Totaled (35 page)

I reached up to him, grasping both sides of his face to force him to look at me. His eyes were glassy with unshed tears and there was emptiness behind them. I felt like I was peering into his tormented soul, broken and shattered into a million little pieces, totaled beyond repair. My big, strong, burly Drew was standing before me, a shell on the verge of cracking.

“Please, just tell me. Please trust me.”

Just then, the elevator bell dinged and the doors opened, allowing the two passengers to depart. Drew stood still, not entering the elevator, and turned to walk away. I followed him around a corner into a small nook with a couple of chairs and an end table housing magazines for waiting family members. No one was around in that moment, which was a godsend. Drew didn’t sit, so I remained standing too and came to face him.

“I love you so much, Brianne Abigail Murphy. So much it hurts. I’m so sorry.”

“Drew, baby, don’t do this. Don’t shut me out. Don’t decide for me what I can and can’t handle.”

I felt his body still before me and his demeanor changed. He stood up completely straight, towering over me, bowing and tensing his chest slightly as if he was bracing himself to be struck.

“I killed my father,” he said in a rush, like it was all one word. He looked at me, waiting for a response, watching my every move and expression, waiting for me to react in whatever way he had imagined that I would.
Despite feeling like my breath was completely stolen from my lungs, I calmly managed to speak, not wanting to freak out while everything around me was spinning like I was inside of a tornado. My insides felt like a fourth of July fireworks display was all going off at once. “Why?”

“I came home and found him beating my mother,” he admitted sadly, not meeting my eyes. “He beat her all the time, beat us all the time. But that day, he was killing her. And I lost it. I killed him. And I was unable to save her.”
I glanced down to see his hands shaking, his breathing pattern rapid, like he was reliving the moment. As horrible and shocking as his confession was, I wanted nothing more than to comfort him. I raised myself up onto my tiptoes to reach him and joined my mouth to his. His lips were hard, a straight line of firm stubbornness and pain. I kissed softly, tenderly coaxing him into receiving my love. He softened after a few seconds and opened his mouth slightly to accept me, to let me in. I tried to pour every speck of love that I felt for this man, every ounce of commitment, every fiber of devotion and loyalty, into this kiss. I wanted to love all of his pain and suffering away.
Sharply and suddenly, he pulled away from our kiss and buried his face into the crook of my neck, almost ashamed and embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, Bree. I never meant to hide this from you. I never meant to hurt you or your family. You have to believe me.”

“Shh,” I said, trying to soothe him as I petted his hair and stroked the rigid muscles of his upper back and shoulders. “I believe you. I trust you. I love you. This is all going to blow over. And I’ll still be here, right here, with you.”

He pulled away from me and looked down at me, dumbfounded. “You can’t be serious. How the hell are you even for real? How are you not livid and fuming right now?” He shook his head back and forth in disbelief.

“I
am
angry. I’m hurt. But not about what you did. I want you to love me enough to trust that I will be with you through thick and thin, and I can’t do that if you don’t allow me in. You have to be honest with me. I shouldn’t have to learn about stuff like this from a media circus,” I barked at him, hearing my voice raise at the end of my statement. Thank goodness we were still alone.

“I know. I’m so sorry about that madness. I’ll handle all of that. I’ll never keep anything from you again. I promise you.”
I saw the truth behind his eyes. I saw that he was determined to prove that he would make it right. I saw his love for me and his need to protect me from harm at any cost. We stood there, holding each other for a few minutes, lost in our thoughts. I was trying to wrap my head around the fact that my boyfriend killed someone. Not just anyone, but his own father.

Drew looked like he was trying to digest the fact that he had just confessed (what was hopefully) his deepest, darkest secret to me and that I had reacted in an accepting way, his brows still furrowed in dismay. “I don’t want you to be scared of me now,” he blurted out. “I would never hurt you.”

“I know that,” I said, stroking his arm, trying to reassure him. “I trust you. It’s not about your past or your mistakes. It’s about your heart.”

“Good. I could never be the monster that man was. I just want you to know that.”

“Thank you.” I ran my fingers through his hair and cupped his face, turning him to look at me again. “I really need to get back to Liam.”

