Grace

 

I never meant to tell Deacon any of this. It’s not a story I tell anyone. I keep it locked in the vault. The one that stores all my broken pieces. And I never, ever let anyone have the key.

But, I trust him. I’m drawn to him. It’s like we’re being pulled by something stronger than both of us, something outside of ourselves. And fighting it is like swimming upstream. Pointless.

“And Brent?” he asks, breaking the silence between us.

“He didn’t even have the balls to come to the hospital after he found out. He packed his clothes and his promises in his Eddie Bauer suitcase and walked right out the door.”

He kisses the top of my head. I don’t know why, but sitting here with him, letting him hold me like this, feels more intimate than the night he touched me under the table at the restaurant.

“We aren’t all like that.”

“I know.”

  His body tenses beneath me, so I lift my head from his chest and scoot to the side. Just enough so that our thighs are still touching. I guess this is new for both of us.

“I’m a father.” My heart stops at his confession. He hasn’t told me where he’s from. Or what he does. I don’t even know his last name. And here he is, sharing an intimate detail of his life with me. I picture him, stern but warm, a father very much like my own. “Well, there’s a 50/50 chance I’m a father.”

 Oh.

 His eyes, dark and complex, stay focused on me, not giving away a single hint at what he’s feeling. I don’t interrupt. I wouldn’t even know what to say if I did. We all have a story. And this is his to tell.

“It’s every bit as complicated as it sounds. So, I won’t bore you with the details.”

“Somehow I doubt the details would be very boring.”

He laughs, quiet and short.

“I was in love with a woman who fell in love with another man. She was given a choice. So, she made the choice that was best for her. Best for everyone.”

“And the baby?”

“When the time is right, we’ll know the truth.”

“Why would you wait? Don’t you want to know?”

I can tell by his tone it’s not a topic he speaks about often.

“There’s no place in my world for children. My lifestyle isn’t exactly ideal for planting roots and settling down.”

“There’s nothing wrong with roots.”

“Yours are planted so deep, you can barely move.”

“Isn’t that the point of roots?”

Why do I feel like we’re arguing? Why am I worried about the decisions he makes with his life? His choices are his to make. If he doesn’t believe in settling down, that’s none of my business. So why does it bother me so much?

The corner of his mouth turns up in a half grin. “I guess you’re right.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you’d make a wonderful father.”

I see how protective he is. With me. With Johan. I’ve watched him stare at the sunrise and smile at the simple things. He’s cold. He’s sterile. He’s tough. He keeps his thoughts and feelings locked up tight. But there’s something else there. Something I catch glimpses of every once in a while. A warmth. I feel it in his touch. See it in his eyes. He guards it carefully, holds it dear. But for those bold enough to venture too close, it’s there.

“Fiona is a smart woman. I respect her choices and trust her to do what’s right when it’s right.”

“Fiona?” Not exactly a common name. I’m standing at the bottom of a mountain with a huge boulder at the top. The only thing holding it all together is the answer to my next question. “Drazen?” That’s Deirdre’s sister. It all makes sense now, the way he reacted to some of the things I said.

Seconds. Minutes. Hours. Tick. Tick. Tick. Time comes to a near halt. My heart pounds in my chest. Finally, he nods. I close my eyes. The diamond feels as though it weighs a ton on my chest. No.

“You’re Deacon Bruce.”

Silence.

It all comes rushing in. Images flashing through my mind like lightning in a thunderstorm. A gorgeous socialite. Her photographer boyfriend. There was an accident. A stabbing. Deacon was hospitalized. She got thrown in rehab. He took the rap for her. Told the media it was an accident. That he fell. Then he disappeared. Wait. She just had a baby. Oh, God. It’s his. It’s Deacon’s baby. The doctor. The therapist who treated her after the accident. The one she’s with now. He’s the other man she fell in love with.

Still silence.

Time stops.

How can I compete with that?

Why? Why can’t I just find happiness?

The only man in years I open the vault for gave his heart to a woman I can never be. I’m nothing like Fiona Drazen. I don’t even come close. The mountain crumbles, and the boulder falls. Tumbling down with the fragments of broken rock and green earth. And I am paralyzed. Held prisoner by my roots. The same roots Deacon finds so offensive. I’m about to be crushed, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

“Grace.”

“I watch the news.” I hear my voice, but it’s somewhere far away. Like my mind is running at full speed to escape my body. He touches my hand, and I flinch.

“That was a lifetime ago.”

“You have a child.”

“Possibly.”

“But you love her?”

 Why is my heart breaking?

 

The alarm on my father’s monitor floods the silence, reminding me exactly why I don’t invite people over for coffee, or open the vault and let them inside. Deacon’s eyes follow me as I jump from the sofa and run to the hall.

