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Sweet Nothing(74)

By:Mia Henry


Ding. The tinny twang of the elevator startles me, and I look up. Then I shake my head and look again, because I’m sure I’m hallucinating. I haven’t eaten, I’m in shock, what I see in front of me cannot possibly be real.

Luke steps into the waiting room, still in his work clothes. His eyes are bloodshot; his hair mussed. He’s not wearing a coat. He must be freezing.

I open my mouth, then close it again. The sight of him brings a fresh wave of tears. I want to run to him, but I’m frozen. I cast my eyes at the dingy floor, then look up again. It’s him. He’s here.

“Hey.” He takes as few tentative steps toward me, searching my face with burning blue eyes.

“Hey.” I cradle my head in my hands, too ashamed to meet his gaze. I don’t deserve this man. He shouldn’t be standing in a hospital waiting room with me.

Luke moves toward me. It feels like years before he’s close enough to pull me into him. He wraps his arms around me and holds me so tight, my feet are no longer touching the ground. Shaking, I clutch his back, his arms, his shoulders. I breathe him in, the spicy scent of his skin mixed with the New York chill. I’m afraid to let go.

When my sobs subside to shaky breaths, he lowers me gently to the ground.

“I called Gwen after she dropped you off. She told me what happened, and I caught the next flight.” He cups my face in his hands, brushing tears away with his thumbs. “Don’t be pissed. I couldn’t let you go through this alone. I’m so sorry, Elle.”

“How could I be pissed?” I wrap my arms around him. “I thought you were pissed. I thought you never wanted to see me again.”

Luke shakes his head. “I—”

“Miss Halloran?” The woman behind the counter calls my name gingerly, and I turn. “The doctors are with her now, but you can see your sister in a few minutes.”

“Is she… awake?” I choke.

“I’m sorry. I don’t have any information for you. You’ll have to speak with the doctors.”

I shudder.

“Hey.” Luke kisses me gently on the top of my head. “Let’s sit for a second. Right over here, okay? I’ll sit with you.”

Fiercely, I shake my head. “I’m staying right here. I’m not leaving until I see her. Luke, I’m not—I can’t—”

“I know. Come on.” He cradles me, his breath steady and warm on my neck, his hands gathering me as I crumble. “I’m right here. Right here, okay?” he murmurs.

“Okay. Okay.” I take a slow, deep breath. I let him lead me to my seat.

Silently, the nurse crosses the waiting room with two paper cups of coffee. She hands one to me and one to Luke, who thanks her.

I take a sip too soon. It scorches my tongue and tastes like sugary chalk.

“She’s gonna be okay, you know,” Luke tells me.

“I don’t.” My breath makes the coffee ripple. “I don’t know.”

He reaches over and squeezes the space above my knee, three times fast.

“Thank you,” I whisper. I keep my eyes on the clock over the nurse’s station, watching the second hand twitch. “Luke, can I—can I ask you something?”

“Always.”

“Why did you come here? I mean, I really thought I’d never see you again. When you didn’t come after me, didn’t call—”

“Hey.”

I look up at him, at the pain and sadness and determination in his eyes. “When I saw that picture of you on the classroom wall—the tabloid picture—I was… shocked. I didn’t know what to say. And I was angry, too, I guess.”

I brace myself against his words. “I know. My father—”

“—isn’t you, Elle. I know that your father isn’t you.” His voice is fierce. “I don’t give a shit about your father. So okay, he fucked up and he’s paying for it. And okay, you’re his daughter. But I didn’t get pissed because of who you are, or what your father’s done.”

“I don’t… you’re not making sense.”

“I got mad because you didn’t trust me with the truth.” Gently, he caresses my cheek with his thumb. “It made me feel like you didn’t trust me. I wish you had just told me what you were dealing with. I could have helped. I could have taken care of you.” His eyes sear into my soul. “I want to take care of you.”

God, I want that, too. More than anything. “I wanted to trust you. I just….” I shake my head. “After my father’s arrest, the entire world hated us. It didn’t seem to matter that I’d testified against him. Reporters would follow me home from school, and it was just… we were everywhere. We were reviled. I couldn’t risk having you hate me, too.”