question. Makes
you wonder how they got through all that schooling.”
Sam squeezes my hand to indicate she agrees.
The third doctor has a folder tucked under his arm. Since it’s
so dark in here, I can’t see much except shadows, but I think he’s the
guy who called me condescending.
 “In the morning, I’ll give you an ophthalmologic evaluation to
test visual acuity to see if there’s a significant disruption of eye
movement.” Reid steps aside to let the next doctor speak.
“Wait,” Sam says in a raspy voice. “If I have a broken
cheekbone don’t I need some sort of surgery?”
Plastics takes the podium and curls his fingers over the
footboard. “The principals for treating facial fractures are the same
for a broken arm or leg. The parts of the bone has to be lined up and
held in position long enough to permit proper healing. Your facial
injuries don’t require any mini-plate fixations and the bone grafts were
only taken as a precautionary method.” He’s out the door a moment
later now that he has no more speaking parts left in the script.
Next up, neuro-tag-team. These two men could pass as
brothers. Taller one uses his thumb and swings it over his shoulder,
indicating I have to move so he can take my seat. Pardon me if I’m in
the way. He sits down and removes tiny scissors from his jacket
pocket to cut the bandages off her eyes. “There, now you can see.”
And now can I gag? I double over and start choking. I swear, I
don’t do this to be rude, but the smell of dried blood is doing my head
in worse than scrambled numbers.
“Is he okay?” The younger doctor asks. I think he calls himself
Eric.
“Put him out,” his partner instructs.
What do you mean put me out? A Q-tip with some sweet
smelling chemical gets shoved under my nose. My eyelids flutter
then crash. And then I stagger and drop to my knees. My mind is
blank and unresponsive…did they put me to sleep?
 Samantha

Too bad my vision is blurry and I’m unable to see what just
happened a few seconds ago. Last thing I heard were the doctors
talking to Matt, but it got spooky quiet. “Hello?”
Someone takes my hand. The guy with warm palms returns to
my bedside. “Hi, Samantha.”
“Is Matt okay?” I ask, forgetting about my own pain for a
moment.
“He’s fine, we gave him something for the queasiness and he’s
in another room resting.”
I swallow against the rawness in my throat and go to move, but
for some reason my legs are asleep. I try again. Why can I move my
upper body but it feels like they amputated the rest of me? “Why
can’t I feel my legs?” I ask, panic-stricken.
In the darkness, all I see is a shadow beside me, yet the
doctor’s lyrical voice has a way of reassuring me that I can get
through this. He can read the terror in my eyes for a short second the
flashlight is shined in them. He moves the tiny light left to right to
make sure my pupils follow. With a quick flick, it’s off and back in his
pocket.
As gently as he can, he prepares me for the biggest battle of
my life. “The traumatic blow to your spine caused fractures and
compression of the vertebrae, which crushed and destroyed the
axons. Those are extensions of nerve cells that carry the signal up
and down your spinal cord. The brain tells the body what to do and
the axons act as the messenger to get the joints working.”
Drifting into an unknown realm, I’m thankful he can explain this
in laymen’s terms. So many doctors ramble medical terminology and
expect their patients to keep up and comprehend words most people
can’t begin to pronounce. “Go on,” I weakly say, closing my eyes.
“You have ASIA-C injuries to the T-6 level of your spinal cord.
There may be a few dull flickers, but these movements are barely
noticeable and makes it impossible to function.”
“What about my baby?” I ask, covering my stomach. I stare at
my hand, desperately trying to detect the smallest movement inside
of me. I just found out yesterday that I’m five weeks pregnant. I
wanted this to be Nick’s birthday present tomorrow.
“I’m sorry, Samantha. You miscarried on your way to the ER.”
He bows his head in silence and gives me a moment to digest this.
Hot tears flow from my eyes, but I can’t even feel them through
my bandages. A vicious, searing pain shoots through me, making me
choke until I turn lava red and feel my throat constrict. A loud beep
goes off, but my mind shies away from the alarm. An artic frost
covers me. I’m cold. So cold I feel like I’m lying in ice.
I’m sinking under a dark pool. My body has nothing holding it
together. The deeper I plunge, the more comfortably numb I feel.
I hear a shrill ring as the EKG begins to flatline.
“Stafford, get a crash cart!” the doctor shouts as my
neurosurgeon runs in. “BP is dropping off a cliff. We don’t have
much time.”
In these final moments, I think of you, Nick. You changed my
life. I’m sorry, baby. I wanted to believe we would make it forever
and a day. I thought I could hold on to you and never let you go. But
I’m too weak. I’m in too much physical pain. You’ll be okay even
after I’m gone. If you can’t see me or talk to me, close your eyes. I’ll
be your constant shadow and the whisper carried in the wind. I love
you. So much. And I will always love you regardless if I’m not here
to tell you. Let me go. Find someone else who will love you the way
I have. I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.
