A Harmless Little Plan (Harmless #3)(36)

“But still not speaking. Not engaging in direct eye contact,” Harry confirms.

“No.” Dr. Belzan’s shoulders drop as she says the word.

Harry stands. “Right.” He gives me a firm glare. “For now, you can have access to her. Don’t engage Monica again on this, Drew. It’s not black and white.”

I bite my tongue. I’ve said what I need to say. My jaw feels like I’m biting a piece of coal hard enough to form a diamond.

I jolt.

Diamond.

I give him a conciliatory smile, relief flooding through me. “Right. You’re right, Harry. It’s not black and white, and I promise to be more tactful with Monica.”

Surprise spreads through his features, his body language suddenly friendlier. “Glad you’re coming around to see that. We all want what’s best for Lindsay.”

A memory from four years ago, one I’ve tucked away in a locked box for too long, surfaces. My coat that night, left in my car as we went to the party.

The tiny velvet box in my breast pocket.

My sister, giving me that box when I was discharged from the hospital. Calling Harry to find out Lindsay had been shipped off to the Island while I had been hospitalized.

Funny.

The color of the velvet is gray.

A plan forms, the pieces falling into place like teeth on a series of gears, lining up perfectly. “Right, Harry. There’s always room for shades of gray,” I declare with a smile.

We thank the doctors and walk out together, Harry splitting off before I go in to see Lindsay. As I watch his form swallowed by an elevator, I press my back against the painted cinderblock wall, breathing slowly, letting memory be my mistress for a few fabulous moments. Playful and sweet, I can become a different me when memory takes over.

Lindsay doesn’t know this.

That night four years ago, I was weeks away from graduating from West Point. I was also hours away from proposing to her.

The stakes are higher now.

All my reasons for proposing are still there. If anything, I have more now. The young girl I knew then, nineteen and sheltered, has emerged a fierce woman, headstrong and brave. I’ll be honored if she’ll have me.

Before I ask, I have to see how close she is. I can’t bridge the gap between us, but if she needs an outstretched hand, I am here.

I’ve always been here.

And if she’ll have me, I always will.



Lindsay



I know they’re talking about me.

I know what Mom and Daddy want to do. And I won’t go. My throat starts beating hard, blood racing through me, chattering like it is saying all the words I’m not.

I also know Drew will come to visit again. Every time he’s here, the thin membrane between me and the world stretches a little more. I need him here. I wish he could just be with me all the time, his steady presence like an anchor.

Saying that is impossible, of course. The minute I say a single word, the dam breaks. Already, I feel like every finger, every toe, every elbow, every part of me that can be used is holding back leaks in the dam of emotion inside me.

Saying a word would be a sonic boom.

And the rush of water will drown me.

Tap tap tap.

I slow my breathing and turn my body slightly away from the door, knowing it’s Drew. I saw him go into the conference room with Daddy and Mom and the doctors. They’re all worried about me. My shoulder is healing nicely, but the nightmares won’t leave.

And then there’s the fact that I’ve disappointed Drew.

I haven’t been there for him. I know how hard this has been for him. Stellan, John and Blaine released the video of their attack on Drew just as he was detained, when they kidnapped me. I know because a nurse’s aide left the television on in my room and I changed the channel. Three hours of cable news and eventually you see everything.

They can’t put me on a news blackout here. Daddy and Mom tried, I’m sure, but Dr. Belzan stepped in.

I’m sorry, I think, as Drew slowly walks into the room. He’s breathing fast, the sound raspy and full. It’s an emotional sound, and for some reason my skin goes hot, then cold. I’m clammy under the sheet and blanket, like I have the chills.

“Lindsay.” He crosses the room quickly, his hard-soled shoes going clack-clack-clack in three steps, the scrape of chair legs against the tile, and then --

Oh, sweet God.

He takes my hand in his.

Other than medical personnel working on me, and a single hug from Mom and Daddy the first day I woke up, no one has touched me. All Drew does is hold his flat palm under mine. His hands are rough, hot, and dry like thick parchment paper. He places my hand, palm down, on his.

And then he waits.

Doesn’t say a word.

All the words are, of course, crammed into my body, blood screaming, skin singing, bones vibrating, every part working in concert like a symphony.

And my heart is the big bass drum.

I can’t live like this.

“It’s been eight days, Lindsay,” he finally says, his voice measured, his words respectful and soft. “Eight days since I failed you.”

I frown. No. No, you didn’t.

My breath quickens, the sound like wildfire ripping across a drought-ravaged plain. Over and over, seconds tick by, the sound amplified in my ears as if it accumulates.

And still, Drew waits.