Austin
Brielle is leaving today. Maybe this is the kind of holiday miracle Lydia had been getting her point across about. I hadn't expected Brielle would be reasonable and book a flight home, but she did, sending me confirmation minutes after I told her she was sleeping in the guest room.
Just weeks ago, our relationship had looked different. But even the truth has shadows. And hers are all in the open. We've taken such a drastic turn that I have no stamina to deal with the drama she's unloaded on my doorstep. That stunt she pulled at the press conference? When I had asked her to stay out of the way? I shouldn't have been surprised-That's my fault. It's on me.
I pass by the staircase, glancing up. I only allowed her to stay because the hotels in downtown were booked. If she wasn't pregnant, I would have left her sitting at the table with the microphone and reporters to keep her company. Repeatedly, I check the weather on my phone. The waiting game begins of 'Will her flight get cancelled?' I can't stand the thought if she's here longer than necessary and mid-afternoon can't come fast enough.
This thing with Lydia is far from over. That's what kept me half-awake last night, thinking about how I can fix this. How I can make this Christmas special for her. If I can do that, I can finish what we began. I might even have a piece of holiday back. Everything else around here is the same. She's the difference. I am not going to let that go and let another day be wasted on account of Brielle. With the bag of pastries in hand that I had picked up last night at Flour & Sugar, I head to the front door intending to grab my fleece and go.
"Austin?" Brielle's voice carries, sending shivers down my back.
She appears, calmly watching me from the top of the stairs. A thin bathrobe hangs open over her silk pajamas with a deep V hinting at her generous assets. The baby bump, no longer hidden with the thin fabric. She walks down the stairs purposefully, letting me take a long look. "Do you want to feel the baby?"
"No thanks." I zip up my fleece and grab my keys off the table. "I have somewhere to be."
"Where are you going with those?" she protests, folding her arms over her chest. Suspicion fills her gaze. "Is this a press thing? Kayla said the press loved seeing us together last night. There were rumors Hartley was in the town square during the lighting. Did you see him?"
"No," I lie. I thought I had seen him with Lydia, but that's not possible. How would they even know each other? Unless he was hitting on her. Definitely wouldn't put that past him anymore.
She swallows hard and flicks her gaze at the keys in my hand. "What do you want me to say, Austin? What do you want me to do? I'm scared that I keep making this worse."
"You can make things worse or stop whatever game you're playing. The truth? I need someone strong. Someone more comfortable at home, protecting our privacy. Someone who prefers the background." My gaze darts to the Christmas tree. Someone who is there for me for the highs and lows, and the middle ground. "Someone who puts me first, not invitations or dinners or the press. Last night? I asked you to stay here, you said no. You came with me to the press conference. I asked you to wait in the suite the hotel manager arranged for you to wait. All you did was put yourself first."
Her jaw slowly descends. "You're reading way too much into this!"
"I don't think I am." I shake my head and turn up my hands. "I need someone-who can be strong enough to have her own life. Not ride my caddy every time she feels neglected."
Tears crop up in her eyes. "That's just mean."
"No," I say with complete, freeing peace. "I'm just done. And I have somewhere to be."
"You're going to see her, aren't you?"
I open the door with a gloating grin. "That's none of your business."
That felt good.
I all but do a fist pump right there in the driveway.
Now onto the truly intimidating task. Getting Lydia to listen won't be easy. Seeing her last night didn't make this thing any less difficult.
So, here I go. Driving the SUV towards her house like this won't backfire. With Feliz Navidad playing from the radio. I give the dashboard a caustic glance but press down on the pedal. I take the curves like my hand works up Lydia's hips, steady and smooth. A squirrel darts across the road. "Shit!" I slam on the brakes to avoid hitting the rodent and pause with my foot on the brake, my heart racing.
I press my head back against the headrest and idly run my hand over the steering wheel. Why do I suddenly feel like my twelve-year-old self riddled with fear about talking to a girl? Where are my balls? Where's my spine? Has Brielle been crushing both for so long that I forgot how to get what I want? I'm nervous as the knots taking over my stomach for one reason. I like her. I like her a lot. I'm obsessed with her mouth, with her laughter, with her sly glances when she's wondering if I notice. I don't want her to shut the door in my face.
