Make Me Sin (36 page)

F
our hours pass, then five. Nico and the guys bring in sandwiches and coffee from the cafeteria, but I can’t eat. I’m going over and over it in my head, everything A.J. ever said to me, every time we were together.

It all makes complete sense now. Everything makes awful, perfect sense.

The police take everyone’s statements about the events at the wedding. We’re told Eric was dead on arrival to the hospital. When I hear that, I feel nothing at all. Numbness has seeped into every cell and nerve of my body, and for that I’m grateful, because it’s the only thing keeping me going.

Then, at exactly twenty minutes after two in the morning, Dr. Rhoades comes back.

Everyone stands. No one says anything. She looks exhausted.

Finally she says, “He’s in recovery. The surgery went well.”

My heart squeezes to a fist. “How is he?”

She looks at me. For the first time tonight, she manages to smile. “We think he’s out of the woods.”

Everyone screams. I start to bawl, sinking to my knees on the ugly gray carpet. Kat and Grace fall onto me and we crouch there in a sobbing huddle on the floor, three women in designer wedding attire with their arms around each other, crying their eyes out, until the doctor calls for everyone’s attention.

“If he remains stable, he should be moved into a regular room within the next hour.” She looks at me. “I’ll come and get you, okay?”

I stand, supported by Kat and Grace on both sides. Then I quickly close the few feet between us and throw my arms around her neck.

“Thank you,” I whisper, “thank you so, so much.”

She chuckles, patting my back awkwardly. “You’re welcome. But you should thank the surgeon. I’ll have him speak to you when he’s finished.”

I release her, nodding, too exhausted to do much more than smile. She pats me on the arm, then leaves.

Then, once more, we wait.

W
hen I walk through the door of A.J.’s hospital room, I have to slap my hand over my mouth so I don’t cry out in horror.

He looks like death.

His skin is a waxy, lifeless gray. His eyes are sunken deep in his head. His hair is matted with blood. There’s a tube in his nose, more tubes stuck in his arms, chest, and the back of one hand, and he’s hooked up to all kinds of blinking medical equipment that make disturbing chirping and sighing noises as he breathes.

Shaking, I go to his bedside and stand over it, looking down. He’s asleep or drugged, I can’t tell which; either way he’s unconscious. The surgeon has told me he’ll be in a lot of pain when he wakes up, and not to expect him to have the strength to speak.

I don’t care if he speaks. I just need him to see me. I need him to know I’m here.

I take his hand and lean over and press a kiss to his forehead. Both are ice cold. Despite the doctor’s reassurances that A.J. is stable for the moment, he looks to me as if he’s hanging on by a thread.

Everyone’s given me time to come in alone and see him first.

I drag a chair next to the bed and sit in it, taking his hand again. I wrap both my hands around his big, motionless paw, lean over and press it to my cheek.

I sigh. “You idiot.”

It’s the first thing I think of. I decide it’s probably not the right thing to say, so I blunder on, working myself up until a stream-of-consciousness tirade is pouring out of me.

“I can’t believe you’d think it would be better for me to hate you than for us to be together. That’s all I ever really wanted: for us to be together. And you were always holding back. I get it now that you were just trying to protect me, but what you don’t get is that you just cheated us both out of months of time we should have spent together. I’m seriously pissed with you about that, sweetie.

“Your friend Heavenly is a real piece of work, by the way. Is that what you two were arguing about at the table at dinner? She wanted you to tell me and you were being your normal stubborn self and refused? Well, she followed me into the ladies’ room and gave me an earful, so now I know everything. And it didn’t work, anyway, your little plan to make me hate you. I didn’t move on. I mean, I couldn’t have anyway, because I love you too damn much, but also because of little A.J., junior. Or if it’s a girl, I was thinking Abigail. Do you like the name Abigail? We could call her Abby. Abby Aleksandra, would you like that? My mother will probably kill me if I don’t get her name in there somehow, so she might have to have two middle names. Abby Aleksandra Elizabeth Edwards. That’s really beautiful, actually. Unless you don’t like it. I suppose we could figure it out later.” I sigh again, exhausted. “We have so much to talk
about, sweetie. When you wake up I’m going to talk your ear off.”

A weak, scratchy voice says, “You already are.”

