Chapter Seventeen
Sydney
I watch as he closes the door behind him. I’m
clutching my hand to my chest, terrified to read
what he wrote.
I saw the look in his eyes.
I saw the heartache, the regret, the fear . . . the
love.
I keep my hand clutched tightly to my chest
without reading it. I refuse to accept that
whatever words are written on my palm will ob-
literate what little hope I had for our maybe
someday.
? ? ?
My body flinches, and my eyes flick open.
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I don’t know what just woke me up, but I was
in the middle of a dead sleep. It’s dark. I sit up on the bed and press my hand to my forehead, wincing from the pain. I don’t feel nauseated any-
more, but I’ve never in my life been this thirsty. I
need water.
I stand up and stretch my arms above my head,
then glance down to the alarm clock: 2:45 A.M.
Thank God. I could still use about three more
days of sleep to recover from this hangover.
I’m walking toward Ridge’s bathroom when
an unfamiliar feeling washes over me. I pause be-
fore reaching the door. I’m not sure why I pause,
but I suddenly feel out of place.
It feels strange, walking toward this bathroom
right now. It doesn’t feel as if I’m walking to-
ward my bathroom. It doesn’t feel as if it belongs to me at all, unlike how my bathroom felt in my
last apartment. That bathroom felt like my bathroom. As if it belonged partly to me. That apart-
ment felt like my apartment. All the furniture in it felt like my furniture.
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Nothing about this place feels like me. Other
than the belongings that were contained in the
two suitcases I brought with me that first night,
nothing else here feels even remotely like mine.
The dresser? Borrowed.
The bed? Borrowed.
Thursday-night TV? Borrowed.
The kitchen, the living room, my entire bed-
room. They all belong to other people. I feel as if
I’m just borrowing this life until I find a better
one of my own. I’ve felt as if I’ve been borrow-
ing everything since the day I moved in here.
Hell, I’m even borrowing boyfriends. Ridge
isn’t mine. He’ll never be mine. As much as that
hurts to accept, I’m so sick of this constant, on-
going battle with my heart. I can’t take this any-
more. I don’t deserve this kind of self-torture.
In fact, I think I need to move out.
I do.
Moving out is the only thing that can start the
healing, because I can’t be around Ridge any-
more. Not with what his presence does to me.
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You hear that, heart? We’re even now.
I smile at the realization that I’m finally about
to experience life on my own. I’m consumed
with a sense of accomplishment. I open the bath-
room door and flip on the light . . . then immedi-
ately fall to my knees.
Oh, God.
Oh, no.
No, no, no, no, no!
I grab her by the shoulders and turn her over,
but her whole body is limp. Her eyes are rolled
back in her head, and her face is pale.
Oh, my God! “Ridge!” I crawl over her and
reach for the door to his bedroom. I’m screaming
his name so loudly my throat feels as if it’s rip-
ping apart. I attempt to turn the door-knob sever-
al times, but my hand keeps slipping.
She begins to convulse, so I lunge over her and
lift her head, then drop my ear to her mouth to
make sure she’s breathing. I’m sobbing, scream-
ing his name over and over. I know he can’t hear
me, but I’m scared to let go of her head.
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“Maggie!” I cry.
What am I doing? I don’t know what to do.
Do something, Sydney.
I lower her head carefully back to the floor and
spin around. I grip the doorknob more firmly and
pull myself to my feet. I swing his bedroom door
open and rush toward the bed, then jump on it
and climb over to where he’s lying.
“Ridge!” I scream, shaking his shoulder. He
lifts an elbow in defense as he rolls over, then
lowers it when he sees me hovering over him.
“Maggie!” I yell hysterically, pointing to the
bathroom. His eyes flash to the empty spot on his
bed, and his focus shoots up to the open bath-
room door. He’s off the bed and on the bathroom
floor on his knees in seconds. Before I even make
it back to the bathroom, he’s got her head cradled
in his arms, and he’s pulling her onto his lap.
He turns his head to look at me and signs
something. I shake my head as the tears continue
to flow down my cheeks. I have no idea what
he’s trying to say to me. He signs again and
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points toward his bed. I look at the bed, then look
back at him helplessly. His expression is growing
more frustrated by the second.
“Ridge, I don’t know what you’re asking me!”
He slams his fist against the bathroom cabinet
out of frustration, then holds his hand up to his
ear as if he’s holding a phone.
He needs his phone.
