STEWART

Six voicemails. The fact that it crosses my mind in this moment is sickening. It is something I will never admit to anyone, I am pushing it out of my mind at the moment it creeps in, desperate to bury it with emotions, love, grief, anything. I don’t deserve her. I don’t deserve anything but my empty office, stacked with deadlines and trades, dotted lines and stock prices. I don’t deserve the sunny smile flirting with me while snow dots her face, her giggle when I awaken her at four AM, her hand tugging me to my feet while she drops to her knees. I try to catch sight of her, try to see past the flash of metal, white cloth, and gloves. I try to see her face. I try to send her a silent apology for every piece of the man that I am not. I step backward, against the wall, and pray.

DANA

There are too many people in the room, all with a purpose or a deep-ingrained love that will not allow their feet to move. I am the only one with no place in that room. I am the outsider, watching the train wreck with a morbid fascination. I can’t help them. This is something that they have to figure out amongst themselves. I don’t envy Madison when she wakes up. An event that should be a celebration, the survival of death, will be a tense, who-will-you-choose tug of war. She will wake to expectant eyes, competing affections and pregnant pauses. I need to protect her. I need to keep their competition at bay and allow her to heal. I am suddenly struck with the irony of those thoughts. For months I have been worried about protecting them from her. And now, now that I am actually present and a part of this discussion, I have crawled over the fence and am now guarding the opposite side.

As the flatline stretches out, her body jerking with electricity from the paddles, no change, no life coming back into her body, I realize that I may not have a fence to protect. And I join my brothers in fervent prayer.

MADISON

I am brought back to life at 4:08 PM. It is with a jarring impact, my back slamming against the bed with a hard thunk. My eyes flip open to bright white light, shining intensely down on me, heads breaking the line of white, hands everywhere, touching, lifting, squeezing my skin. I briefly hear Paul’s voice, and then my eyes close and I sink back into darkness.

I am so. so. tired.

I feel a squeeze, then a release. A squeeze, and then a release. A hum of sounds, a familiar cadence that my brain recognizes as speech, the words unintelligible. I struggle, the grip on my hand tightening as I try to move. I open my eyes, crust sticking my lashes together, a haze over my vision and I blink to clear them.

An unfamiliar face peers into mine, the man’s features studied, his eyes sharp, looking carefully into mine. I frown, trying to place him, trying to place the white tile ceiling behind his head. Where am I? There is a roar in my head, spots appearing in my vision, and I wince, closing my eyes briefly, the peace instantly returning, and I relax against the pillow, grateful for the reprieve.

The hand squeezes again, and the voices return, incessant and irritating. I try to pull my hand away, try to roll to my side and block out the voices. I want to sleep, and this party of irritating is putting a cramp in that style.

It won’t stop, and now a second hand has joined the party, squeezing my other hand. I groan, opening my eyes again, the white glare doing the tango in stilettos on my head, shooting needles straight into my temples. I try and focus, try to move my mouth and tell these persistent assholes to go to hell. I can’t move my head, can’t do anything but stare up into the light, and I wonder where the stranger went, if he is still here, if he is one of the damn individuals squeezing my hands to death. A new face enters my vision and I relax slightly. Paul.

He leans forward, speaking so loudly that someone two blocks away could hear, the angle of his approach revealing that he is one of the hand squeezers. “Madd, can you hear me?”

I blink at him and try to speak. Swallow and try again, the words coming out as a whisper. “I’m not deaf. Please... shut up and let me sleep.”

He grins. The damn man grins, a smile that stretches across his face as if he has just won the Maverick Invitational. “Yes, baby,” he whispers, and I would swear that a tear leaks from his eyes.

“Thank you,” I grumble, my voice coming out hoarse, my eyes closing against the still-brutal light. “And please have someone turn that damn light off.”

“Anything else, babe?” His voice is close to my ear but at a normal decibel level, and I can feel the warm tickle of breath against my eardrum.

“Yeah.” I sigh, the glare against the darks of my eyelids gone, some angel having found the fry light and turned it off. “Stop strangling my hands.”

If he responds, I don’t hear it. Darkness is once again my new best friend.

DANA

I find Stewart in one of the lobby chairs; he looks up at my approach. “Hey sis,” he says dully.

“She’s asleep but stable. You didn’t want to stay in the room?”

He shakes his head, lifting a hand and massaging his temples.

I sit next to him, run my hand over his shoulder, picking a bit of lint off the material. “It’s okay, that she didn’t see you when she woke up. She’ll know that you were here. Chances are she won’t even remember it.”

He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. The point wasn’t for her to see me. I’m just glad I saw it.” He lets out a breath of air. “God, when her eyes opened... when I heard her voice... it was like a weight off my shoulders. I’ve never been so scared, Dana. I mean, with Jennifer, there was never an unknown period. We were just told what happened. And had to deal with it in any way we could. With Madison... the unknown, the waiting...” he turns his head, looking at me. “I was terrified.”

I look into his eyes. Eyes that have matured so much in the last few years. He sits like the weight of the world rests on his shoulders. And in his eyes... I see disappointment, an emotion that I don’t understand. “You should go in there. She might wake back up.”

His eyes darken. “No. I want Paul... God, I don’t know.” He looks down, leans forward in his chair and rests his forearms on his knees. “I don’t think...” he says carefully, every word measured, “that I deserve her.”

“In what way?”

He runs his fingers over his mouth. “I don’t think I can do it, D.” He looks back at me. “I wouldn’t tell another soul but you this. The work—the job—I don’t know that I can walk from it. Cut back my hours to a level that she would expect. Deserve.” He snorts, disgust in his eyes. “Fuck, I can’t even sit in a hospital room while she struggles for life and not think about it.” He looks away. “Paul... he doesn’t struggle with that. He—in there—all he’s thinking about is her. All that he loves in life is her.” His shoulders sink. “Do I have the right to take that from him? Only to fail her later?”

He runs a hand through his hair, gripping it before dropping his head into his hands. “But where does that leave me? A life alone? With nothing but my work? She—she is the only thing I have other than that.”

I reach out a hand and grab his knee, squeezing it hard until he looks at me, a haunted look in his eyes. “Stewart—I know that you love her. But you will meet someone who you will happily set aside work for. You won’t have to try and cut back your hours. You won’t be able to stay away from them. That is when you’ll know that you have found the person you are meant to be with. When your life is no longer your own, and you are shoving that sacrifice forward willingly.”