I look up, heart leaping. A.J. is looking back at me with a little half smile quirking his lips. I jump to my feet, already crying, and hug him.

He hisses in pain.

“Oh God I’m sorry!” I yank myself away, aware that in my eagerness I’ve hurt him, but he grabs my wrist with surprising strength, not letting me get far. He looks straight into my eyes.

“You’re pregnant?”

I nod, wiping tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand.

He inhales, lashes fluttering, then whispers, “You’re carrying my child? We’re having a baby?”

I nod again, breaking out into a slightly hysterical laugh.

His grip on my wrist loosens. He opens his hand, reaching out for my face. I lean down, much more carefully this time, and press a soft kiss to his lips. His eyes close. His fingers stroke my cheek, tracing my jawline. “Well, then. I guess this won’t be the only surgery I’ll be having this month.”

Hope surges through me. I stare at him, waiting, not daring to speak.

Faintly, he says, “I don’t know if they can get it all; it’s too big now. They said I only have a few months left. But it might buy me more time.”

“But . . . Heavenly . . . she said . . . she said if they take out the tumor that you’d go blind.”

His lashes lift, and he looks at me with so much love and adoration my heart swells until it feels like it will burst. He whispers, “Small price to pay to hear someone call me ‘Daddy,’ don’t you think?”

My supply of tears is inexhaustible, because here they come again. “If you wanted to be called Daddy, I would’ve happily obliged!”

He smiles. His eyes drift shut. “I thought you said you weren’t into the kinky stuff.”

I sob, laughing and crying at the same time. “We never got much of a chance to try out any of your advanced moves, did we?”

His smile turns wicked. “Not yet.”

Carefully, because I just can’t contain myself, I kiss A.J. all over his face. “I love you,” I murmur with every press of my lips against his skin. “I love you. I love you so much. You saved me, A.J. You saved my life.”

“We saved each other, angel,” he murmurs, and then falls back asleep.

F
ive weeks later, after A.J. has recovered enough to undergo brain surgery, he’s admitted to the hospital again, this time to have the tumor removed.

We’ve moved into a small house we rented in Laurel Canyon while we decide what the next steps should be. So much depends upon the outcome of the surgery, it’s difficult to plan in advance, but I didn’t want to stay in my apartment and A.J. no longer wanted to live in the hotel, so we found a place that would serve as our new temporary home together, with Bella, where there are no bad memories to spoil a single second.

We’re living on borrowed time.

There’s no guarantee the surgery will be a success. In fact, the surgeons have informed us it’s highly risky; blindness might not be the only side effect. The list of terrible things that could go wrong is daunting, including paralysis, but A.J. is insistent he wants it. If there’s even a small chance it will allow him a few more years, he’s taking the chance.

In the meantime, we’ve prepared for the worst.

“Do you have all the paperwork? I can’t find the paperwork. And what have I done with my reading glasses? I’ll definitely need those. I bought the new Grisham book, but I can’t read without my glasses, especially in hospital lighting.”

“Mom, calm down! I’ve got the paperwork. And your reading glasses are right there on the counter, next to your purse.”

My mother is coming with us to the hospital. Since she found out that A.J. was, in his own messed up way, trying to do the heroic thing by letting me go, she’s his new biggest fan.

Also taking a bullet for me didn’t hurt.

My father still has his reservations, but he’s stopped growling at A.J. and is begrudgingly giving him some respect.

Naturally, I never mentioned my little walk-in on A.J. and Heavenly. I think even the most supportive parents would have a hard time with that one, no matter how well-intentioned they are.

Speaking of Heavenly, we’ve reached a truce. I still don’t like her—probably because she’s too beautiful to have any sympathetic feelings toward,
and
she was naked in the same room as my man—but after several discussions, I’m convinced she really does just want the best for A.J. and me. She’s meeting us at the hospital, along with the rest of the gang.

“Here they are!” My mother beams momentarily as she finds her glasses, right where I told her they were, but just as quickly her face falls. “Should we bring pillows? Those waiting room chairs are terribly uncomfortable.”

“Mom, stop! We’re going to be late as it is! Help me with my handbag, please, I’ve got my hands full with all this other crap.”

“Language, dear,” she scolds.

I’m the only woman in the western hemisphere whose mother considers the word “crap” foul language. She’s even gotten A.J. to stop cursing. Around her, anyway.