“Charge to three hundred,” Dr. Matthews spits in a hurried rush.
“Clear.”
I hear the sound of something humming and then I feel it. A
shock – an abrupt jolt that thrusts my body off the bed.
“Come on, Sam, come on. We made a deal. Stay with me and
fight.”
Another jolt lifts me off the bed. Do angels weep when they
admit someone new through heaven’s gates? There is a sharp point
of pressure against my ribcage. It hurts, but as the pain stabs me, I
feel myself sinking deeper into dangerous seas. A man dives in the
water and reaches for me. The water fills my lungs, but the strong
arms pull my weightless body against his. Will we reach the top in
time? Or is this my final goodbye? In another moment I will know if I
live or if tonight is when I close my eyes for the last time and die.
 Peyton

Matt got knocked unconscious with a cotton swab inhalation of

ethylene oxide? Dr. Stafford did the impossible and took the big man
down. If I knew it was that easy, I would have done it months ago.
Brittany and I congregate in his hospital room as he gripes about
being tossed out of door number two. I find it hysterical, but she’s
upset the staff at Lenox Hill acts like they are part of Grey’s Anatomy
rather than real life surgeons.
“Stafford might as well have drenched a dishrag in chloroform.”
He’s sitting up in bed with his legs on top the sheet and blanket.
Blondie is lying beside him, stroking his arm. Those two are
joined at the hip. “The doctors most likely wanted you out of the room
so they wouldn’t have to take the oxygen mask off Sam and use it on
you.”
How she manages to keep a straight face is beyond me. I’d be
laughing him all the way to the East River then push him overboard.
“Maybe Lenox Hill will give you a family group discount since it
appears you’re all calling it home tonight.”
Matt stares at me, first anger then confusion touching his eyes.
“What are you still doing here? There’s no reason for you to stay
unless it’s driving you insanely jealous to see me in the arms of
another woman.”
I tap my finger against my lips then hook it around my chin.
Pacing back and forth at the foot of the bed, I roll my eyes. “It’s a
toss up. I’m not sure if I should slap you or ask Doctor Stafford to
load you up on rhino sedatives.” Perching a hand on my hip, I grip
the footboard and sway against it. “You’re as obnoxious as ever.
What’s the matter? You weren’t first on the scene so you’re pouting
because your brother was happier to see me than he was you?”
“You hardly know my brother,” he says, the wrinkles in his
forehead smoothing back into marble. “I find it rather abrupt you’d
hang around till midnight. Unless of course you have residents taking
numbers and you’re turning tricks in the empty beds.”
Unimpressed, I scowl at him. “You make me sound absolutely
heartless. I’m not here to cause trouble. Nick and I have become
good friends. Something you and I never succeeded.”
 “You define trouble,” he barks. “You’re really here because you
want to stick it to me for choosing Britt over you. So you pretend to
care about Nick and Sam. Bravo, the show is over. Take a bow, you
did well.”
A sudden urge makes me want to smack him back to reality. “If
you want to spit nails at anyone, take a good long look in the mirror
because you are the only one closing the coffin on yourself.”
Blowing me off, he runs his finger down Brittany’s cheek. “Go
home. No point in you being here.”
Her head raises off his shoulder. “You’re tossing me out?”
“No, but I could be here all night and I know you’re exhausted.
How about you meet me back at my place?”
She pinches his arm. “Thanks a lot, bud. You know how guilty
I feel about tonight. Nick is like a brother to me and I have a lot of
respect and admiration for Sam. You make me feel like I don’t have
any right being around the family I love as if they’re my own.”
Watching another woman bust his chops is worth a Friday night
hospital stay. “I underestimated you, Barbie.”
Her expression hardens. “It’s Brittany, and you can shut up
too.”
Matt is laughing. “Cute how you two are fighting over me.
Seriously, I’m not worth the attention.”
He must be extremely lost in the haze of the chemicals he
inhaled for him to assume I’d waste a breath on him. Slowly, I rotate
and lean over the bed, my shadow hovering over him like a black rain
cloud. “This isn’t about you, Mister Ego Trip. It’s about Nick and
Sam. The spotlight has shifted. Yesterday’s golden boy is taking his
final bow as the new leading man takes center stage and receives a
standing ovation.” Matt’s dysfunctional love triangle, act two. A smile
breaks my lips apart. Nick’s eternal love triangle, act one.
Dr. Blue Eyes slams his knuckles against the door. “Excuse
me, ladies, I need to make sure the patient isn’t seeing dead people.”
I snicker a laugh as Brittany launches off the bed. “Good luck
on that one, doctor. I think the day he was born someone dropped
him on his head.”