Getting a grip, I turn off the radio, cutting off the music "...from the bottom of my heart," and I drive onto the Chen property. If any more time passes, Lydia will go. She will leave me to always wonder what would have happened if we had spent one Christmas together. I don't want her to be a story I tuck in my back pocket where memories get lost.
A large renovated cottage with a wrap-around porch comes into view. Bundles of cut wood are covered in a blue tarp near the steps. Shrubs border the exterior with snow stacked on top. How have I never stopped by this place before? Have I been that guy next door who doesn't so much as introduce himself? Oh God. I have. What's gotten into me? I avoid neighbors.
I get out of the car and grab the bag of pastries. My breath is a puff of white air each time I exhale. My boots announce my arrival. Everything is dead quiet and encased in snow from the previous storm. At least the driveway had been cleared.
I knock hard.
No answer. Maybe she's sleeping. It is early. She's just going to have to wake up because I'm not going home with Brielle still there. "Lydia." I knock again. I hear something. I crane my neck towards the door. What's that noise? "Lydia?" My hand toggles the handle hard, restrained by the lock. What if something's wrong? Fear doubles down, taking root, and I punch the code I had used from the night before and open the door.
The house is freezing. Why is the heater not on? "Lydia?"
I look in the direction of sound coming from the room with a flat screen television hanging above a stone fireplace.
"You're more than a professional golfer," her familiar voice trims the silence. "You're one of the best in the world."
I follow her voice to the couch and walk around, hiding my relief at the sight of her huddled beneath blankets, though probably on her way to hypothermia. My face and hands are already cold and my chest stings from the icy air. I dismiss my discomforts and hold myself in check, despite wanting to touch every part of her to make sure she's okay. "This seems like a desperate fan move, Hobs."
"I had to think of a way to get your attention with your girlfriend in town."
I deserved that. She can see it in my eyes. Go on. Hit me again. "She's not my girlfriend."
Her eyes flare. "Sorry, the mother of your child."
"Lydia," I say her name sternly, "this can wait. Everything else can wait. Okay? Let's get you out of here before you turn blue."
All her defenses deflate with a dog-tired glance. She moves the blanket further up her chin. "I think I broke some toes."
My gaze shoots to her feet, though covered by the blankets. I frown. "How did that happen?"
"I was making a run for it because the power went out and there were noises." Her chin raises and her eyes take on a self-protective quality. "I'm not afraid to admit that I'm still scared of the dark. In my great escape, I somehow slammed my cast into the wall."
"Maybe it's what you're running into that's the problem. Inanimate objects won't get out of the way even for you." Next time run into me. I promise the landing will be softer.
"Thank you for the physics lesson." Her eyes are serious, but her voice is weakening, and my heart growing light with every breath.
But onto business. "How long has the power been out?"
"Since around eleven last night."
"Did you check the circuit breakers?"
"I would, if I knew where they were or what to do once I found them. It was too dark to look and I didn't have a flashlight to play around with buttons that wire electricity to the house."
"You should have called me. I would have come over and checked the breakers or looked for a generator or hauled you back to my house."
"There would have been no hauling. Just so you know." The sparkle in her eye is defusing the knots in my stomach, because despite how messed-up everything is, she's going to let me help her.
"Then I would have stayed here because I can think of a few ways to keep you warm."
"I might have been desperate enough for you to do that." She makes a move to sit up. She winces.
"You're not okay, are you?" I'm worried about her.
"Were those for me?"
I follow her gaze to the Flour & Sugar bag on the coffee table. "Maybe. If you play your cards right."
Her face contorts. "Maybe just water first? I'm so thirsty. I've been too cold to get up."
"Wait here, okay?"
Before I get her water, I check the garage for the circuit breaker. Since it's not there, I find the basement, but can't locate it. Usually they're obvious, but I don't find one. The power in my house was on all night and when I left to come here.
I check the websites for the power companies and find numerous complaints on their site. There was an outage in a small area that borders right through the Chen house.
"Here," I say, returning to Lydia with a glass of water. I assist her in sitting up and inserting myself behind her, giving her no other choice than to lean against my chest. "It's a good thing you didn't roam around the house looking for the breaker. It's a power company issue." She puts her full weight against me, her breath a visible stream as she exhales. "Where's your phone?"
"I dropped it in my big attempt to run and I couldn't find it."