“You upsetting grandma again?”

My mother and I turn to see A.J. amble into the room. He’s smiling, looking relaxed, while I’m a bundle of nerves.

“No one’s upsetting anyone, we’re just running late.” Scowling, I try to hoist my duffel bag containing clothes, toiletries, books, and other items to keep me distracted while I wait to find out how A.J. will fare in his operation. It will probably be another all-nighter, but regardless of the length of the operation, I’ll be staying at the hospital until he’s released, which could be anywhere from two to five days. I’m looking around frantically for my Kindle when a pair of strong hands encircle my upper arms.

“Angel.”

I look up at him. “Yes, sweetie.”

“It’s going to be all right. I’m going to be fine.” His gaze is warm and steady, the pressure of his hands reassuring; he knows I’m freaking out.

I swallow around the lump in my throat. “Okay.”

He pulls me into a hug. I bury my face in my safe spot, the crook between his shoulder and neck, and breathe him in.

“How’s my girl?” he whispers, stroking my hair.

I sniffle a little, determined not to cry. “I’m good.”

“And the bean?”

I can’t help but smile. We’ve decided not to find out the sex of the baby, so for now we’re just calling him or her “the bean.” I’ve started to show. I think my little pooch is cute, and can’t stop running my hands over it.

“Snug in his momma’s belly.”

A.J.’s lips find my neck. “His? What if it’s a girl? I kinda had my heart set on a little Abigail Aleksandra Elizabeth.”

My face crumples. I squeeze my eyes shut, pulling in a breath through my nose.

A.J. pulls back and takes my face into his hands. “Hey. Listen to me now. I’m going. To be. Okay. We’ve got the house all set up right for when I get home, we’ve got the rehab specialist scheduled to help out, I’m learning braille. And if Stevie Wonder can play the keyboard without his sight, I can sure as hell play the drums without mine.” He pauses. “Oh no.”

Immediately, panic creeps up my throat. “What?”

He looks at me, completely serious. “I forgot to stock up on cool sunglasses.”

I whack him on the shoulder. “Not funny!”

He grins. “C’mon, it’s sorta funny.”

I don’t know how he’s so calm. Part of me knows he’s doing it for me, another part knows that’s just him: strong. I hope our baby gets her strength from him, because it’s taking every ounce of my concentration not to dissolve into a blubbering mess.

I’m pulled into another hug. A.J. and I stand there like that for a moment, silent, holding each other, until my mother gently clears her throat.

“I think it’s time to go, loves.”

“That it is,” agrees A.J., giving me a final squeeze. He lets me go and smiles at both of us. “But I’m driving. And if this is the last time I’m getting behind the wheel of a car, you ladies might want to hold on to your hats. I might not be minding all the speed limits. Or any of them.”

“Suits me,” says my mother breezily. “Thomas drives like an old woman; it’ll be a nice change to go fast.”

The look on my face makes the two of them laugh.

We set off for the hospital, and A.J. is true to his word. My mother and I just hang on, while I keep telling myself one thing over and over again.

He’s going to make it. He’s going to make it. He will make it.

I break my self-imposed ban on talking to God, and start to pray.

T
he surgery lasts six hours. They are the longest hours of my life. Because I knew this was coming, it’s somehow worse than when A.J. was in surgery after Eric shot him. The weeks and weeks of anticipation have wound every one of my nerves bowstring tight, and I can hardly breathe.

I pace. I drink coffee. I plead with God.

When the surgeon comes in to tell us A.J. made it through successfully and has been transferred to the ICU, no one erupts with cheers like they did the night of the wedding. There’s still too much at stake; this is only half the battle. There is profound relief, however. Nico and Kat hug; Chris, Ethan, and Brody share a round of high fives; Kenji and Grace embrace, as do my parents. Jamie went back to New York weeks before, but I text him the news with shaking hands, silent tears streaming down my face.

Heavenly puts her hand on my shoulder. She looks almost as wrecked as I feel. Without speaking, we hug.

When it’s time for me to go see him, my mother squeezes my hand. “Remember what the surgeon said, darling. It’s too early to tell anything yet.”

It’s too early to tell if he’ll be paralyzed, or be able to speak, or remember my name. It’s too early to tell if my child will be growing up with a father who’s merely blind, or one who can’t function at all without a twenty-four-hour nursing assistant.

