Salvation (Nashville Nights #2) Page 11

  “But, I don’t know what I want. My parents want me to have the operation.” I stand and pace the room, unable to sit while my gut is churning like an ice cream machine set on flash freeze. “Mateo wants me to have the operation. Livvy wants me to have the operation. If I make any other choice I let them all down.”

  “Okay, let’s walk through your options. You already made the decision to take your life. If you don’t have the operation you will have the same outcome. The only difference is that they know and will have to stand by and watch you do it and you will have to witness the impact your death would have on them. Correct?”

  I nod and she’s continues.

  “If you have the operation, you live. Maybe in a wheelchair, maybe with crutches but you live. You’ll have months of rehab and will need help and we both know how much you hate asking for help. But, you will have your whole like ahead of you to whatever you want. Stay in school. Drop out. Compete again. Move to Tasmania. The possibilities are endless.”

  And that is what terrifies me.

  “I got used to only having to plan for a short period of time. Time where I could live like I wanted to live,” I whisper, my mouth dry and throat sore.

  “Carlisle, can I tell you what I think has you so scared?” I sit and nod at her, my entire focus on the woman I hop can make sense of all the threads tangled in my head. “I never thought I would see you even contemplate changing your mind. Your death, the timing, the way you were going to do it was all under your control. There were very few variables to surprise you.” She takes off her glasses and places them on the table, for the first time in our entire relationship moving to sit next to me on the sofa. “When those people murdered Aaron and your friends they also took your control and that scared you. It would scare anyone. Suddenly, the world you had owned and ordered to your satisfaction was gone and it was at the whim of people you never met. Your perspective shifted and now the world was a big scary place where nothing was guaranteed, nothing was safe and there was nothing you could do about it.”

  Dr. Shrieve reaches over to the table and picks up the tissue box, handing it to me. I take one and wipe my face, surprised when it comes back wet.

  “I’ve cried more in the last fucking week than I’ve cried since the bombing,” I complain, swiping angrily at the tears.

  “And I think your body is telling you that you need to so go with it. Let it happen. Stop holding on so tight.” She pats my hand and asks. “Are you ready to hear more?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Hope is the belief that things in the future will work out for the best and they took that from you. So, for you there was nothing worth staying for, no reason to believe that the future would be any better than the past. But now you have things in your life that make you hope and taking your life isn’t the only option. I think it’s the reason why you didn’t tell your mom no and I think it’s why you called me.”

  I remember the moment my mom told me and the way that Mateo flashed in my mind. I

  “But I can’t make this decision based on people who may or may not be there. I lost Aaron and I don’t know if I can live through that again. I don’t want to love that way again. It’s terrifying.”

  “Because they might leave or die?”

  “Yes!”

  “Well, welcome back to the human race, Carlisle. Join the terrifying adventure of love and life that the rest of have to endure. A journey that is only worth making because of the people we love along the way even though we know we could lose them.” She reaches out and grabs my hand. “Embrace your hope again and decide if the future might be worth it no matter who comes or goes. There are so many things you will never be able to control but if you’re the Carlisle Queen that I know, you’ll wring out every ounce of adventure no matter what life throws at you.”

  And just like that, I know what I’m going to do.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mateo

  I went home.

  College graduate. Grown ass man. I’d lasted one long, sleepless night in my house before I got in my car and headed home to my mom. My dad, actually. Carmela Montez Butler could be all kinds of sweetness, light and homemade cookies when necessary, but in this instance I knew what she would do. My mom would smack me upside the back of my head, tell me to get that exact body part out of my butt and head on back to Carlisle’s house. She is the call-to-action part of our family, the one who believes that making lists and getting busy is the best way to get the shit in your head straight.

  My dad, is the thinker. The listener. The one who patiently coaxes an answer out of you just like he gets every beat up car that rolls into his shop to purr like a kitten and shine brighter than a Victoria’s Secret model on the runway.

  And right now I need somebody to help me sort out all the crap in my head because I sure as hell can’t do it myself. Maybe if I can get my brain straight, the ice in my veins will thaw and the shards of glass in my gut will disappear.

  I pull into the gravel driveway tucked under the shade trees in the side yard and head for the garage tucked behind the barn on the back of our property. It is his place, his man cave long before there were TV shows about it. Instead of large flat screens and beer taps, my dad is happy with a set of hydraulic lifts and the smell of engine grease. I find him in his usual position, shoulders deep in the front end of an old car with an old-fashioned country station on the radio.

  He looks up when I walk through the door, delivering his usual “Hey Son” in that deep, rumbling voice that can either soothe or strike terror in anyone within a five-mile radius. Something on my face makes him straighten up to his full height of six-feet three-inches and before I know it, he grabs me and pulls me into his arms. My dad isn’t a hugger; more of the type to slap you on the back or place a heavy palm on your shoulder and I can count on two hands the number of times he’s given me a hug since I hit puberty.

  But he holds me now, letting my anger and grief and frustration leech out of me and dampen the front of his shirt.

  “She’s dying, Dad.”

