'Til Death - Part 2 (12 page)

“Yes, I think I have to.”

She nods. “You’re doing the right thing.”

“Maybe,” I whisper. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

She sits down, pulling me close. “Trust me honey, you are.”

~*~*~*~

S
he won’t stop coughing.

It’s been going on for five days.

“I’m taking her to the hospital,” I say to my father as I rush down the stairs, Penny in my arms. “Her fever has spiked.”

“I’ll drive you,” he says.

Penny has been sick for five days, this one being the morning of the sixth. It started with a cough that got worse. I took her to the doctor, but they said it was just a virus and to give her painkillers and rest. After three days, it wasn’t better and she started getting fevers. She stopped eating, stopped drinking, and I knew that it couldn’t go on.

I took her to the hospital. They sent her home with antibiotics, telling me it was just a cough.

It’s not better, and I can’t take it anymore, so I’m taking her back.

I bundle her into the car and watch as my father gets in the front, starting it. I tuck Penny to my chest, not wanting to part with her. I can hear her chest rattling with each breath and I could swear her lips are tinged blue. Panic seizes me and I look towards my dad.

“I think she’s going blue.”

He stares down at her frantically. “Put her upright a little. We’re nearly there.”

I do as he says, tipping her up slightly. She’s extra drowsy, not whining or complaining. She’s been crying for a few days, but now she’s just floppy. “Hurry,” I cry. “Please.”

We practically speed to the hospital and when we arrive, I rush out of the car and straight into the ER department. A nurse comes over as soon as she catches sight of Penny and I.

“What’s happening?”

“She’s been sick for days, but her breathing has gotten worse, her temperature spiked and I think she’s going blue,” I cry, tears pricking my eyelids.

“Bring her this way.”

We rush down the hall until we reach a room. The nurse instructs me to put her on the bed while she pages a doctor. A moment later, an older doctor comes in, staring down at my daughter.

“Talk to me about what’s been happening?” he asks as he starts examining her.

“She had a cough,” I whisper. My dad squeezes my shoulder. “It got worse. I took her to the doctor and they told me it was just a virus. A few days later she had fevers and the cough was thick and mucusy. I brought her here and we were sent home with antibiotics. Today her fever spiked again and she started looking like this.”

“I’m going to need to run some tests,” he says, turning to me. “I fear she may have pneumonia.”

“What?” I rasp.

“It can be caused from both viral and bacterial infections. The antibiotics would only have helped if it were bacterial. I have a feeling it isn’t, because she’s not showing signs of recovery after the antibiotics.”

My chest feels like it’s going to explode and my legs begin to shake. “W . . . w . . . w . . . what will happen if it is pneumonia?”

“It depends on the level it’s gotten to. We need to put her on a drip right away; she’s dehydrated. We’ll run some more antibiotics while we’re waiting for test results. She’s got fluid on the lung, I can hear that clearly. I’ll try some antiviral medication, too.”

“And if it gets worse?” I cry.

“We’ll deal with that if and when that time comes.”

“Could she die?” I whisper, my knees trembling.

“Pneumonia can be fatal, yes. However she’s in the safest place she can be. We’re going to take her for some tests. Unfortunately you can’t be there for all of them, but I assure you she’s in the best hands and we’ll let you know of any changes.”

“No,” I croak. “Please don’t take her away from me.”

“This is for the best, Mrs. Tandem. We’ll take care of her. I’ll have the nurse take you to a room; you can wait there. We’ll bring her back in as soon as we’re finished.”

“But she needs me,” I rasp.

He squeezes my shoulder. “She’ll be okay.”

Dad wraps his arms around my shoulder as they wheel Penny away. I cry out in agony and my knees buckle. “Is it my fault?” I sob.

“No, honey. Come on, let’s sit.”

“He needs to know,” I whisper.

“Who?”

“Marcus, he needs to know.”

My father sighs. “This isn’t the ideal time, but I agree. I’ll call him.”

I drop my head as he disappears down the hall. I begin sobbing, clutching my arms and praying through my tears that my daughter will be okay. Please, let her be okay.

“W
hat’s going on?” Marcus asks, standing in front of me.

He’s wearing a suit, as if he’s been working all day. He probably has. My father didn’t tell him why he was here; he only told him he had to come.