But he’s alive. He’s still my A.J. And no matter how disabled, I will love him just the same. Forever.

The surgeon leads me to his room. I stand outside the door, watching him. His head has been completely shaved; I’ve asked the nurse to save his hair.

“He looks peaceful,” I murmur to the doctor.

He turns to me. “I have a few simple tests to do. I can come back later if you prefer.”

“No,” I say quickly. “I’m not leaving this room until he does.”

A smile briefly flickers over his face. “All right. After you.”

He holds out his hand, and we both enter the room. Feeling a massive sense of déjà vu, I stand on the side of A.J.’s hospital bed, and hold his hand.

It’s cold again. The entire room feels cold. I get a chill, and shiver.

The doctor leans over A.J. and says loudly, “Mr. Edwards? Can you hear me?”

A.J.’s eyes dart back and forth beneath his lids, but he doesn’t open his eyes.

I squeeze his hand harder. “Is that bad?” I whisper, trying to remain calm.

“No. He’s still heavily sedated.” The doctor takes a slender silver flashlight from his coat pocket, opens A.J.’s left lid, and shines the light into his eye. He repeats the procedure with the right eye, but, unlike with the other side, pauses and says, “Hmm.”

Ice water is injected into my veins. Terrified, I ask, “What does that mean?”

He looks at me briefly before straightening. “There’s some pupillary response in his right eye.”

This damn doctor! Am I going to have to stab it out of him?

“And?” I holler.

He’s completely undisturbed by my outburst. “And there shouldn’t be.”

I drop A.J.’s hand, lean over the bed, and grab the doctor by his lapels. “And what does that mean!”

He can obviously tell I’m losing it, so he quickly adds, “It means, at least in his right eye, the ocular nerve still has some function. It’s a good sign, Ms. Carmichael. It’s a very good, very unexpected sign.” He carefully peels my fingers from his coat.

My heart soaring with hope, my lungs gulping air, I rock back on my heels. “When will we know more?”

He obviously has a lot of experience dealing with crazy relatives of sick people, because he blandly smiles at me instead of running away. “I’m going to give him another hour or so, and then we’ll do a few more tests. There’s a whole series we go through to assess his condition as he starts to regain consciousness, so I won’t have anything definitive for you until later, but for now, he’s stable. All right?”

I’m so relieved I want to slide to the floor. Instead I tear up. “Thank you.”

He nods. “And if he wakes up, feed him ice chips. I’ll have them sent in. He’s going to be really thirsty, but he can’t have water yet. And I’m sorry, but the time limit for visits in ICU is ten minutes, so I’ll leave you to it.”

He turns and strides out.

I look at A.J. There’s some kind of weird jelly on his scalp, and the incision is hideous. I thought the stitches on my cheek were bad, but this is total Frankenstein territory. We’re talking metal staples. I gently rest my hand on his forehead, and sigh.

“Mmrpph.”

I jump. “What? A.J., oh my God, are you saying something?”

His lids flicker. His eyes are darting back and forth beneath them again. I grab his hand and lean close to his face, dying to rip out the tube that’s stuck in his nose because maybe it’s hurting him.

I squeeze his hand. “Baby, I’m here. You’re doing great. Just rest, the doctor says—”

“Mmrpph!” he insists, frowning.

I don’t know whether to cry or have a panic attack, so I just hold on to his hand as tightly as I can, my lower lip trembling. Will he not be able to speak? Is this it? Will that sound be all he can make from now on?

His eyes flicker open. They roll around in his head like he’s spinning.

I stop breathing.

He blinks a few more times, squinting. His hand tightens in mine.

“Sweetie, I’m here. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

He turns his head toward my voice. Watching him slowly open and close his eyes is heartbreaking. I can tell he can’t see me standing there. His gaze is unfocused, like he’s looking at something very far away.

I can’t help it; I start to cry. I close my eyes, bow my head, and just let it go, because when he fully comes to I’ll have to be strong enough for both of us. This will be the last time I can allow myself to break down.

From now on, I’m going to have to be the strongest one in the family.

It’s several minutes before I calm myself. I swallow, sniffling, and reach for a tissue from the box on the little table beside A.J.’s bed.