Alexander

The hour eludes me, and even the day. My minutes lost to Sara Jane, my compass broken, like her. Needing to be closer, to feel more of her warmth, I’ve angled my head against her shoulder, my cheek to her upper arm, and my hand low on her hip under the covers. The nurse came back once to check on her, but stayed to check on me. She’s since left us alone.

The Graysons were here for a while, but my presence unsettles them and they now wait down the hall. Their presence was unsettling to me, too. The hate from her father permeated the air like smog. I didn’t want Sara Jane to wake to the negativity, but I wasn’t going to tell him to go.

I didn’t tell them about the baby. I haven’t processed the loss myself to be able to watch others breakdown. I’m not sure what to do when it comes to them. Is it foolish to want to heal the wounds between us? For Firefly, I would. I’d forget about the comments and the anger her father is determined to take out on me. For her I would leave that behind and start new. I don’t think they can, but I’m willing to make this promise if it will bring her back to me, bring the light back to her eyes.

She’s expected to wake soon, but there are no guarantees or promises of what “soon” encompasses—could be an hour or ten.

As if she feels me willing her back, her fingers twitch and her arm moves, just slightly, but enough to notice. I catch sight of her lips parting and air filling her chest. Leaning over, I place my lips to hers, hoping to capture her escaping breath and breathe her deep within my lungs. When I’m kissed, my eyes squeeze tightly closed in a half-attempt to hold back the tears. Her breath becomes one word on the tip of her tongue. “Alexander.”

My name from her lips is a bandage to my broken soul. I’m careful with her, but I can’t keep from touching her. My fingers slip under the edge of her gown sleeve and I greedily caress her shoulder. “Firefly,” I whisper, my tears soaking the thin cotton.

Lifting up slowly, I hover over her and see the beautiful eyes that have always loved me despite my flaws. I run the back of my hand over her cheek, being gentle. So gentle. If eyes can smile, hers radiate happiness. Surprise takes over her expression, her eyebrows rising. “I’m here.”

My chuckle is light, but it comes like a breath of fresh air. “Yes, you’re here, my love.”

“You saved me.”

“You saved you. I brought you to the hospital. You’re the fighter. You’re the strong one between us.”

She glances beside me. “Water.” Trying to swallow, her hand covers her throat.

I rush to pour a cup and add the straw. Bringing it to her lips, I realize how good it feels to see her—to hear her—a hit to the fix I was craving. But her smile falls as her hands cover her stomach. Flinching in pain, her eyes fill with tears, and she looks to me. Our gazes hold steady—through the pain, through the tears, through the realization that I know. Turning away from me, her body shakes from quiet cries.

The heart rate monitor starts to beep erratically. I stand. Kissing her temple, I whisper, “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you . . .” With my eyes closed, my lips against her delicate skin, I promise her that I’ll make it better. I’ll give her anything she wants. I’ll do anything to make her happy. I’ll do anything to take away her pain.

The nurse rushes in. She glances from Sara Jane to me as she goes straight to a machine next to the larger monitor.

The words rush out as if I need to explain, “She just woke up.”

After pushing a button, she turns to Sara Jane, and asks, “Hello, how are you doing?”

Sara Jane turns her head. Her eyes don’t meet the nurse’s or mine before she closes them, but tears slide down her cheeks and onto the pillow. When she can’t seem to answer, I say, “She knows.”

The nurse reads my gaze as it dips to where Sara Jane holds her middle. Firefly opens her eyes and sets her sight on me. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be sorry.” I take her hand in mine and cover it, rubbing my thumb across her lifeline. “You’re here. I’m grateful. Don’t take that from me.”

Coming to her side, the nurse touches her arm. “I’m sorry about the baby. The doctors have said how strong you are, how well you did during surgery.” She carefully takes her hand with the IV and sets it on the bed. “May I check?”

Sara Jane’s eyes haven’t left me. She nods for the nurse to know she can move the covers aside and lift her gown. She whispers again, “I’m sorry.” It’s only seconds, but Sara Jane’s gaze slips through my fears and back into that darkest part of my heart and shines light again. Her apologies feel like forgiveness in the space between us.

Holding her hand, I whisper, “No,” so only she hears.

The nurse says, “Please be careful not to move too much or you’ll feel more pain, and we don’t want the risk of breaking the stitches. It looks good. Bruising and some swelling. That’s to be expected and will go down. Dr. Levy will be in shortly. If you need pain relief, you can press this button. Any pain currently?”

A slight nod replaces the verbal response she’s incapable of giving. She’s a quiet person in general, but the pain she carries now may silence her for some time. I stand. My hold on her hand tightens, and I push her hair away from her face with my other. Leaning forward, I kiss her forehead and then the trail of her tears on each cheek.

When I pull back, her eyes are set on mine, and she says, “Chad?”

Sitting down, I stroke her arm. Too much bad news when she deserves only good. I hesitate, thinking if I should lie for now, but I can’t. She knows already. “He didn’t make it.”

Her tears dry and her gaze lengthens past me into a distance beyond this room. “He tried to help me.”

“I know. He would have done anything for you.”

“Shelly must be . . .” She doesn’t finish the sentence but turns back to me. “How am I here?”

