Living Out Loud (Austen, #3)(85)

“She will be, no thanks to you.” Elle stepped forward, her face drawn. “Are you…drunk?”

“I…” he started, his eyes on the ground and shoulders sagging. “I didn’t know what else to do. When I knew…when I heard…” He ran a hand through his dark hair. “It’s my fault.”

I took a step, but Elle stayed me with a hand on my arm. “Tell us what happened.”

With one hand, he clamped his forehead, his thumb and fingers pressing his temples. He swayed when his eyes closed. “We fought. I…I said things I shouldn’t have. She left me for you.”

I spoke the question again, for the last time, “What did you do?”

“I…I told her she should be mine, kissed her to prove it, but I wouldn’t let her go, not until the driver stopped, and she ran—”

I heard nothing more; I was flying toward him, cocking my fist, letting it go. I didn’t register the smack, didn’t feel the crunch of bones in my hand or the jolt it sent up my arm when it connected with his jaw, didn’t stop as he fell, and I descended with him.

But I was lifted away, struggling against unseen hands, thrashing and gnashing and desperate to hit him again.

“You left her!” I screamed over everyone else, the cords of my neck taut and burning. “You fucking left her there, just like you left Sarah. They paid for your fucking pride. She could have died. Do you understand that? I told you I’d fucking end you if you hurt her. I fucking told you!”

Will propped himself on his elbow, and when he looked up, I knew he’d heard every word.

“You don’t deserve her—you never deserved either of them. After what you did, you have no right to be here. You’re lucky you’re not in jail. You’re lucky I don’t fucking show you just how sorry you should be.” I tried to shake off the hands that bound me, but they tightened, holding me back.

It was for the best; I didn’t know if I’d be able to stop myself.

He stood, making no motion to straighten his coat or wipe the spill of blood from his lip, meeting my eyes. His words were thick, slow, and slurring. “I’ve never been a good guy; we both know that. But I never meant for this to happen. I never meant for any of it to happen, not Sarah, not Annie, and now…now…” He sagged, but his eyes met mine, bright with pain. “I’m sorry—”

“No!” I screamed, straining to get free. “I will not feel sorry for you, and nobody believes you’re sorry. Don’t ask for forgiveness because there is none to give. Not for this, not for anything.”

His eyes hardened, but he nodded once. Two police officers ran into the room. Those bodiless hands disappeared from my arms and chest, and somehow, I didn’t reach for him again.

With the stern authority that only cops could manage, a brief questioning took place, and the general details of what had happened were given. They asked Will if he wanted to press charges. He shook his head, thumbing his lip when he met my eyes.

In fact, Will watched me until the police were gone—though they stayed near the elevators—and he looked at me with sincerity that I had no taste for.

“Tell Annie I’m sorry,” he finally said.

Before I could tell him to go to hell, he turned and walked away.

My hands trembled as I turned to face Annie’s shocked family.

“I…I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t be sorry,” her uncle said with dark eyes, his hand hooking my shoulder. “I only wish I’d taken the initiative to pull off a shot of my own.”

We moved to sit again, each of us stunned silent—Meg with her wide eyes, curled into Susan’s lap, and Annie’s mother, her hand cupped over her lips and eyes locked on a spot on the wall.

Elle rested her hand on my arm.

But I looked back at my hands, now scuffed up and stinging, red and shaking.

And I waited.



An hour passed before the surgeon appeared, looking tired but smiling.

The relief of that smile was instant and complete.

He told us the details of the surgery. Her shunt that kept oxygenated blood flowing through her had collapsed, which caused the immediate danger, but rather than replace the shunt, they’d performed the surgery Annie had planned. They’d repaired the valve and closed the hole in her heart. She was stable, and we’d be able to see her soon.

A few minutes afterward, a nurse came to take Elle and her mother to see Annie. And for another half hour, I waited some more.

So much waiting, I almost lost my mind from it.

When Elle returned, her face was swollen and red from crying. Meg began to cry at the sight of her.

Elle took the seat next to her, pulling her youngest sister into her arms, gently rocking her, soothing her as best she could.

“She’s okay,” Elle assured her. “She’s all right.”

“I want to see her,” Meg pleaded.

“Not tonight,” Elle answered with a shaky voice. “Susan, will you take her home?”

“I don’t want to go!” Meg wailed.

“I know, I know, but Annie’s still asleep, and she’ll be that way for a while. Tomorrow, you’ll come back first thing, all right? And then you can see her once she’s awake.”