I rush to the bed and search for it, my hands
flying frantically over the bed, the covers, the
nightstand. I finally find it under his pillow and
run it back to him. He enters his password to un-
lock it, then hands it back to me. I dial 911, put
the phone to my ear, and wait for it to ring while
I drop to my knees next to them.
His eyes are full of fear as he continues to hold
her head against his chest. He’s watching me,
nervously waiting for the call to connect. He in-
termittently presses his lips into her hair as he
continues to try to get her to open her eyes.
As soon as the operator answers, I’m bom-
barded with a list of questions that I don’t know
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the answers to. I give her the address, because
it’s the only thing I know, and she begins firing
more questions I don’t know how to communic-
ate to him.
“Is she allergic to anything?” I say to Ridge,
repeating what the operator is asking.
He shrugs and shakes his head, not understand-
ing me.
“Does she have any preexisting conditions?”
He shakes his head again to tell me he has no
idea what I’m asking him.
“Is she diabetic?”
I ask Ridge the questions over and over, but he
can’t understand me. The operator is firing ques-
tions at me, and I’m firing them at Ridge, and
we’re both too frantic for him even to read my
lips. I’m crying. We’re both terrified. We’re both
frustrated
with
the
fact
that
we
can’t
communicate.
“Is she wearing a medical bracelet?” the oper-
ator asks.
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I lift both of her wrists. “No, she doesn’t have
anything on her.”
I look up to the ceiling and close my eyes,
knowing that I’m not helping a damn bit.
“Warren!” I yell.
I’m off my feet and out of the bathroom, mak-
ing my way to Warren’s bedroom. I swing open
his door. “Warren!” I run to his bed and shake
him while I hold the phone in my hand. “Warren!
We need your help! It’s Maggie!”
His eyes open wide, and he throws off his cov-
ers, springing into action. I push the phone to-
ward him. “It’s 911, and I can’t understand any-
thing Ridge is trying to tell me!”
He grabs the phone and puts it to his ear. “She
has CFRD,” he yells hastily into the phone.
“Stage two CF.”
CFRD?
I follow him to the bathroom and watch as he
signs to Ridge while holding the phone in the
palm of his hand, away from his ear. Ridge signs
something back, and Warren runs into the
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kitchen. He opens the refrigerator, reaches to-
ward the back of the second shelf, and pulls out a
bag. He runs with it to the bathroom and drops to
his knees next to Ridge. He lets the phone fall to
the floor and shoves it aside with his knee.
“Warren, she has questions!” I yell, confused
about why he tossed the phone aside.
“We know what to do until they get here,
Syd,” he says. He pulls a syringe from the bag
and hands it to Ridge. Ridge pulls the lid off of it
and injects Maggie in the stomach.
“Is she diabetic?” I ask, watching helplessly as
Warren and Ridge silently converse. I’m ignored,
but I don’t expect anything different. They’re in
what looks like familiar territory for both of
them, and I’m too confused to keep watching. I
turn around and lean against the wall, then
squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to calm my-
self. A few silent moments pass, and then there’s
banging at the door.
Warren is running toward the door before I can
even react. He lets the paramedics inside, and I
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step out of the way, watching as everyone in the
room around me seems to know what the hell is
going on.
I continue to back out of everyone’s way until
my calves meet the couch, and I fall down onto
it.
They lift Maggie onto the gurney and begin
pushing her toward the front door. Ridge walks
swiftly behind them. Warren comes from Ridge’s
bedroom and tosses him a pair of shoes. Ridge
puts them on, then signs something else to War-
ren and slips out the door behind the gurney.
I watch as Warren rushes to his room. He ree-
merges with a shirt and shoes on and his baseball
cap in hand. He grabs his keys off the bar and
heads back into Ridge’s bedroom. He comes
back out with a bag of Ridge’s things and heads
for the front door.
“Wait!” I yell. Warren turns to look at me.
“His phone. He’ll need his phone.” I rush to the
bathroom, grab Ridge’s phone from the floor,
and take it back to Warren.
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“I’m coming with you,” I say, slipping my foot
into a shoe by the front door.
“No, you’re not.”
I look up at him, somewhat in shock at the
harshness of his voice as I slip my other shoe on.
He begins to pull the door shut on me, and I slap
a palm against it.
“I’m coming with you!” I say again, more de-
termined this time.
He turns and looks at me with hardened eyes.
“He doesn’t need you there, Sydney.”