“Because you fought to be here.”

“I wasn’t strong enough.”

“Your strength is why you’re here.”

Her expression hardens like her voice when she says, “I meant I wasn’t strong enough to save the baby, but I tried. I tried so hard to save our baby.”

Our baby. Tears sting my eyes, my heart gutted from my chest in just a few words. This is what hell feels like, burning you slowly, steadily, until there’s nothing left but charred remains. Our baby is dead because someone hated me so much they destroyed a part of me, almost taking her down as well.

She loosens her hand from mine and reaches for the cup on the tray next to me. I take it and hold the straw to her mouth. She turns away when she’s done. “Thank you. I need sleep. I need to close my eyes to this nightmare.”

The move away from me feels purposeful and strikes my heart, as if it came back for more punishment. “Sara Jane?”

“I need to sleep, Alexander.”

“You do need to rest, but it’s not going to be any different when you wake up. I’m sorry. So sorry, but please don’t block me out.”

“I couldn’t protect the baby.” She glances my way. “Now here I am, and I’m not strong enough for the both of us. I can’t deal with my grief and yours. It’s too much.”

She presses the pain meds button latched to her bed. I don’t have much time to break through her nonsensical thoughts. “I love you. I’m here for you. Whatever you need, however you need me, Firefly. I’m here.”

The name draws her eyes back to mine. “King.” The name comes out on the sharp edge of a bladed tongue. “What’s a simple firefly to do in the presence of such greatness?”

“Set his whole world on fire.”

That brings a small smile to her sweet face. I overlook her slight eye-roll. She adds, “You always did believe you could own the universe.” The animosity in her tone is hard to miss this time. Her eyelids dip closed for a long moment before she looks at me again. “I was supposed to die today. It would have been easier than living with the hollowness consuming my body.” The accusation buried in the deepest ocean of her eyes is clear, a fire burning in the blue. She closes her eyes, but I remain staring at her until her breath deepens and sleep takes hold.

“I heard she was awake.” Her mother rushes around the corner with tears in her eyes and a crack in her voice.

I stand, my arms hanging by my sides. “She fell asleep.” I can’t take my eyes off her, her anger toward me still crushing my love like a wadded-up piece of paper that remains in her hands long after the words left her mouth.

Her mother is crying, stroking Sara Jane’s face. “Look at her, David. The swelling. The bruising. My baby.”

The swelling?

The bruising?

I open my eyes and see her, really look at her. How did I not see the blackish purple bruising on her cheekbone, around her lip, and around her right eye? How did I not see the way her bottom lip juts out, or how her eye can barely open it’s so swollen? I’ve been here hours. Checking my watch, it’s been well over ten, and yet, her beauty is all I noticed.

Until now.

Backing away from the bed, I catch her dad’s eyes on me. He grits his too white teeth together, and says, “Look what you’ve done to her. Are you happy now?”

I stop and strike him with my own glare. “She was pregnant.” Her mother gasps, her hand covering her mouth. “With my baby, but she lost it. Whoever did this to her killed my baby.” I walk to the doorway, but stop before leaving to ask, “Are you happy now?”

This time I don’t stop by the nurses station as I walk out. This time I keep walking until I’m standing on the sidewalk. I go to the corner of the building and lean against the bricks. Sliding my back down, my ass lands hard on the concrete. I bring my knees up and drop my head down.

Ambulance sirens whistle through the air, car horns sound in the distance. The air is humid, thick, sticking to my skin. This time the tears come, and I don’t fight them. “Fuck.”

My life was so wrapped up in her well-being that I lost who I was along the way. Even with her absence the last couple months, I didn’t move on. I didn’t need to. I knew she’d come back to me . . .

“How long are you going to let her stay away?”

I tap the baseball in my hand twice before rounding my arm overhead and throwing it to Cruise. “I don’t own her. She could be gone for good for all I know.”

Cruise catches the ball but throws a verbal curveball my way. “Jason says she seems content.”

My defenses go up. That some stranger seems to know what’s going on with my girl more than I do stings. I used to think it was best she was gone. I found pride in it, but after seeing her a few weeks back, I’m not sure she will come back. “What does he know about her anyway?”

He throws the ball back. I catch it in my glove and throw it right back to him. He catches the ball but shakes his hand. “Touch a nerve there, King?”

“Fuck you. Sara Jane’s her own person. She’s the only one who gets to decide where she goes. If that’s here, I’ll fucking rejoice. If it’s not—” I catch his lame throw.

“You’ll go to her. You’ve always been weak to that pus—” With all my strength I throw the ball. It slams into his chest and he keels over in pain, his breath knocked from him. When he looks up, he yells, “What the fuck, Alex?”

Storming across the grass I shove him to the ground. “You want a fight? You’ve got one.”

But he doesn’t get up. The anger in his eyes doesn’t match his gaping mouth. I finally take a breath, calming, and offer him a hand up. He’s been good to me. He’s been by my side without question for years. I can let this slide. One time. “Don’t ever refer to her as less than my fucking everything.”

Pushing up on the ground, he snubs my offer. He dusts his saggy-jeaned ass off and says, “You’ve changed because of her, man.”

. . . It’s true. I have. I just never considered it a bad thing.