“I need to tell you something . . .”

He stares at me. “Are you sick?”

“No.”

His face goes pale. “Katia . . . shit . . . are you pregnant?”

I wince in agony at the sound of his voice. Tears flow again and I wrap my arms around myself. “No,” I whisper. “No, but . . .”

“Jesus, Katia, don’t you think we’ve played enough fuckin’ games? Why am I here?”

I look up at him through my tears. It’s time. I know it’s time. But I wish I had done it sooner. This isn’t fair on him. He’s going to hate me even more for it.

“I’m here because”—I swallow and my body begins to shake—“because . . .”

“Katia,” he warns.

“I’m here because our daughter is sick.”

I hear his sharp intake of breath and look up in time to see him stumble back a few steps. His eyes are wide and confused, his mouth open. He shakes his head slightly, and then stares into my eyes.

“What did you say?”

“You have a daughter, Marcus,” I croak. “Her name is Penny and she’s just under a year old.”

“You’re lying,” he rasps, stepping back.

“No, I’m not. You’ve seen her. You saw her in the park with Candy . . .”

He stares at the wall and I see the moment it clicks. “No,” he breathes.

“She’s sick. They think pneumonia. I didn’t want to tell you like this, but . . .”

“But what?” he suddenly roars. “You think telling me about my child when she’s in danger is suitable?”

“Marcus,” I say, standing. “I never wanted you to find out like this.”

“Didn’t you?” He laughs bitterly. “You’ve done everything you can to destroy me, Katia. Most of it I deserved . . . but this . . .”

“Marcus.”

“You fucking bitch,” he breathes.

I flinch. “I’m sorry.”

His eyes dart about and his jaw tics. “You wanted to make me pay?” he rasps. “You wanted to make it burn? Well congratulations, you’ve gotten what you wanted. You’ve ripped my heart out, stomped on it and shoved it back in. Are you happy now? Does it feel good to know you’ve destroyed me?”

“Marcus,” I plead.

“Does it?” he screams, shocking me.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry,” he barks. “You’re sorry? I am a lot of fucking things, Katia. I’m a monster, I broke your heart, but I never, not fucking ever deserved to find out about my little girl while she’s on a bed, her life in danger.”

Tears run down my cheeks.

“You’re right. I know you are and I’m sorry,” I whisper.

He shakes his head, turning and charging down the hall.

“Marcus!” I cry, rushing after him.

He shoves through the front doors and out into the cold, pounding rain. I follow him, catching his jacket just before he reaches his car. He spins around and bellows, “How could you? How could you keep her from me? I hurt you; I know that. I’ve paid for what I did, don’t you think? But for you to keep her from me . . . did you think I wouldn’t love her? Did you think she wouldn’t matter?”

“I don’t . . .”

“What is it you want from me?” he rasps, his voice suddenly broken. “What do you want? Do you want me on my fuckin’ knees?”

He drops to his knees and my heart rips open.

He lifts his hands and clutches his head. “Do you want me to tell you how fuckin’ stupid I am? How I wished it never happened? How I fell in love with a fuckin’ angel and then I destroyed her? Do you want me to beg, Katia? What do you want? Do you want me dead? Will that make your heart feel fucking better?”

“No,” I cry, dropping to my knees in front of him. “No.”

“I deserve a lot, but that . . . that’s my child . . . and I might never get to know her . . .” His voice breaks off and he drops his head. His entire body shakes and I realize he’s crying. The strong, determined, unbreakable Marcus Tandem is crying.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

He says nothing—his head just remains dropped. I reach out, cupping his rugged cheek and he surprises me by turning his face into my hand.

“I can’t take anymore of what you have to give,” he whispers. “You tried to have me fuckin’ killed.”

“I didn’t,” I croak. “I wouldn’t . . . shit, Marcus, I was in a bad way but I wouldn’t have . . . I wouldn’t have done it.”

“You think that makes it better?” he growls, pulling back.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. What can I say? Does it make it better? No, it does not. It does nothing to fix what I’ve done. I became equally as monstrous as Marcus, and because of that, I’m hardly in the place to beg for forgiveness.

“I fucked up,” I whisper. “I reacted on pure, numb emotion. We really have fucked each other, haven’t we?”

