Something To Dream On (27 page)

He breathes deeply once, twice, and after the third time, he releases his tension. I sigh in relief when he sits on the floor and nurtures Etta like a newborn. “
Shh.
It's one in the morning, and you're going to wake the neighbors.”

I love Etta, but son of a bitch, she's making this harder! My hand smooths over her with the softest touch I can give. This isn’t her fault. Etta knows I am in danger and is trying to help.

God, I want to strangle something!

I pop up and turn away from Etta. She deserves better than to think my anger is directed at her. It’s aimed at the only one who deserves it. I look straight to Heaven and tell off the guy who thinks he’s such a big shot. “God dammit! How the fuck could you let this happen to such a wonderful person? You want us to be good, and when we are you strike us down! How could you let this happen to me after all the months we spent working together? I would beg, and you would give me an inch, and I would say thank you. Every inch you gave I would turn into a yard before I would beg again. That was our deal! Now you fucking do this!”

My voice turns scathing, because I now loathe the man it is directed at. “You hurt the sweetest person on the planet. Was that the problem? That she’s an angel and you want her back? Are you testing me like you did when you took Eddie right in front of me? Is that it? Are you saying that it is my fault? That you will keep fucking with me, time and again, until I destroy myself? How dare you!”

I grab the glass and throw it at Him. It smacks the ceiling, and then shatters on the floor. That smack wasn’t loud enough. I need something bigger, something bolder to convey how I have had it with this guy! “Do you think you can make her happier than I can? Bullshit! Screw you! Screw you and your supposed compassion. If you gave a shit about either of us, you never would have allowed this!”

I raise the bottle to toast the prick who thinks he is such hot shit. “Screw you, and cheers!”

Panic sets in and makes me forget my limitations, so I run to Jensen and swat at the bottle. “Jensen! No! Don’t you dare!”

Etta springs into action and goes into a sprint, giving her enough momentum to knock Jensen on his butt. Tequila sprays across the room. The bottle flies and hits the coffee table, causing more to spray. Jensen rushes to protect my wedding magazines, budget, and tiara, but it’s too late. He takes the sleeve of his shirt to the papers, wiping frantically. “No! No! No! This did
not
happen! I swear to God, Lizetta, I am not like your dad.” He drops to his knees, and I’d give anything to tell him I understand why he is crumbling, and that this is even more proof of how he is nothing like my father. “I’ve ruined her. I’ve destroyed the last that she left behind.” He clutches the magazines to his chest while doubling over into sobs.

He’s right, God. I want to defend you in this, but I can’t.

Jensen takes the tiara to the sink and rinses off the alcohol before drying it with a touch so delicate that you would think it were made of paper-thin glass. “What have I done?” he questions over and over. “I’m so sorry, Lizetta. Please don’t hate me when you see this. Really, I haven’t drunk a drop of it.” Tears fall into the tequila as he mops it off the table, nearly buffing it dry before meticulously returning everything. He stares down at my belongings, and I would give anything to be able to dry the tears that rain. “I swear that I’ll tell you the truth, that I almost drank. I’ll tell you, because you are going to make it back here.”

Finally, he grabs the bottle and sticks the neck directly into the drain. “I swear, Lizetta, somehow you are protecting me. That scares the hell out of me, because if you're here, then you are not in your body. Every time I feel you with me outside of the hospital, I fear that no one's called yet to tell me the bad news.

“I can't stay here anymore. I need to be with you for real.” He bends down to Etta, resting his palms over her cheeks and smiling. “Again you save me. Thank you.” He looks to God. “I’m still pissed, but thanks—I think.” With a kiss to Etta’s head, he grabs his coat and keys and heads off to stand vigil over my body.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Monday, July 24

As the clock across from my bed ticks over to four in the morning, lethargic steps approach my hospital room. Griffin enters, rubs his eyes, and slumps into a chair next to Jensen, who has finally calmed enough to sleep. Griffin curls onto his side and shuts his eyes. Knowing that I'm okay as can be seems to be as soothing to them as counting sheep.

He shifts so that he can curl into a fetal position as best as his tall figure can in a crappy hospital chair. You would think hospitals would have recliners for such horrible occasions. Would it be so difficult for the staff to get these guys cots? I sit on the floor between them, because it’s all that I can think to do.

Griffin peeks at my body and shakes his head. He then extends a hand toward Jensen, only to retract it when Jensen snores. “Never mind, you'll just think I'm nuts. Lord knows I already think I'm crazy enough, I don't need you adding to the concern over my sanity.” He looks to my body while shaking his head. “I swear, Lizzie, you may be in that bed, but so often it feels like you are one hell of a lot closer.”