I have no idea what he means by that, but his
tone pisses me off. I push against his chest and
step outside with him. “I’m coming,” I say with finality.
I walk down the stairs just as the ambulance
begins to pull away. Ridge is standing with his
hands clasped behind his head, watching as it
leaves. Warren makes it to the bottom of the
stairs, and as soon as Ridge sees him, they both
rush toward Ridge’s car. I follow them.
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Warren climbs into the driver’s seat, Ridge in-
to the passenger seat. I open the door to the back-
seat and pull it shut behind me.
Warren pulls out of the parking lot and speeds
until we’re caught up to the ambulance.
Ridge is terrified. I can see it in the way his
arms are wrapped around himself and he’s shak-
ing his knee, fidgeting with the sleeve of his
shirt, chewing on the corner of his bottom lip.
I still have no idea what’s wrong with Maggie,
and I’m scared that she might not be okay. It still
doesn’t feel like my business, and I’m definitely
not about to ask Warren what’s going on.
The nervousness seeping from Ridge is mak-
ing my heart ache for him. I move to the edge of
the backseat and reach forward, placing a com-
forting hand on his shoulder. He lifts his hand to
mine and grabs it, then squeezes it tightly.
I want to help him, but I can’t. I don’t know
how. All I can think about is how completely
helpless I feel, how much he’s hurting, and how
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scared I am that he might lose Maggie, because
it’s so painfully obvious how that would kill him.
He brings his other hand up to mine, which is
still gripping his shoulder. He squeezes both of
his hands around mine desperately, then tilts his
face toward his shoulder. He kisses the top of my
hand, and I feel a tear fall against my skin.
I close my eyes and press my forehead against
the back of his seat, and I cry.
? ? ?
We’re in the waiting room.
Well, Warren and I are in the waiting room.
Ridge has been with Maggie since we arrived an
hour ago, and Warren hasn’t spoken a single
word to me.
Which is why I’m not speaking to him. He ob-
viously has an issue, and I’m not really in the
mood to defend myself, because I’ve done abso-
lutely nothing to Warren that should even require
defending.
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I slouch back in my chair and pull up the
search browser on my phone, curious to know
about what Warren said to the 911 operator.
I type CFRD into the search box and hit enter.
My eyes are pulled to the very first result:
Managing cystic fibrosis–related diabetes.
I click on the link, and it explains the different
types of diabetes but doesn’t explain much more.
I’ve heard of cystic fibrosis but don’t know
enough about it to know how it affects Maggie. I
click a link on the left of the page that says, What is cystic fibrosis? My heart begins to pound and my tears are flowing as I take in the same words
that stick out on every single page, no matter how
many pages I click.
Genetic disorder of the lungs.
Life-threatening.
Shortened life expectancy.
No known cure.
Survival rates into mid- and upper thirties.
I can’t read any more through all the tears I’m
crying for Maggie. For Ridge.
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I close the browser on my phone, and my eyes
are pulled to my hand. I take in the unread words
in Ridge’s handwriting across my palm.
I need you to move out.
Ridge
Both Warren and Sydney spring to their feet
when I round the corner to the waiting room.
“How is she?” Warren signs.
“Better. She’s awake now.”
Warren nods, and Sydney is looking back and
forth between us.
“The doctor says the alcohol and dehydration
probably caused her . . .” I stop signing, because
Warren’s lips are pressed into a firm line as he
watches my explanation.
“Verbalize for her,” I sign, nodding my head
toward Sydney.
Warren turns and looks at Sydney, then refo-
cuses his attention on me. “This doesn’t concern
her,” he signs silently.
What the hell is his problem?
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“She’s worried about Maggie, Warren. It does
concern her. Now, verbalize what I’m saying for
her.”
Warren shakes his head. “She’s not here for
Maggie, Ridge. She doesn’t care how Maggie’s
doing. She’s only worried about you.”
I bury my anger, then slowly step forward and
stand directly in front of him. “Verbalize for her.
Now.”
Warren sighs but doesn’t turn toward Sydney.
He stares straight at me as he both signs and
verbalizes for us. “Ridge says Maggie’s okay.
She’s awake.”
Sydney’s entire body relaxes as her hands go
to the back of her head and relief washes over
her. She says something to him, and he closes his
eyes, takes a quick breath, then opens them.
“Sydney wants to know if either of you need
anything. From the apartment.”