My gaze goes to the floor where I spot it several feet away, near the base of a chair. "Lucky for you, I just solved that mystery." She finishes drinking her water and I place it on the coffee table. Immediately, she settles back into me. "My only knowledge of surviving the cold is that stripping down and using each other's bodies is an excellent way to get instant body heat."
She laughs, pressing her body further against mine, turning the direction of my worry about her and this situation into something more primal, something more basic, changing the direction of my blood flow. "I was going to call you this morning if the power was still out."
"No, you weren't. You were going to sit here, like this, thinking the worst of me." My hands fumble down the blankets to rest on her hips. The cold sting in my chest is replaced by a surge of heat. I need to get her out of here before these blankets come off along with our clothes, which I can't think about because, despite the strength in her voice, I do believe she's in pain. "So. What's up with your toes? You think they're broken?"
"It's probably nothing." She sits up and pulls the blankets off her feet. Her back stiffens as the fabric snags at her toes. "But I should have them checked out."
I squint. That's not good- "They're swollen." Even I can see that much. "You're the medical expert. What do you need?"
"I need to go to the hospital." Her shoulders sag as I run my hand over hers.
"Guess this means we aren't watching Die Hard II today?"
"Not likely."
"I might just watch it while you're getting your toes hacked off." I pull her closer, she sighs, molding her body to mine, "Come on. Let's get you to the hospital, that seems to be theme for us."
She turns her head. Her lips are so close to mine. "What? That I'm a wreck you should avoid?"
My gaze lowers to her mouth. "You're slowly changing my opinion on wrecks. That is how we first met, after all."
Without out further delay, I drive her to the hospital.
I sit in the waiting room with little news. The guy sitting across from me slyly moves his phone in front of him. He's taking a picture, which I respond by slouching and lowering my baseball cap over my eyes. My arms fold over my chest, and I wait.
Time stretches on causing my stomach to growl, but I'm familiar with hospitals. Guilt seeps through me at the thought of my dad having no visitors except for me. Maybe I made a mistake moving him out here. The longer I'm here, the more I'm convinced I didn't make the right choice. I thought being here would help him, now? I don't like the idea of his holidays spent staring out his window.
"Austin?" The tired, but firm voice wakes me up. I stand up quickly and walk over towards the door. The woman wearing blue scrubs waits near the entrance to the waiting room. "I'm Doctor Franklin."
"How she is?"
"She's fine. It was a little more complicated than we thought. She broke the three middle toes. The angle at which she hit jammed the toes back and up like this." She pauses and her hand slopes at a high angle. "Because of the cast and the sudden pressure, her toes broke. The position created swelling that could have been more dangerous, had it not been treated. I've actually never seen anything like it. We removed the cast and she'll be wearing an air cast for the next six weeks. She's also dehydrated, but she can go home later today. I want to keep an eye on her a little while longer."
Finally. Thankfully. "Can I see her?"
"Of course. Come with me."
Lydia's room is bright with sunshine pouring in through the windows and a view of the mountains. She's lying down with her ankle wrapped all the way to her toes. The hospital gown is a shade lighter than her eyes and hangs off her. The IV in the back of her hand is taped over and she points to her foot. Her eyes full of irritation. "Austin, don't look at me like that. It's all a bit overkill. I just need fluids and some gauze."
I shake my head at her, frowning. "It's A.J. to you," I emphasize firmly. "Always. And, quit downplaying this. You needed me, and good thing I got just as much sleep as you did last night because the only thing on my mind was seeing you today. Now I only wish I would have come sooner." I should have taken her home last night, well, never mind. Lydia and Brielle in the same house? I'd rather go without sex for five years. Well, maybe not that, but something of equal caliber.
Her smile is cautious. "I'll call you A.J. if you tell me why you lied to me."
"I'm not going to make that deal with you. Call me A.J., okay?" My gaze sweeps over the machines, the outlets in the walls, the equipment. I put my hand on her arm, fighting for control to pull her close. "I'm aware you had all night to think about how much you hate me, but we'll talk soon as you're out of here."
"I don't hate you," she declares. "I'm scared because I like you...so much...and I'm afraid that I'll believe you too quickly and if you've already lied once then you'll do it again. I've been doubting my ability to trust myself lately...I feel disgusting, I'm tired, and I hate that you're seeing me like this, ugly and out of control."
"If you feel disgusting, I'm happy to give you that underwear-removing lesson and get you in the shower." A smile spreads across her lips. I squeeze her hand. She could never be ugly, not in the way she thinks, even with greasy hair and smudge of mascara under her eyes.
