“Melody?”
Alarm infuses his tone, his grip on me tightening. With fluttering eyelids, I begin to float away, tipping over from my knees as everything becomes jumbled chaos.
“Jesus… someone fucking help her!”
His panicked words fade out, turning to ringing in my ears, and Parker catches me before I hit the ground, but he can’t save me from the darkness that swallows me whole…
These lights are familiar.
Sterile and unaesthetic.
Blinking through a sharp inhale, I reach for my wrist, thinking I’m back in that hospital bed after my suicide attempt—tangled in starched sheets, my vein and my heart bleeding out. I expect to see my parents’ tearful faces hovering over me, wracked with disappointment.
Panic seizes me.
No… I’m not ready.
As reality works its way back through me, my fuzzy brain begins to temper, and when my eyes land on my arm, there is only a fading scar staring back at me.
I glance at my opposite arm and wince. A long needle and white tape are secured to the underside of my elbow.
And then… memories assault me, a rush of noise and colors and lights.
Parker!
I sit upright, my heartbeats ricocheting off my ribs as I fumble for the call button to summon a nurse. The last thing I remember is Parker gasping for breath in my arms as paramedics swarmed us, and then I was captured by queasiness and dizzy lights.
He jumped off a bridge.
He jumped off a bridge right in front of me, and now I don’t know where he is.
Tears rush to my eyes while anxiety courses through me. My fingers fumble with the button, pressing it over and over until the mint green curtain shimmies before me, and a familiar face pokes through.
Dr. Whitley.
Bree.
“Melody,” she says softly, her chestnut ringlets piled high on her head. “How are you feeling?”
I swallow. “Why am I here? Where’s Parker?”
Her smile is easy, natural. Like mine. Bree paces forward with careful steps, coming up beside my cot. “You fainted. When you came to, you were overcome with panic, so we administered a sedative.”
Warmth radiates from bronze-tinged eyes as she reaches out to place a tender palm along my arm. It’s an intimate gesture, something beyond what a regular doctor would do.
But I suppose I’m not a regular patient.
Licking my chafed lips, I feel my bottom lip start to tremble. “Parker… is he okay?”
She nods quickly. “He’s going to be fine. I’ll monitor him for any long-term side effects and watch out for signs of lung infection, but he’s acting like his usual stubborn self.” Bree’s smile blooms through watery eyes. “He hasn’t stopped asking about you. He’s so worried.”
My heartrate quickens. “Can I see him?”
I need him. I need him in my arms, flesh to flesh, beating heart to beating heart.
“Soon,” she tells me. “I’m about to go sign off on his discharge papers, and then I’ll get you guys out of here. But first…” Bree pulls her lips between her teeth, the pressure of her touch increasing on my arm. She falters, inhaling a long, shaky breath. “I need to go over some results with you. We ran a blood test when you were brought in.”
I freeze, my muscles locking. Nerves race through me, triggering more nausea.
Oh, God… am I dying?
My mind is inundated with worst case scenarios: brain tumors, cancer, cancerous brain tumors.
Bile climbs up my throat.
Bree takes a seat on my bedside, her eyes glinting with tears as she squeezes me, her unsaid words coiling around me like a serpent.
No, please.
I’m not ready!
I can almost envision a reverend pushing through the curtain, a barrage of mourning and last rites.
“You’re pregnant, Melody.”
No! A brain tumor!
Wait.
Her words penetrate my fog of fear, and I slowly begin to register what she actually said. Goosebumps scatter along my arms as my heart thunders with stunned, stupefied beats. A sharp breath hitches in the back of my throat. My mind spins. My limbs start to quiver.
I’m pregnant.
I’m pregnant.
Our respective tears fall at the same time, and Bree lets out a choked-up, weepy laugh. “Congratulations.”
I lift a hand to cup my mouth. A sob, riddled with equal parts joy and disbelief, is muffled by my palm, and I close my eyes to process this unexpected bomb. “How… how far along am I?”
Bree swipes two fingers under her eye, streaking the tears away. “Judging by your HCG levels, you’re likely six to eight weeks along. We’ll need to schedule an ultrasound to be sure.”
Emotions torpedo through me, stealing the air from my lungs.
The morning after pill must have failed.
I’ve been pregnant this whole time.
Holding back an incredulous cry, I wonder aloud, “Does Parker know?”
She shakes her head, her dark curls dancing in her topknot, and then she slides a loving hand up and down my arm. “That’s for you to tell him, Melody. Although, I’d give anything to see his face when you give him the news.” Bree reels in her own elated emotions, sighing deeply. “God, my little brother is going to be a father…”
Her own love for Parker radiates off of her, heady and potent. She drifts away for a moment, her eyes reflecting years of memories—pain, joy, kinship. I see her relief, her pride, and I wonder what hardships they went through together. I want to hear their stories, relive their friendship and bond. I’m yearning to know everything.
A swell of forgiveness and understanding fills me as I clasp the back of her hand with my palm. Bree is a good person. Her aura is pure and kind, and her heart bleeds with empathy. She would do anything for her brother.
And I realize then… if she craved to see Parker’s smile just as much as I did, I can’t really blame her for what she did.
We’re not so different, she and I.
While my tears continue to track down my cheeks, I give her knuckles a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry,” I whisper in a ragged breath. “I understand why you did it.”
Her eyes widen to copper saucers as her throat bobs with a swallow. She nods through her own tears. “I truly didn’t mean to hurt you, Melody. Please know that. My intentions were noble, but I realize now that it wasn’t right. It wasn’t my place to meddle.”
“I know,” I assure her. “It’s okay.”
A grateful smile tugs at her lips. “Thank you.” Her gaze dances away, settling on the bleached sheets, and she adds softly, “Thank you for everything… for what you’ve done for Parker. I feared my brother would never find happiness or joy, or see life as anything other than a burden. An affliction.”
Heartache stabs at me as I listen thoughtfully.
“His heart is strong, but it never had anything to fight for,” Bree finishes, finding her way back to me and sealing her words with a glimmering smile. She lifts her hand, placing it atop the bed cover that’s draped over my belly. “Now he has everything.”
—THIRTY-NINE—
Home.
This feels like home.
Not necessarily the four walls or the ruddy bricks, or even the curtain of tall, lush trees that surround the property, giving it an air of peaceful seclusion.