Blue Eyes takes his temperature and checks his vitals.
Matt shoots me the finger then rears against the pillows as the
doctor wheels the metal IV stand over. “What is that?”
“Are you afraid of a little needle?” the doctor asks, hiding his
amusement. “You’re dehydrated and your BP is dropping.”
 “So let it go. You ain’t sticking me with no needle.”
Brittany pats his arm. “Matt, if you’re dehydrated like he said –
”
“No fucking needle.”
“Suit yourself,” Dr. Matthews says, dipping his hand in his
pocket. What he pulls out next has me turn around to swallow a
laugh. “Would you rather I use these?” he asks with a pair of
handcuffs dangling off his pointer finger. “I will chain you to the bed
and hook you up to a catheter.”
“Jesus Christ, what kind of hospital is this?” Matt blurts,
throwing his girl in front of him as a human shield.
“IV or handcuffs?”
“Matt,” Brittany gasps, leaning backwards to protect him. “I
think he’s serious.”
“Oh, I’m dead serious,” the sexy doc confirms. “I have an ER
full of people coming down with H1N1, a lethal strand of the swine flu.
He’s much safer in here than wandering the halls.”
Dr. Stafford walks in and doesn’t seem a bit alarmed his
colleague is threatening to handcuff Matt to a hospital bed. He hands
off a patient’s chart. “Take a look.”
Both doctors turn around and start mumbling under their
breaths.
“Now is a good time to make a run for it,” Matt suggests. “I am
not staying in this insane asylum a second longer.” He starts to get
up when Dr. Stafford shoves him down.
“Your white cell count is significantly low.”
“It’s from all the stress,” Brittany says, approaching the taller
man. “Excuse me, sir. Is he going to be okay?”
“If he lets us hook him up to the IV drip.”
“No,” Matt protests, horrified by the thought of a needle
puncturing his sensitive skin. What a baby. “I hate blood.”
“We aren’t withdrawing your blood. You need at least three
bags of crystalloids to replenish your fluids.” Dr. Matthews takes the
needle and inserts it in a blue vein on the top of Matt’s right hand. He
draws back slightly on the stick and a small amount of blood flows
through the skinny clear tube, causing the queasy patient to turn his
head away so he doesn’t have to watch. “We can start extravasation.
You’re done.”
“I guess there’s no need for me to stay,” Brittany says, noticing
it’s gotten onto twelve-thirty. “You’ll be here till at least three in the
morning with as slow as this thing drips and it’s too late to check on
Nick or Sam.”
Matt seizes her wrist. “Don’t you dare leave.” An irrational
surge of panic blinds his vision. “I don’t want to be left alone with
Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde.”
I’ll let him suffer for the rest of the night. Slipping out of the
makeshift dormitory, I walk across the hall and check on Nick. The
lights are out and he appears to be stable. Quietly dragging the chair
to his bedside, I take his hand and caress his palm with my thumb.
His eyes open the tiniest fraction. “I thought you left by now.”
“No,” I croak, shocked my voice crackles from the dryness in
my throat. “I couldn’t leave your side tonight.”
I can tell he’s in a lot of pain with the way his other hand covers
his ribs. Probably feels like someone took a sharp piece of glass and
cut him open. His eyes barely open a second ago now burn with an
uncontrollable fear. The moonlight sneaks through the window,
casting an eerie glow on his face.
“I had this terrible nightmare,” he says, his voice shaking.
“Something bad happened to my wife.”
As gently as I can, I try to reassure him. “The doctors would
have told you if she didn’t make it out of surgery.”
He swallows and keeps his eyes fastened to mine. “I can’t let
her go through this alone. I have to see her…make sure she’s all
right.”
“You need your rest. You were pretty banged up too. How
about in the morning – ”
“It is morning,” he interrupts.
“You know what I mean, silly.”
A point of pressure drills against his head, causing him to turn
away from the pain.
“Have you been able to sleep?” I ask.
“With all the doctors and nurses coming in every hour on the
hour I’d get a better night sleep at Grand Central Station during rush
hour.”
To lighten the mood, I tell him about his brother. “The
neurosurgeon knocked Matt out cold and the blue-eyed doctor
threatened to handcuff him to the hospital bed because he’s severely
dehydrated and needed an IV drip.”
A shadow stirs in the corner. My eyes adjust and then I see
her. The matriarch has been asleep on the orange vinyl sofa under
the window. “What doctor?” she asks, stretching her arms to the
sides. Olivia Leyden steps into the moonlight. I’m able to see the
sparkling diamond studs in her ears and a huge white firry rock on
her left ring finger. Even her eyes are glowing with unmistakable
anger. “I asked you a question.” There is no softness in her voice.
