“Lace,” my father says, brushing a strand of hair away from my eyes. “Sweetheart, tell me what you want to do.”
“Parrish.”
At the sound of Schwartz calling his name we both turn our heads and meet the lawyer’s grim expression.
“I need a word,” he says, eyeing me. After my outburst in the courtroom, it’s safe to say Schwartz isn’t a fan of mine. I’d like to tell you I give a fuck, but I don’t have it in me. My dad steps away and I try not to eavesdrop. I even turn my back to them, but for two people who don’t want me to hear what they have to say, they’re awfully loud.
“Look, I don’t know if it’s a good idea that she sees him like this,” Schwartz says.
“He’s a drug addict, Schwartz, and she’s his wife. If you think she hasn’t seen him like this before, you’re wrong.”
“I’m not talking about that. His cellmate wasn’t bullshitting, Parrish. A guard staged for him to be alone with members of Javier’s hit squad. They beat the living fuck out of him. Now, if you want your daughter to see him like that, by all means, go ahead. But I’ve seen her lose her shit in a courtroom and it’s not a good look.”
“What did you say?” I snap, moving to stand beside my father.
“No offense,” Schwartz says with a smug expression.
“I didn’t mean that part, but to be fair I’m not really a fan of yours either,” I hiss.
“Lace—”
“No,” I spat, narrowing my eyes at Schwartz. “So, it’s true? He was attacked in there?
“Before you get all riled up and make another scene, none of us want to be a part of, I’m already handling the situation.”
“Handling it how?”
“Are you always like this?”
“Answer the question, Schwartz,” my dad growls.
“In about twenty minutes every news station in the tri-state area will be interrupting their scheduled broadcasting to share photos of Blackie lying in that hospital bed. I also have someone from my office filing an emergency motion to drop the possession charges brought against him this morning. It just so happens Judge Riley owes me a favor and I’m cashing in. However, don’t hang up a welcome home banner just yet. The court is going to mandate he goes to rehab and there is no way around that.”
“It’s better than him going to jail and besides he can use the help,” my father says. The two of them continue to speak as if I’m not there, deciding what is best for Blackie. No one notices as I slip away and turn towards the hospital room. If they do, neither of them tries to stop me. I don’t know how to explain the change of heart. I think no matter how hopeless the situation it’s in a person’s nature to want to heal someone they love. It doesn’t matter I’ve been constantly trying to save the same man who keeps breaking my heart, I still want to believe my hand was meant to fill his. That my heart, as fragile and broken as it might be, exists only for him. Every beat is his. Every crack too.
Gripping the doorknob, I draw in a deep breath and hold it. As soon as I find the courage to open the door, I release the breath and shuffle my feet inside the room. Before I can take another step, a uniformed officer stands in front of me.
“Can I help you?”
“I…I’m his wife,” I stammer. Silently, he rakes his eyes over me. I’m about to ask if he needs to see my I.D. or something, but he moves to the side and allows me room to enter.
“No touching,” he warns. All too familiar with the rules and regulations surrounding a prisoner, I jerk my head in response.
“Lace, baby, is that you?”
My eyes snap towards the sound of Blackie’s voice and a gasp escapes my lips at the sight of him. Shackled to the bed by a pair of handcuffs, the man I married is unrecognizable. Aside from the dry blood and harsh bruises covering his beautiful face, his left eye is swollen shut and just below the brow there is a deep gash that’s been stitched with black thread.
“Lace?”
“I’m here,” I croak.
“C’mere, let me see you. I need to see you,” he slurs desperately.
The bitter part of me wants to let him stew and feel everything he inflicted on me in that courtroom. All the pain and every ounce of heartache. But the bigger part, the part that loves him unconditionally, runs to his side.
“There’s my gorgeous girl,” he rasps, turning his head to get a better look at me. “Don’t cry,” he murmurs. “I hate when you fucking cry.”
“Then please stop making me,” I say, choking on a sob.
Quietly, he continues to stare at me, and I watch as his bottom lip trembles. Tears spill from his good eye as he pulls at his chained wrist. The cuffs slap against the bedrail and he releases a guttural cry.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” he rasps. His tone remorseful.
I remain silent as I stare at him in disbelief, wondering how we got to this tragic point in our marriage. The longer we continue to stare at one another, I start to think I’m punishing him with my silence, and I try to find it in me to respond to his apology.
“How are you feeling? How’s my baby? Did you get the teddy bear?”
At the mention of the teddy bear, my gaze snaps to his and his apology is forgotten. Suddenly, I’m consumed by anger as I recall waking up to find that stuffed toy in my lap.
“I stood in that gift shop mulling it over, trying to decide between pink and blue,” he reveals, pausing for a beat as he tries to crack a smile. His face is too swollen and all he really manages is a lip curl. “It’s a girl, Lace,” he continues. “I feel it and I dream of her. Every fucking night, I dream of our daughter.”
“Stop!”
I can’t listen to him go on about our baby when he turned his back on us. I’m sure he’s got an excuse, a grand one at that, but I’m done listening to him. He broke something between us the day he threw that teddy bear in my lap and he built a concrete wall between us inside that courtroom. Sadly, I would’ve forgiven him for those things. I would’ve done everything in my power to piece together what he broke, and I would’ve torn the wall down until it was nothing but a pile of dust.
“You promised me,” I cry, stepping closer to the bed so he can see the pain in my eyes. The pain he put there. Choking on my tears, I shake my head as my knuckles whiten around the bedrail. “I heard the baby’s heartbeat, Blackie,” I rasp. “I reached for you and you weren’t there.”
“Baby…”
“You weren’t there!”
“I’m—”
“Sorry, yeah, I know,” I say, shaking my head. “That’s not good enough anymore.”
“I know I fucked up,” he chokes, his voice raw with emotion. “I fucking let you down, but if you let me explain—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” I interject, lifting my hands to wipe the tears rolling down my cheeks. “How many times are we going to do this, Blackie?”
“As many times as it takes to get it right,” he answers.
“No! You don’t get it, do you? It’s not about us anymore. We can’t keep doing this. For fuck’s sake, you’re chained to a hospital bed. I can’t even touch you,” I shriek, eyeing the guard who is doing his best to appear invisible. “You know, I wanted it to be you…I wanted us to go the distance, Blackie. I wanted you to be the one who remained at my side when I lost myself. I wanted you to be the man who reminded me of the love we made and the family we created. At the end of a long life, I wanted your face to be the last one I saw before I died. I wanted your hand to be the one I held when I left this world. It was supposed to be you. You promised you’d be that man. You swore on everything we were and everything we’d ever be.”