  His arms tighten around me at my words and I burrow a little closer, grateful to hide my face against his shoulder as I give in to the panic and the teeth-chattering terror that squeezes me in its cruel grip. Gradually I calm down and pull out of his embrace, wiping my face with the hem of my t-shirt. I avoid meeting his eyes, embarrassed at the way I’ve completely fallen apart.

  He says nothing, instead he does what he always does and walks back to the open hood of the car and reaches for a tool, handing it over to me. I take it from him, the wrench cool against the skin of my palm. I glance up at him and he barely makes eye contact before he gestures towards the engine. I know what he wants me to do, I’ve spent as much time in the garage as I have in school, or on the football field, or the backseat of my car with a naked girl.

  I begin the methodical process of reconnecting wires and hoses, letting the familiar actions work their magic to settle my nerves and kick my brain back into the zone of normal. We work side-by-side for half an hour before he says anything.

  “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong with your girl?”

  “There’s shrapnel in her back from the bombing,” I say, trying to quickly capture the basics of what Carlisle relayed to me last night. I hadn’t caught it all. Not with the shock and the prior night’s lack of sleep but the most important parts are cemented in my mind. “It’s been in there causing more damage to her spinal cord and one day, very soon, it is going to paralyze her or… ” I suck in a breath and force out the words that feel like razor blades in my throat, “… or it’s going to kill her.”

  My dad stops what he is doing and looks at me, the steel gray in his eyes one of the things I know I inherited from him, along with my stubborn streak and hopefully his patience.

  “They can’t do anything for her?” he asks.

  “There’s an operation… nobody has been willing to do it until now… ”

  “But now somebody will do it.
Yes?”

  “Yes,” I say, putting down the tools. My hands are shaking too hard to use them properly. I turn and lean against the side of the car, focusing on an ancient Miller Beer clock mounted on the wall.

  My father puts down his tools and wipes off his hands, leaning against the side of the car next to me. “It sounds like she doesn’t have much of a choice, though.”

  I pause. How do I explain what Carlisle told me? I’m not sure I fully understand it myself. And I’m… conflicted… about everything.

  “She’s not sure if she’s going to have the surgery,” I say.

  “What?”

  “She doesn’t want to be… paralyzed… disabled. It’s the most probable outcome for the surgery.”

  “That’s terrible but the only alternative is… ”

  He stops talking and I can feel him turn to look at me. I swallow hard, suddenly unable to breathe even though my heart is fluttering like a hummingbird.

  “Oh Matty,” he says, using the nickname he abandoned when he gave me the speech about wet dreams and how to behave with real girls. The anguish in his voice tells me that he understands everything. His arm is a heavy weight across my shoulders and I appreciate the grounding it gives me when it feels like I’m going to fly apart.

  “She’s been planning to kill herself since before we even met. She doesn’t want to live if it involves crutches or a wheelchair or anything like that.” I turn to face him, hoping that I see some kind of answer in his gaze. “And this feels like it’s Mari all over again. Karma, God, the fucking universe paying me back for not being there for her. For failing her.”

  He moves quickly, big hands around the back of my neck, forcing me to maintain eye contact.

  “The God I know isn’t going to dish out payback. Never.” He is vehement, fierce in his tone even though his grip is gentle. “And you did not fail Mari. She made her choice and we all had to live with it because it was her decision to make. She didn’t make it lightly or without considering all of us but she couldn’t deny what she wanted, what she needed, just to live for us. I didn’t like it then and I hate it now but I can’t fault her for the choice she made.”

  I push him away, anger rising and eclipsing the hurt and the fear.

  “How can you say that Dad? She gave up! She didn’t fight!”

  “If you think for one minute that your sister didn’t fight then you weren’t paying attention. She fought and got the chemo and puked her guts out for weeks. She lost weight and cried when her hair fell out and endured something no parent should ever have to watch their kid go through.” He raises a fist, white knuckled and shaking and places it over his heart, his expression open and broken. I want to look away but I can’t. “And when they gave her the options, she chose to go out on her terms. She knew she was giving up time but she wanted what time she had to be different. I didn’t want her to make that choice but I understand that it was hers to make.” He steps forward, lowering his voice and placing his hand on my shoulder. “And no matter how you or I feel about it, Carlisle will make her own choice and you will either be able to support her or not. That will be your choice.”

  I know he’s right. Mari was right. Carlisle will be right with whatever she chooses to do. I just don’t know what I can do.

  “I failed Mari. I don’t want to do the same with Carlisle,” I whisper.

  “I know you think you let your sister down, the family down, and all I can tell you is that none of us think you did. If Mari did, she never said one word about it.”

  I pace away from him and throw out there the one thing that has never been said between us. I can’t even look at him.

  “I wasn’t there to say goodbye. I was drunk and fucking some girl whose name I still can’t remember.”

  He closes his eyes and his fists grip at his side as he lets out a long, slow breath. When he makes eye contact with me I see disappointment in their depths but overwhelmingly I just see pity and love and something splits open deep inside me. I grab my abdomen, convinced that if I look down, I will see my guts and lifeblood spilling out and onto my feet.