“Doctor Matthews,” I answer.
Olivia winds her fingers over the footboard. “You’re telling me a
surgeon has my first-born chained to a bed like a criminal?” A low
rage pulls her lips tightly together.
Apparently Matt is wrong to assume his mother doesn’t care
about him. From what I hear in her tone is pure disgust. “I don’t think
he had to use the cuffs.”
Nick tugs on my shirt to whisper something in my ear. “Matt’s
her favorite.”
For some reason that pisses me off. Parents shouldn’t show
favoritism. Who’s been here for Nick? No wonder he’s fed up with
his family.
“What doctor is looking in on you?” she asks her son.
“The hospital warden,” he answers slowly and then his eyes
move to the doorway as a group of doctors walk through the halls.
“That’s him,” he says pointing at one of the white jackets.
Olivia is out the door a second later.
“I should have kept my mouth shut.” I move the chair closer.
“I’m glad you got her out of here.” His eyes momentarily close
then reopen. “Can you pour me a glass of water?”
Reaching behind me, I snatch the pink plastic pitcher and hand
him a cup. “You two aren’t close, huh?”
“Nope.” He takes a sip and rubs his throat. “She hasn’t
bothered asking about Sam.”
“I’m sorry.”
The corners of his mouth pull in a flat line. “It’s to be expected.
She had the gull to tell me she’d send a bouquet of flowers to the
funeral home in the event of her death.”
My eyes fly open. “Oh my God.” No wonder he and Olivia
could barely look each other in the eye.
An unspoken pain flashes in his eyes, tugging my heart. “I
shouldn’t have taken Sam out in that storm.”
“What were you doing in Times Square to begin with?”
“Matt called me in an uproar because he said Britt was being
followed.” The tone in his voice drops. “Why is it my immediate
reaction to come to his rescue?” His eyes lower as he pieces
together the night. “I couldn’t see out of my windshield. The rain
pounded the glass so hard it sounded like rocks hitting the car.”
I gently rub his shoulder. “Shhh, you don’t have to put yourself
through it again.”
“When I felt the car spin around and saw the headlights coming
towards me, I reached for Sam. I tried to save her…” His voice dies
as he drives his palm against his eye. There are moments when you
watch someone cry and it brings tears to your eyes as well. This is
one of those times. I can’t help but slide into the bed and hold him.
“She’s paralyzed. She won’t be able to walk again.”
“I don’t care how long it takes. I’m here for you, Nick. I won’t
leave you to face this alone.”
Slowly his writhing calms and he raises his eyes. “You have
your own life to be concerned about.”
I look at him squarely. “I’ve evolved. There are more important
things besides my career such as taking care of my best friend
because that’s what you’ve become. People change and I’ve come
to realize that in order for me to be happy, it means you have to be
happy too.”
His consciousness slips as the pain returns. The way his body
feels against me is like a dead weight. There isn’t any strength inside
without Sam. She’s what holds him together. The way he looks at
her is as if she’s the most exquisite thing in the world – totally fatal.
All I can do is cradle his face against my chest and comfort him.
I’m unsure how long we lay there listening to the rain taper off. He
finally falls asleep in my arms a little after five in the morning. I’ve
been up for over twenty-four hours straight and am beat.
My eyes open a notch when I hear the nurse step in to check
his vitals and sit a breakfast tray on the table. And then I freeze when
I see the matriarch glaring at me on the opposite side of the hospital
bed. My arms are around her son and he’s asleep on my chest. With
her golden brown hair in a loose ponytail and the black sleeveless
button down shirt overtop her white slacks, Olivia doesn’t display a
hint of warmth.
Rattled, tired, and pale, she crosses her arms and raises a
weary brow. “Are you hoping he wakes up and thinks he’s part of a
very cheesy porn movie?”
I’ll attempt to keep my voice quiet so we don’t wake her son.
“Are you the casting director?”
 She’s about to fire a sarcastic reply when her cell phone rings
and she has to take the call in the hallway. Saved by the bell.
The neurosurgeon comes in next and flips Nick’s chart open.
“Morning.” His brown eyes are alert and much gentler than they were
last night unless it’s the blue-eyed surgeon I’m thinking of. Too tired
to differentiate between the dark-haired dream team. “I thought you
were attending the adult slumber party across the hall.”
I catch a yawn in my hand. “Barbie and Ken are worse than
watching a Seinfeld marathon. No direction. No plot and terrible
humor.”
Nick awakens and instantly pulls away from me once he
realizes he’s slept on me for three hours. Soft breasts make good
pillows. At least he didn’t drool on me. “Doctor Stafford, what’s the
prognosis on my wife?”
“She’s stable,” he says but his voice sounds rather flat. “Doctor
Matthews will be in shortly to give you an update.”