My dad’s forehead is covered in sweat, and he’s struggling to breathe. He keeps trying to roll to his left side to relieve the pain.

“Daddy,” I call out as I take his hand in mine. It’s clammy. “Daddy, can you answer me?” No. This can’t be happening. Not now. Please, God. Not my dad. Deacon stands in the doorway, watching in silence as I check his pulse. “Call 911. He’s having a heart attack.”

 

***

 

The waiting room is cold. There’s a tv in the corner. I see the faces on the screen, hear their voices in the room, but none of it seems real. A man in a gray suit talks about how unusually chilly it is for October. A woman in a blue dress pops up after him letting the world know there’s another fire somewhere to our north.

 A couple not much older than me sits in two recliners on the opposite side of the room. So many chairs. Rows of chairs. Two in the middle and one on each wall. Why are there so many chairs? Is this room ever full? Do this many people have to face heartache so often that they had to have over a dozen chairs?

The woman goes into an open room by the double doors that lead to the hallway and comes back with a cup of coffee and a donut left there by a good Samaritan. My stomach knots at the sight of food. I can’t eat. I don’t want coffee. I want my dad.

One of the doors opens, and an older woman steps through. She approaches the man in the recliner, and he stands to hug her.

“I’m so sorry,” she says. “She’s in our prayers.”

Prayers. I’ve been relying on hopes and prayers my whole life. If ever there were a time for them to come through, now is it.

I left my sister a message. She’s still not taking my calls. Annette said she’ll be by to see him once he’s out of surgery. He’s been in the back for nearly four hours. I’m about to crawl out of my skin. I’ve worn a path in the cold, porcelain tile from this chair, through the double doors, and down the hall to the nurse’s station. It’s cold. So cold it hurts. I feel the chill all the way to my bones. I can’t stop trembling. I can’t sit still.

“Can I get you anything?” Deacon asks.

He’s been here the whole time. We haven’t talked about Fiona. Or whatever this is or isn’t between us. We haven’t talked about my father. We haven’t talked much at all. He just sits there. Watching me as I stare at the pale, yellow walls and think about all the things I haven’t said to my father. They say yellow is calming, that it’s meant to remind you of the warm summer sun, of time spent smiling and being happy. I don’t see any of that in these walls.

 I’ve played this scenario over in my mind a hundred times from the moment he reached stage four. I remember my mom, and what her last days were like. And I tell myself I should have been prepared. That I should have seen this coming. But the truth is, you’re never really prepared. Death isn’t a test you study for. It’s a stray bullet, shot through the woods. You don’t see it coming. You just feel it. Piercing your heart, scattering the pieces across the floor until there’s nothing left. Leaving you helpless and empty.

The leather chair creaks under my weight. “No, thank you.”

“You have to eat something.”

“I will. Just not right now.”

 

Five hours.

Then six.

 

A doctor comes to speak with the couple across the room, letting them know the woman they were waiting on is in recovery and they can see her soon. They got here after us.

My chest tightens. Something’s wrong. It’s been six hours. It shouldn’t take six hours. The doctor said four. At the most. They won’t answer my questions, even though I know I’m asking all the right ones.

“Take me,” I bargain with God. “Make him healthy, and take me.”

My eyes are heavy, but I’m wide awake. Deacon brings me a cup of coffee from the cafeteria, not giving me a choice to decline.

“You know you don’t have to stay here,” I tell him, as he pulls back the peel of a banana and sits back down. 

“I know.”

I look at him, in his gray button up dress shirt and black slacks. His hair falls perfectly to the side, and the shadow of a three-day stubble covers his jaw. He hasn’t as much as groaned or let out an uncomfortable sigh since we’ve been here. He hasn’t slept in who knows how long. He spent the night in his car, and so far, most of the day in a hospital waiting room. And I wonder why. Why did he stay?

 He traveled across the world to see you, Grace. Of course, he’s going to stay.

 

Seven hours.

His body can’t stay under for this long. Something isn’t right. His organs will start to shut down soon.

The doctor walks in, and the walls close in around me. Deacon stands at the same moment I do.

 He knows.

 I know.

 It’s right there, all over the doctor’s face. He takes my hand and brings it to his chest. The tears start to fall before the doctor ever speaks a word. I close my eyes, not even trying to stop them. Deacon squeezes my hand. The ground gives out beneath my feet, and I feel as though I’m falling into a deep, black hole. I can’t find my breath, so I squeeze his hand back.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor says, and the hole closes up around me. Suffocating me, leaving me trapped inside.

I open my eyes to find a pair of sad, blue ones looking back at me.

And I shatter. Into a million broken pieces. Time. Hope. Love. My world. It all disappears. The one thing I had left to hold onto is gone.