Almost Dead (Lizzy Gardner #5)(92)

He was screaming now, or trying to. His high-pitched shrieks were muffled beneath the tape. She forced herself to watch, waited until the deed was done, until he fell silent once and for all.

She wasn’t proud of what she’d done, but he needed to be stopped.

After she cut him loose from the radiator, she made sure everything she had touched was wiped clean and in its place, keenly aware of her actions, knowing she was walking a very fine line between reality and insanity. Between life and death. Between good and evil. But it couldn’t be any other way. She’d known that when she was twelve and her mother’s boyfriend had curled up next to her in bed and taken away her innocence along with her choice to choose a different path.

Deep down, she’d known all along that it couldn’t have ended any other way.

She stepped out into the night, didn’t pause to take a breath. She walked onward, head held high as she let go of the past—the burning anger that came with sadness, hurt, and blame flittered away like moths. It was time to move on.





CHAPTER 65

Lizzy sat in the corner of the hospital room where she had been for the past three days, ever since Dr. Calloway had called to let her know that Jared’s family had indeed gotten a second and third opinion and had decided to no longer fight Jared’s directive.

All ventilators and equipment had been removed from Jared’s room that same day. No more IV. No more tubes entering and exiting his body.

From that moment on, the warring parties had laid down their arms and shared their vigil at Jared’s bedside. Few words were spoken, but they’d treated each other gently over the past three days, bringing each other food and coffee, taking turns in the bedside chairs.

They were all there this morning: Jared’s father, mother, and sister in the chairs surrounding his bed, and Lizzy watching on from her seat in the corner.

Lizzy hadn’t realized until they unhooked Jared from the machines that she, too, had been hoping for a miracle—they all had. But now it occurred to her that perhaps the miracle was that she and Jared had found each other at all.

And then, after all the long waiting, it happened.

A heart-wrenching sob broke from Michael Shayne. Jared’s father stood so abruptly his chair fell over behind him as he bolted from the room. Jared’s sister followed her father out.

Jared’s mother brushed her son’s hair back from his forehead and kissed him lightly there, then looked across the room at Lizzy and gave one subtle nod of her head.

Was it over? It couldn’t be.

Eyes wide and fearful, heart pounding, Lizzy made her way across the room. She slipped her hand into Jared’s. He looked so peaceful, so beautiful.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. And then, without a word, his mother left Lizzy alone with the only man she had ever loved. She crawled into the bed with Jared, wrapped her arms around him, and held him close.




Thirty-six hours after Jared’s passing, Lizzy pulled up to the house she and Jared had once shared, turned off the engine, and sat quietly for a moment, hoping the chill coming through her open window would freeze her insides and put her into an unceasing state of numbness.

She hadn’t been back to the house since her wedding day.

It didn’t feel right coming here.

The house felt like sacred grounds, and she was about to trespass.

Jared had always been fond of telling her she was the strongest person he knew. For the first time since he’d fallen into a coma, she saw him in her mind’s eye. He was smiling at her, his eyes glimmering. She saw him clearly, so clearly she reached out to touch him, her heart beating rapidly against her chest.

But the tips of her fingers brushed against cold glass.

His image disappeared as quickly as it had come, but she was grateful to have seen him again, reminding her of happier times, if just for an instant.

She exited the car, her feet heavy—each step wearisome.

A white iris had bloomed despite the wintry cold—more than one. Somebody had been watering the plants.

She inhaled, aware of the air filling her lungs. She wanted nothing more than to turn around, get into her car, and never come back here. But this had to be done. Now. She couldn’t allow anyone else to go through Jared’s things. It took her a moment to find the right key on her ring. Her fingers clamped tightly around the handle, she pushed the door open.

Filtered daylight came through half-open blinds.

She stepped inside, expelled a long breath as she shut the door behind her. Not only had someone watered the plants outside; they had cleaned the inside of the house, too. The carpet was marked with perfectly even streaks from a vacuum. The house smelled like lavender, the kind that came from a can of room freshener. Nothing could cover up the familiar smell of their house, though, the house she and Jared had shared together.

They had sat on that very couch, drank wine, nibbled on cheese and crackers, and talked through the night. She could hear his voice, the laughter they’d shared. There had been many serious talks, too, conversations about what the future might bring.

She swallowed.

After setting her things on the coffee table, she made her way upstairs.

The bed was neatly made. More vacuum lines.

The closet door had been left open. Jared’s shoes were lined on the shelf above a row of starched buttoned-up shirts.

She walked to his side of the bed, pulled his pillow out from under the covers, and held it to her nose, trying to breathe in his scent, praying she would find some small remnant that told her she wasn’t imagining anything . . . the two of them, for a short moment in time, had had it all.