Catching me off-guard, she grabs my hand and I grip hers with equal strength. There's so much I want to say to her. Where do I begin? This is about me and her, and this hospital room, and where we go from here.
My phone rings. Checking the number, my smile wanes. My father's care facility. They usually only call when something is wrong. "I have to get this." I let go of her hand and turn my back to her. "Hello?"
"Austin, it's Joelle."
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Your father's been very agitated all morning. The doctors did a few tests and his blood pressure has been higher than usual. We can't pinpoint anything specific, but his doctor did ask that I inform you."
"I appreciate the call, Joelle. I'm at the hospital, so I'll stop by and see him." I glance at Lydia's expectant eyes and slip the phone in the fleece pocket. "My father had a rough morning. It's nothing major, but while you're here, I'll go see him."
"I hope everything is okay. I haven't been told when I'm leaving yet, but when they let me know, I'll get a ride."
I interrupt what I know is coming. "Don't even think about getting an Uber. Ashley's house has no power. I'll swing by here when you're ready to go. And Lydia..." Without thinking, I lower my lips, brushing lightly against hers. "We're not finished."
That's how I leave her, not wanting to go, but I can't be in two places at once. The care facility isn't far from the hospital. Less dread fills my breath as I drive away from the hospital and towards the facility parking lot. One thing I do know is that Lydia can't stay at that house. Brielle should be leaving for the airport in a couple of hours, so if the timing works out, those two will never be in the same room again if I can help it. I glance at the gray clouds that layer the sky. Assuming the weather cooperates...
My father is not in his suite, but a community-style room with multiple tables and a wall full of windows. Canvases are spread out on the table with painting supplies at the center of each. Instrumental holiday music plays overhead. I spot him at the table furthest away wearing his sweats and a sweater. "No bathrobe today?" I pull up a chair next to him.
His warm eyes greet me, crushing a thousand pieces of my heart. "Hello," he says in a voice that gives me hope. "I know you."
"Yes, you do. Hi, Dad." I reach over, not knowing if he'll hug back, but he envelopes me in his arms. He pats my back. Emotion is so thick that it sticks to my ribs and not even I can keep the tears from forming.
Our gazes meet and his eyes brighten. "How many times have you come to see me?"
"I was here two days ago."
His grin, the same one I have, falters. It's the little things I notice about our similarities with each visit. "What do we talk about?"
I glance around the room. At some point a doctor had told me to keep the conversation in the present. That's hard to do, and I often forget, but as O Christmas Tree plays softly from the speakers, I stick to the season. "It's almost Christmas."
"And you spend your time hanging around this eyesore?"
I smile lightly. "I see you've got some of your humor today. You think this place is an eyesore?" I glance around, at the people, hunched over their canvases, some in wheelchairs, others sitting and facing the windows. The squeak of nurses with rubber-soled shoes walking across the floor.
"I remember hotel lobbies with Christmas trees and excellent bourbon. Is that from my life?"
I can think of many hotel lobbies this time of year. "Yes. We used to travel during December."
He pats his hand on the table. "And Hartley? Do you still know him?"
"I do." I have no control over his memory, but Hartley is the closest mention of our life before Dementia. "He's doing well. I hear he's spending the holidays in Maryland." Whether that's true or not, I don't know. "How are you doing?"
"Bah." He slaps his hand on his knee. "I'd rather have been hit by a car than wind up here."
"Don't say that." Things are different now. I hold back from the details that take away from our time together. The everyday problems are pointless to him. Emotion stirs in my chest and I shove it back down. I tell him about my latest tournament and how I won first place in the prestigious Autumn Crown Championship because I don't know what else to say.
He places his hand on my jaw like he did when I was little. Like he's always done. He pats my skin lightly. "I'm proud of you," he says, although I don't know if he's referring to me as a boy or his grown son. "I wish I could be there."
I wish that more than he knows. "While I have you. Could you tell me something?"
"If I can remember," he jokes.
"You keep mentioning someone named Coco. Who is she? Is she real?"
His expression turns forlorn but his voice is of regret. His eye narrow and his shoulders dip. Then, for no reason at all. He weeps. "She's coming this afternoon. She's bringing the little one."
I put my hand on his shoulder. "I know, Dad. I know."