“Okay, yeah, sure. I’ll walk you back up.”

We turned from the small, isolated corner that we had huddled ourselves into to try to talk privately. Heading towards the elevator, Drew grabbed my hand, weaving our fingers together and walking slightly in front, just enough to be leading me down the hall. We reached the elevator doors and waited for the passengers to exit before walking into the car and pushing the button for the fifth floor.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

DREW

As the elevator climbed the five floors to get us back up to the Critical Care Unit, my mind was racing. Every gear was turning, every synapse firing at once. The myriad of emotions I was experiencing all at the same time were overwhelming to say the least. My head felt like a pressure cooker, the lid about to burst open from the tension of the steam behind it. My heart felt warm, swollen, and alive, just fucking on fire. My skin was clammy and sensitive. My fingers tingled, almost itched, and I moved my eyes to look at them on my right hand, the hand that was joined with Bree’s, pulling me gently to follow her off the elevator.

I loved this girl. I cared more about her in this moment than I did about my next breath. I could not, would not, fail her.

We made our way back into Liam’s room and found him still peacefully resting with his eyes closed. I heard her sigh of relief. She didn’t want to leave his side.

“We never got you something to eat.”

“It’s okay. I’m sure I have a granola bar in my bag or something.”

“No, Bree. You’ve got to eat something. You’re no good to Liam if you pass out over there from low blood sugar. I’ll go down to the cafeteria and grab you something. It’s better than nothing.” I was going to get her to eat something, whether she liked it or not.

“Okay. If you insist on getting me some fatty, greasy, French fries from the grill, I won’t argue,” she said with a fake pout. “I also won’t be upset at all if you mix equal parts mayonnaise and ketchup into a heaping mound of sauce for me to dip them in.”

“Oh yeah?” I replied with a grin. “And you probably won’t be angry if I happen to acquire a giant cup of sweet tea to wash it all down, huh?”

“Not at all. No anger here. Salivating just thinking about it.”

“Okay. I’ll see what I can do. Be back in a few.” I was happy that we could still joke and flirt despite the heaviness of the conversation we just had and the circumstances we’d found ourselves in.

I bent down to kiss her cheek, and as I was lifting my head up to walk away, I felt her grab the collar of my shirt and pull me back down, taking my lips with force. Bree kissed me hard, slipping her tongue inside my mouth just enough to make me feel a hunger for something much different than French fries. I kissed her back with every emotion I was feeling in that moment, our tongues undulating in a perfect rhythm with each other. Without breaking the kiss, I dropped down onto my knees so that my face was level with hers, sitting in the chair. We kissed like it was our last kiss, like we were never going to see each other again. I poured out my heart and soul to her with my confession in the hall way and again with this passionate moment, and she accepted it all unconditionally, returning it with conviction. I felt it in her touch and with her energy. She loved me. We were going to be okay. Better than okay.

I pulled away, watching a flash of disappointment cross her face, her eyes still closed. It quickly turned into a mischievous smile. She knew exactly what she was doing to me. I stood back up, adjusting myself underneath my jeans, and smiled at her.

“Hurry back, babe. I. Am. Starving,” she whispered.

“You’re bad,” I murmured, shaking my finger at her.

“I just missed you.” She shrugged, sounding sad.

“I missed you too. I’ll be right back.” I turned and walked away, thinking of anything and everything repulsive to try to get my hard on to disappear.

Reaching the first floor, I felt my phone vibrating in my back pocket. I didn’t recognize the number, but that wasn’t unusual. I didn’t talk to many people on the phone.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Drew? Drew Dougherty?”

“Yes, who’s calling?”

“This is Chris Gibson. We met at the weigh-in, but then again, you met a lot of people that day. I’m employed by the UFC and handle PR for many of the fighters. It looks as if you’re in need of a little PR right now.”

“Yes, Chris. I think I remember. I would like to definitely have a conversation with you, but now isn’t exactly a great time.” I recalled being introduced to him, and I could picture him distinctly because he was all of 5′6″ and completely bald with a bright orange goatee. I felt a little bad at the time for thinking that he reminded me of a leprechaun. But it did get me to remember his name, so maybe the guy had it right.