  “Zane never told me where he found you but I thought it was something like that.”

  I nod, bracing myself for what I have coming, what I deserve. “Don’t you hate me? Hate my failure?”

  “I could never hate you but I am disappointed in you,” he says, honestly but with no heat. “But I know you’ve hated yourself for it enough for the whole world’s judgment and I think you need to stop. Mari didn’t hate you. She said there was nothing left unsaid between the two of you and she was at peace about it.”

  “I wish I’d been there,” I say, choking on the bitterness of the truth. “Wish I’d had the guts to say goodbye.”

  “And that is something you’ll have to put at rest for yourself. Give it time and you’ll work it out,” Dad says as he leans against the car, watching me closely. “All we can do is take what happened and try to make it into something that helps, that heals. Maybe that’s medical school for you. Maybe it’s loving Carlisle. I don’t know.”

  “I don’t know if I love Carlisle,” I say, the words rough on my tongue. They taste of a bitter half-truth. I know how I feel about her—I just don’t know if I can let myself follow everything that goes with it.

  My dad shifts a look at me that says he doesn’t believe what I just said but he lets it pass, instead saying, “I don’t know if she’s made up her mind or not but you’ve got to make up your mind to either be all in or all out. Whether she decides to go out on her own terms or spend the rest of her life in a wheelchair, if you don’t love her enough to stand by her through all of it, then get out of the way so that she can find the man who will.”

  It isn’t the answer I was hoping he’d give me, the solution to all my problems, but it’s a direction. Something for me to consider along with everything else we talked about tonight.

  I walk out of the garage, waving my mom off as I head to my car and climb inside. I pull out onto the road and make turn after turn, sticking to the two and one lane roads headed deeper into the country. The sun slides across the sky as I drive, stopping only to fill up the tank and grab a bottle of water. My phone is buzzing in the seat beside me but I ignore it. Zane. My mom. Zane again.

  I need to figure out what I’m going to do.

  One part of me wants to give in to the rage and crash this vehicle into the nearest tree, as if me giving up my life will somehow give Carlisle’s back to her. The ultimate penance for being a shitty brother and a coward.

  Can I learn from what I did wrong before and get it right this time? Can I be the man Carlisle will need? Can I be the man who will watch her struggle with whoever she’ll be after the surgery? Can I be the man who will hold her hand as she passes on her own terms?

  Can I actually give her up?

  The lights in Nashville shine like costume jewelry on a pretty girl when I head back into the city with the top down and the wind drowning out everything but my thoughts. My head is spinning, my heart catching with each thought of Carlisle, each memory.

  I cannot get past the moment in my bed. Not the sex, not the way she controls me with a brush across my skin or the press of her lips on mine but the slide of our hands together. Fingers entwined in the perfect weave, stronger together than apart. The way she tightened her grip on mine when I whispered “Tesoro”.

  My treasure.

  The one I was not looking for but found buried under the shit of all of our issues, our pasts, our pain. Carlisle shines like gold, warming me from the inside out. Repairing the broken bits and bringing the others back to life. Mi Tesoro.

  I pull in to one of the empty spots on the street in front of her apartment, weighing what I’m going to say to her but knowing that it has to be tonight. It has to be right now. I look up and see the lights on in her living room and I take the stairs at a run, bypassing the elevator and power pulling off the railing to help me get there faster. I run down the hallway, banging on the door as soon
as I get it within arm’s reach.

  I keep knocking even when I hear steps approaching and the murmurings from within that “they are coming as fast as they can”. I hold my breath as the door swings open and I face an older woman with Carlisle’s red-gold hair and freckles on her nose. Close behind her is a man whose intense stare I’ve seen leveled at me many times when his daughter is trying to figure me out. Carlisle is a fair blend of them both, stealing the best parts to mix into her own unique beauty.

  Behind them both, Carlisle steps forward, her hair pulled up in a ponytail and she’s wearing no make-up. She looks pale, the red around her eyes betraying her if she’s trying to keep her tears a secret. I want to take her face in my hands, wipe every single one, and kiss her until she forgets her reasons to cry. Just for a little while.

  “Mateo.” Her father knows my name so I’m guessing that their daughter has brought them up to speed on the man she’s been sleeping with. His face is rigid and I can tell by the way he’s holding his hands at his side that he’s itching to throw me out. “This isn’t a good time.”

  I shake my head. “I think it’s the perfect time for me to tell you that I love your daughter.” Carlisle gasps and I turn to her, taking the several steps it takes for me to cover the distance to stand right in front of her. “I love you and I’m here. No matter what you decide to do I will stay with you, but I’m hoping you choose to stay with me because I love you. So much.”

  She reaches for me and I pull her into my arms, exhaling when she burrows in close and hangs on tight.

  “I love you too,” she whispers.

  It’s all the answer I need for right now.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Carlisle

  “Do you two have enough towels, Mom?” I ask.

  I look around the second bedroom in my apartment, making sure my parents have what they need. Tomorrow is my surgery and after a week of test, more tests, and invasively personal questions, I have the green light to jump off a cliff into the vast unknown.