A Harmless Little Plan (Harmless #3)(37)

“I know where you are, baby. I know how close you are to reaching out. I know you asked for me last night.”

I sigh. I freeze.

“You don’t have to say a word. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, Lindsay. I’m here when you’re ready. But I have to tell you that your parents don’t see it the same way. They’re talking about sending you back to the Island.”

I start to shake. I’m not surprised. It occurred to me, but hearing Drew say it makes it real.

“I’m not here to talk about that, though. I won’t push. They might, but I won’t. I am just going to sit here and when you want me, squeeze my hand. If you want me to go, push it off. That’s it. A simple choice. All yours.”

I open my eyes to slits, just enough to look down at my outstretched body. I feel so naked, so cold. I’m not, though. I’m warm and covered, cared for and whole.

I know I am.

But I don’t feel like I am.

That’s the problem.

They say madness is a state where you’re disconnected from reality. Where the mind makes you see what isn’t there.

I don’t see anything unreal.

My problem is the opposite.

I can’t actually see what’s really there. Can’t feel it. I’ve lost my emotional imagination. The colorful internal landscape of hope and dreams, of imagined realities in the future, of goals and aspirations and smiles and forward thinking is just...gone.

Like me.

I’m not here.

How can I reach for Drew if I’m not here?

Drew leans over me. He’s trying to get me to open my eyes. I want to. I even will them open, but they stay shut, the impulse to open slamming against my skin, building up like a muscle spasm, releasing with a sigh. I have two selves warring inside me. Maybe more.

“Let me tell you a story.” As he speaks, his warm breath fills the space between us. I smell coffee and mint. My tongue goes wet, memory a two-faced friend, as I find myself tasting him.

If I lay here and don’t move, he’ll go away. He has to.

But if I move, if I just reach out enough, if I confess I don’t know what to do next, how to breathe next, how to be in whatever “next” is, then...what?

What will he do?

What will I do?

“Four years ago,” he says in a voice that makes it clear this is the beginning of a longish tale, “I woke up in a hospital room. My mom was asleep on the chair across from my bed. It was nighttime, and I had all these tubes in me. No broken bones. Just bruises and torn...well, I was torn up.” His voice drops on the last words.

He doesn’t elaborate.

Doesn’t need to.

“I was drugged up and dehydrated, and I panicked. Where were you? I needed to get back to you. My memory flooded, like a tsunami rushing in, like a wave of adrenaline I rode without a surfboard. It crashed into me, drowning me, and I started ripping out needles and sensors, even as the room spun.” He lets out a huff of air. “In my mind, I was trying to get to you. Find you. Save you.”

I hold my breath.

“Mom screamed for help and they pinned me down, shot me full of something that knocked me out. I guess I kept screaming your name. No one knew what had happened at that point – at least, my parents didn’t know. The video of your – of what they did to you -- showed up later.” He shifts in his chair, his hand moving slightly.

I don’t squeeze.

“My sister told me you’d been sent to a ‘meditation center’ to recover, but I knew that was bullshit. They put you in a mental institution. Your dad sent a letter explaining that I was to have no contact with you, and if I tried, the threat was clear. Harry didn’t even have to say it. He told me explicitly not to reply back, and to give my statement to investigators. I did. Never heard back.”

He makes a sound that echoes with helplessness. It’s so unlike him I almost open my eyes to make sure this is really Drew.

“And then I entered an emotional black hole.”

I let out a big breath. Black hole. I have one of those where my soul used to be.

“It was like there was this invisible shield between the world and me. One I couldn’t breach. One no one could see, but I felt it nonstop. At first, I thought it protected me.”

Oh.

“I could numb out. My body healed pretty fast, Lindsay, but my heart never did. It didn’t really start to heal until that day I picked you up at the Island and got you on that chopper. All that time, it was just dormant, the last part of me behind that invisible shield.”

Oh.

“I hardened myself. Became a revenge machine. Developed every tactical skill I could think of. Volunteered for diplomatic missions. Saved Harry after his helicopter crash in Lagos. Learned to be a sniper. Learned how to kill. More important – learned how to protect. And for four years, I told myself it was all for you, Lindsay.” He sighs. “You.”

Suddenly, his warm, reassuring palm is gone. Panic flutters in my chest like a butterfly. Wait! I want to scream. I wasn’t ready. Give me time. I’m so close! I just need more time, I want to plead. I even part my lips, ready to say something.

Drew stands and starts to pace. I know this because I’ve opened my eyes and I watch him, trying to calm my body down, trying to make my ribs stop ringing.

“All those years, I was wrong.”