He looks at me through pained, brown eyes. Water is dripping down over his face; his hair is flattened to his forehead. He looks devastatingly beautiful.

“Yeah,” he croaks.

“Katia?” It’s my father. I turn and see him standing at the entrance to the hospital.

“Penny is out.”

Marcus flinches and I stand, turning to stare down at him. “Do you want to come?”

He starts shaking his head frantically, then he stands and backs up. “No, fuck, no. I can’t . . . I can’t . . .”

He turns and disappears. I drop my head on a sigh. Then I turn and head back inside. I have a daughter who needs me.

M
y body is shaking, trembling with a broken emotion I can’t control. My heart is fucking aching; it burns. I have a daughter. A child. A piece of me. I didn’t know about it; I had no clue. Now, everything has changed. Not only do I have a wife who I hate to love, but a daughter who needs a decent man in her life.

That man is not I.

It can’t be. I’m a monster.

I fall against my car and drive my fist into it, over and over. Fuck. When did my life become such a fucking mess? Something hot burns beneath my eyelids and weakness attempts to crawl up through my body. I slam my hands down again. A daughter. A fucking daughter. God damn it.

“Marcus.”

The sound of Pierre’s voice has me lifting my head. I turn and stare at him. He’s got an umbrella, the fancy fuck. He stares at me, then gives me a pitiful shake of his head. Yeah, I’m a mess. I know I am. What the fuck did he think I was going to be doing? Dancing and singing in the rain?

“What do you want?” I growl.

“I don’t pretend to understand this situation between you and my daughter. I know it’s messy. I know it borderlines violent. I know there’s no way I’ll understand. What I am clear of is that there is a little girl inside that needs both her parents. I can’t make you go in there, Marcus. All I can tell you is that if you don’t, you’re going to miss the most precious thing ever presented to you. I missed Katia’s life, but it didn’t hurt until I met her because I didn’t know she existed. You know about that little girl, so if you walk now, it’ll haunt you.”

“I’m not good for her,” I rasp. “Don’t you see that?”

“I never said you were good for her,” he says, tilting his head to the side. “I simply said if you don’t at least try, you will regret it. No one is perfect, Marcus.”

“I fucked up your daughter and left her. I destroyed her to the point she actually wanted to take my life.” I laugh bitterly. “Now you’re telling me to enter the life of an innocent, sweet child?”

“Do you love Katia?”

I flinch.

“Well?”

“Yes,” I growl.

“Then you go in there and you
try
to fix what’s been broken. You’re a good man, Marcus, regardless of what you’ve done. I don’t agree with it, but I do believe you can fix it.”

“And if I can’t fix it?”

He stares me dead in the eye. “Then at least you can hold your head high and say you tried.”

He turns and walks away, leaving me speechless.

Old bastard knows what he’s talking about.

~*~*~*~

M
y legs feel numb as I walk down the hospital hallways. The stark white burns my eyes, making me feel as though I’m trapped in a bland prison. The beeping of machines mixed with the sounds of shoes squeaking are the only sounds to let me know I’m not alone.

Two-twenty-two.

Two-twenty-two.

The room my daughter is in. The very thought of seeing her for the first time has my heart twisting painfully in my chest. What if I try with her, and fail? What if she falls in love with me, too, and I destroy her the way I destroyed Katia? What then? Where will that leave me? Where will that leave any of us?

When I reach the room, my heart is pounding and sweat is breaking out across my forehead. I close my eyes, taking a calming breath. Then I reach out and take the door handle, pushing it open.

The first thing I see is Katia. She’s leaning over the bed, singing softly. I feel like I’m going to vomit with nerves.

She shifts slightly and I suck in a broken gasp.

There, on the bed, is a tiny girl. My eyes burn as I step in closer and her face comes into view. I’ve never, I’ve never . . . I struggle to keep my breathing even. I’ve never seen something so beautiful in all my life. Dark, thick ringlets frame a soft, beautiful face. A face that’s so much like mine, yet so much like her mom’s.

I make a pained sound, and Katia turns, her eyes widening.

“Marcus,” she whispers.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Katia drops our daughter’s hand and comes to me, taking mine. She slowly leads me over to where the tiny baby lies. She’s got her eyes open, and God, she’s precious. She smiles as we approach and my heart cracks open. It cracks . . .