“Listen, I understand that you’re tied up with family matters at the hospital right now. I’m more than happy to come to you. Where can I meet you?”

“I’m at Grady. Call me when you get here and we can walk out to the courtyard or something.”

“No worries, I’ll handle it. I’ll call you when I get there. Give me thirty or forty minutes, depending on Atlanta traffic.” He hung up abruptly and I shook my head back and forth in disbelief. Hopefully this guy would have some answers or at the very least some advice on how to handle this craziness.

I got Bree an entire Styrofoam platter of fries and a grilled cheese sandwich. It wasn’t my grilled cheese, but it would have to do. I made her the “special sauce” that she requested, gagging at how disgusting it looked and smelled but telling myself that I was willing to do anything for her, I made it through. I ordered myself two grilled chicken sandwiches, piling spinach leaves and tomatoes on top of each one. The tea was in the middle of brewing and slower than the second coming of God, so I grabbed two bottled waters, shoving them into my pockets after paying so that I could carry everything back up to the room.

She was so damn beautiful, sitting there reading her book when I walked back in. I paused in the doorway and just stared at her for a minute, dazed.

“That didn’t take long,” she commented, sniffing the air.

“They didn’t have any tea, so I got you water instead. And that sauce concoction is repulsive. How do you eat that?”

“It’s good. Try it!” She held up a fry coated with the weird orangey blob of goo.

“I’m good.” I rejected the offer and faked throwing up in my mouth.

“Your loss. Aww, you got me a grilled cheese. You’re the best. This looks awesome.”

“Well, it’s no Grilled Cheese Master specialty, but in a pinch, it’ll do, I suppose.”

“Thank you. I didn’t realize how hungry I really was.” She was so cute, talking out of the side of her full-of-food mouth.

“No problem. So listen, I have to duck out in a few minutes. Some PR guy is coming to meet with me about handling all of this media shit. I’ll keep my phone on if you need anything at all. We’ll just be downstairs.”

“Oh, okay.” She looked skeptical and almost doubtful, but didn’t say anything further.

“Don’t worry,” I reassured her. “I met him the other night. He’s legit.”

“I trust you. Just be careful.”

“Thank you, baby. I will.” I kissed her cheek, getting away with just that this time, since she had a mouthful of fries at the time, and excused myself from the room.

My exit was perfectly timed and my phone vibrated before even leaving the unit.

“Drew here.”

“Drew. Chris Gibson here. I’m parking now. Meet me in the east wing of the hospital in five. I’ve reserved conference room number four for our meeting.”

“Uh, okay. See you in a few.” What the hell? Reserved a conference room? The craziness and enormity of this entire situation both excited me and infuriated me. But I did what I was told. I had a brief thought that I should have Pat with me but immediately squashed the possibility. I couldn’t burden him with my shit right now.

The hospital hallways were a bit like a maze, but I finally found my way to a corridor that looked more like an office building. Coming to a door with a faceplate reading “Conference Room 4,” I entered to see the leprechaun already seated, accompanied by a woman. They both wore suits, his navy with thin, barely noticeable pinstripes and hers a tan pantsuit with a white ruffled top underneath. When I cleared my throat, announcing my arrival, they both stood to approach me.

“Drew, thanks for meeting with us,” Chris said, shaking my hand. “This is Arlene Hayes, one of our legal representatives. She’ll be sitting in on our meeting today.”

I shook her hand first and was surprised by how firm and confident it was for a woman that couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds soaking wet.

“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” she greeted me, her smile lighting up her face. “I saw the fight the other night. Quite impressive for a debut match. Your name is on the tip of everyone’s tongue this morning. At least in the professional MMA world.”

“Well, thank you. I’m hoping that’s something you both can help me with.”

We sat down at the table, Chris and Arlene next to each other across from me, and Chris began by opening his briefcase to remove various folders and documents. He cut right to the chase.

“As Arlene mentioned, your debut performance was quite impressive. No one, including myself, expected that kind of result.” He chuckled, amused at himself, and smirked, flashing his perfectly straight and obnoxiously white teeth. Nobody’s teeth were that perfect. Maybe they were veneers or something.