I look at Sydney and shake my head. “They’re
keeping her overnight to monitor her blood sugar.
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I’ll come by tomorrow if we need anything. I’m
staying a few days at her house.”
Warren verbalizes again, and Sydney nods.
“You two head back and get some rest.”
Warren nods. Sydney steps forward and gives
me a tight hug, then backs away.
Warren begins to turn toward the exit, but I
grab his arm and make him look at me again. “I
don’t know why you’re upset with her, Warren,
but please don’t be a jerk to her. I’ve done that
enough already.”
He nods, and they turn to leave. Sydney looks
back over her shoulder and smiles a painful
smile. I turn and walk back to Maggie’s room.
The head of her bed is slightly raised now, and
she looks up at me. There’s an IV drip in her
arm, replenishing her fluids. Her head slowly
rolls across her pillow as her eyes follow me
across the room.
“I’m sorry,” she signs.
I shake my head, not even remotely wanting or
needing any type of apology from her. “Stop.
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Don’t feel bad. Like you always say, you’re
young. Young people do crazy things like get
drunk and have hangovers and puke for twelve
hours straight.”
She laughs. “Yes, but like you always say,
probably not young people with life-threatening
conditions.”
I smile as I reach her bed, then scoot a chair
close to it and take a seat. “I’m going back to San
Antonio with you. I’ll stay a few days until I feel
better about leaving you alone.”
She sighs and turns her head, looking straight
up to the ceiling. “I’m fine. It was just an insulin issue.” She turns back to face me. “You can’t
baby me every time this happens, Ridge.”
My jaw clenches at “baby me.” “I’m not baby-
ing you, Maggie. I’m loving you. I’m taking care of you. There’s a difference.”
She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “I’m
so tired of having this same conversation over
and over.”
Yeah. So am I.
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I lean back in my chair and fold my arms over
my chest while I stare at her. Her refusal of help
has been understandable up to this point, but
she’s not a teenager anymore, and I can’t under-
stand why she won’t allow things to progress
with us.
I lean forward, touching her arm so she’ll look
at me and listen. “You need to stop being so hell-
bent and determined to have your independence.
If you don’t take better care of yourself, these
brief one-night hospital stays will be a thing of
the past, Maggie. Let me take care of you. Let me
be there for you. I constantly worry myself sick.
Your internship is causing you so much stress,
not to mention the thesis. I understand why you
want to live a normal life and do all the things
other people our age do, like go to college and
have a career.” I pause to run my hands through
my hair and focus on the point I want to make.
“If we lived together, I could do so much more
for you. Things would be easier for both of us.
And when things like this happen, I’ll be there to
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help you so you don’t convulse alone on the
bathroom floor until you die!”
Breathe, Ridge.
Okay, that was harsh. Way too harsh.
I roll my neck and look down at the floor, be-
cause I’m not ready for her to respond yet. I close
my eyes and try to hold back my frustration.
“Maggie,” I sign, looking at her tear-soaked eyes.
“I . . . love . . . you. And I am so scared that one
of these days, I won’t be able to walk out of the
hospital with you still in my arms. And it’ll be
my own fault for allowing you to continue to re-
fuse my help.”
Her bottom lip is quivering, so she tucks it into
her mouth and bites it. “Sometime in the next ten
or fifteen years, Ridge, that will be your reality.
You are going to walk out of the hospital without me, because no matter how much you want to be
my hero, I can’t be saved. You can’t save me
from this. We both know you’re one of the few
people I have in this world, so until the day
comes when I can absolutely no longer take care
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of myself, I refuse to become your burden. Do
you know what that does to me? To know that
I’ve put that much pressure on you? I’m not liv-
ing alone simply because I crave independence,
Ridge. I want to live alone because . . .”
Tears are streaming down her cheeks, and she
pauses to wipe them away. “I want to live alone
because I just want to be the girl you’re in love
with . . . for as long as we can draw that out. I
don’t want to be your burden or your responsibil-
ity or your obligation. The only thing I want is to
be the love of your life. That’s all. Please, just let that be enough for now. Let it be enough until the
time comes when you really do have to go to the
ends of the earth for me.”
A sob breaks free from my chest, and I reach
forward and press my lips to hers. I grip her face
desperately between my hands and lift my leg
onto the bed. She wraps her arms around me as I
pull the rest of my body on top of hers and do
whatever I can to shield her from the unfairness
of this evil, goddamned world.