“I’m right here,” I say while looking up to him.

“Weirdest damn thing,” he mutters. “Even for the briefest moment at work right after your accident …”

I kneel so that we are face-to-face. His eyes give little blinks, and a bit of water streams down. I’ve come to accept that it is futile, but I won’t feel like a friend unless I try to dry his tears. “That's because I am here, Griffin. I really wish you could hear me.” My hand tingles as it passes through him. His nose crinkles like it's itching. That's interesting. I touch the same area. “Griffin?” His face twitches, and he reaches his hand around to rub it.

I pull back. “Griffin, can you feel me?”

He fails to respond.

Another tear forms and falls. I reach to it while saying, “You’re gonna ruin your eyeliner.” His brow scrunches, and he rubs his nose again. His eyes search the room. “Weirdest damn thing.”

My hand goes to his knee. “Griffin, am I getting through to you?”

He looks down and shakes his head. “Losing my damn mind.”

Am I imagining this, or is he responding whenever I touch him while speaking? How can I get a definitive response?

I suppose I could …

I’m blushing just thinking about it.

Sorry, Jensen, but I’m really doing this for us.

My hand goes to the most private of all of Griffin’s places, and he fails to respond. Then I speak up. “Griffin, do I have your attention now?”

He jumps up and looks down to his crotch. “Something
weird
is going on here.” He almost has his hand on Jensen’s arm before he high tails it out of the room. “No way I'm waking Mr. Sex On Legs and telling him that something in this room is making my crotch vibrate. It'll freak Straight Boy’s shit out. I have
got
to get some real sleep!”

Sweet kitten whiskers! I gotta go with Griffin. I may have just found another key!

“I need this psychic to either tell me I’m nuts or convince me I’m not,” Griffin says. “Must be losing my mind!”

I can hardly keep pace with Griffin as he dashes out of his car to rap on the door of The Great Zolta’s home. The woman who answers looks like Amy Winehouse, minus the bouffant, while modeling yoga chic. Her eyes lock into Griffin’s kohl-lined ones before going down his intimidating body. Her feet creep back so smoothly I almost miss it, but Griffin is well aware. He puts on his Miss Manners voice. It's deep and manly, yet also soft and polite. He could easily sweet talk someone into bed with it. “Hello, is Miss Zolta home?”

The woman looks through fake lashes that are so dense it’s amazing that she can open her eyes. The corner, just inside the door, holds her attention. Wasn’t a baseball bat kept there? “Do you have an appointment?” she asks.

Griffin lowers his eyes to his hands to appear less threatening. “No, I'm—I’m sorry. I saw her about a year ago, and something in the cards came devastatingly true. We need her advice, pronto.”

She tucks jet-black hair behind her ears and avoids making eye contact regarding the bad news. Griffin is so upset that she’s already changed her demeanor. “Sorry, my sister’s on vacation. You want to make an appointment for next week?”

“Next week!” The words squeal out of him, and I expect him to stomp his foot like a little girl. “Psychics can't go on vacation! They are like public servants. How would she like it if the fire department said they would show up in a month? She should at least be on-call!”

Her expression goes flat, like cheesed off, comedic straight man type flat. “That is what happens when you make five times the money I do from my
legitimate
job. It's not even like she went to the Bahamas. She's on a culinary tour of France. Four weeks of eating her fat ass deeper into a chair while I house sit.”

“Son of a bitch!” Griffin’s hands fly into the air. “What the hell am I supposed to do?” Now I get the foot stomp I expected earlier, and his hands land firmly on his hips. I freaking love it when Griffin flames out! “I don’t suppose you have any special abilities?”

“Oh, sure. Of course I do.” She reaches inside the house, grabs a deck of cards, and tells Griffin to draw one and not show it to her. “Now, how about I tell you which card you are holding?”

Griffin’s brows cock. “Uh, sure …”

Her fingers fly to her temples while she squints. “The three of hearts.”

Griffin tilts his head and eyes the card. “That translates to what in Tarot? Cups?”

She yanks the card back from Griffin. “I don't freaking know, because I'm not some crackpot psychic!”

Griffin wags a finger at her. “Oh no! Let me tell you, that woman is no fake! Sister nailed it big time.” The sag of Griffin’s eyes show the fun and games are over. “Is she really not coming back for a week?”

The woman’s gaze drops in empathy. “Well, she’ll be back late Friday night,” she says, sounding like she is hopeful that it will help.

Griffin talks to the steps as he heads down the porch. “Geez, I hope Lizzie holds on that long. Thanks anyway.”

“Hey, you okay?”

“Not really, but thanks for asking.” Griffin heads off with his head down. Again I’m faced with watching the people I love hurt over my misfortune.