A Beautiful Forgiveness (the NYC Series Book 3) Read online

  “Nope.”

  “It’s beautiful outside.”

  “It’s too far away.”

  “You have to do more than walk to the bathroom and back or you’ll never have enough strength to leave the hospital.”

  “So you’ve said.”

  “You were given a second chance at life, London, why don’t you want it?”

  “You know the answer.”

  “Maybe it’s changed.”

  “It hasn’t.”

  “What happened was an accident.”

  An accident I can’t take back.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” he added.

  I opened my eyes and sat up in bed, pulling my knees to my chest. “I was driving the car. I crossed the center line. It was my fault.”

  “Did you do it on purpose?”

  “No.”

  “You forgot to mention that something flew out of the truck in front of you, causing you to lose control of your vehicle.”

  “So it’s the object’s fault? Something that has no mind or body to control their actions?”

  “Had the object hit your car, you could be dead.”

  “Better me than her,” I grumbled.

  “Why? You did nothing wrong in your life to deserve to die.”

  “You told me she had a family.”

  “She did.”

  “I don’t, so there”

  “You have a father, he’s family.”

  “I’m young, with no kids or a boyfriend.”

  I stared at my fingers, twisting them together. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the wreck. The mangled steel, twisted and busted apart. I don’t remember much of the accident, but I knew my car was totaled. I could give a shit less about my car. I could care less that I was having complications. What about her? What about her family? I have dreams I see her eyes, widened in horror before I wake up. The moments before impact . . . moments that my brain won’t let me remember. But those eyes. Those eyes will haunt me for the rest of my second chance given but not deserved, pathetic life.

  He closed his notebook and put his pen in his shirt pocket and as all the other previous times he’s done that, I wished the pen would leak all over his white shirt.

  “An object flew out of a truck while you were all driving sixty miles per hour. You did what any normal person would—you reacted. You tried to avoid it and accidentally crossed over into the other lane, colliding with another vehicle. One person died, two were barely injured. It was not your fault. It will never be your fault.” He stood and I laid back down, closing my eyes. “I’ll let you rest for now, but tomorrow is a new day, London.”

  “That’s a wonderful observation, Dr. Genius.” I was aware of my tone and attitude, but I didn’t care.

  He knew I didn’t care.

  The moment I found out I had killed another person, I knew my life was over. Each breath I took, each beat of my heart, reminded me of what I’d done. Reminded me of my sins. The only way to escape it, the only way to rid myself of the thump in my chest, was to sleep, and I was very good at that.

  I killed a woman.

  That’s right. Me. A killer.

  The girl who saved animals from being killed, a girl who worked day and night, loved life and lived it with no regrets, was now a killer.

  With one last silent prayer—praying to God that I would never wake up— I fell back asleep.

  Chapter 5 – Lucas

  I busted through Donovan’s door and yelled, “You knew, didn’t you!”

  He shut his laptop and stood. “Did you meet her?”

  “Of course I did; you gave me that information for a reason.”

  He nodded and clasped his hands. “I did.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m honestly surprised you haven’t pieced together the information on your own.”

  I took a step back.

  Is he fuckin’ kidding me right now?

  I didn’t have time for his games. “I was grieving my mother. Taking care of her obligations and helping my father with her last wishes. I was told it was an accident and that the other driver had lived. I didn’t have any reason to investigate it.”

  “She has your mother’s heart.”

  “So I’ve learned.”

  “She killed your mother, and in return, they give her, her heart.”

  His words attacked my gut. He said it so matter-of-factly, and I shouldn’t be surprised. Donovan notoriously spoke with no emotion, always on the business side of things. But I knew, deep down, he was baiting me, trying to get a reaction from me. I picked the chair up and tossed it across the room and he didn’t even flinch. “You had no right!”

  “You had to know.”

  “I didn’t need to know!”

  He walked around the side of his desk and asked, “What are you going to do?”

  “What do you mean, what am I going to do?”

  “She needs help.”

  “Then help her,” I snapped back.

  “Not me, you.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because you’ve been there.”

  “Been where?”

  He gave me a ghost of a smile. Donovan always had a reason behind his actions. He never did anything for shits and giggles, there was a method to his madness. “At the bottom.”

  “You make no sense.”

  “She blames herself for what she’s done. She’s already tried to kill herself because she thinks she has no reason to live. Once she finds out who that heart belonged to, it just might be the end of her.”

  “It’s confidential information, she’ll never know,” I paused, trying to find out why he was pushing this so much. “Why do you care about her?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Why do you care?!”

  “I have my reasons.”

  I scoffed. Of course he did. “Which you’ll not share with me.”

  “Despite how much I like you, and that you’re my number one man, no. This is something I won’t share with you. She needs you, Lucas. You’re the only person who can give that girl life again.”

  “Fuck you.”

  ###

  “You’ve had three beers, Lucas.” Mac sat next to me at the bar.

  “It’s a three-beer kind of day.”

  “I worry.”

  “We’re not working, why are you worried?”

  “I know I’m a burly guy and that can make people think that I don’t have emotions, but you can talk to me, mate. Promise I won’t judge. Or bite.”

  “I’m not in the mood to chat.”

  “But you’re in the mood to drink, something you really shouldn’t be doing.”

  He was right. I should be home, or working, or sweating my ass off at the gym. I shouldn’t be drinking or thinking about London and the fact that she has my mother’s heart.

  An accident.

  It was just an accident.

  I had to stop using that word.

  I banged my head on the bar top.

  My life is good now, it can’t spiral out of control.

  I can’t go back.

  It was an accident.

  Forcing myself away from the bar, I thought about her.

  London.

  The poor girl can’t get over what she did. I’m not sure she’d ever get over it, but maybe if she knew that I didn’t hold it against her, that I knew it was just an accident, then maybe she could move past it.

  “Mate!” Mac yelled, catching up to me. “Let me walk you home.”

  “Not going home.”

  “Well, I’ll walk you wherever you need to go.”

  I stopped. “I’m good, Mac.”

  He nodded and saluted me before walking back toward the bar.

  I grabbed a bottle of water from a food truck and wandered around the city, walking off the slight buzz I had, using the water to flush out my system. I sat on a bench in Times Square and watched the late crowd, full of tourists admiring the sights, taking pictures, having fun. The last time I had any
kind of excitement in my life that didn’t involve a gun was the night I kissed Ki. She kissed me back, and it was the first time in a long time that I had felt something. Felt something for someone other than myself.

  I got up and started walking again. I had to stop thinking about her, continue to move on with my life. Hurry up and get the vetting of Richard over with so we could move onto something more challenging, more exciting. I knew it’d make Gunner happy also.

  Another hour of wandering around the city and I found myself walking into the hospital, holding a plant with the purple orchids in bloom. I remember buying them and cursing at myself for buying them, but I never trashed them. I saw the information on her file, shortly before I read that she had caused the accident and received my mother’s heart.

  I got off on the seventh floor, saw the nurses’ station empty, and walked quickly to her room. I glanced around, made sure no one saw me, and slipped inside.

  I grabbed a hospital-issued pink water jug and put the flowers in it. It looked stupid, but it was all I had. I sat in the chair and saw her curled into a ball, slightly shivering. She only had one blanket on her frail body, so I went in search of another. I found an empty room, a few doors down, and took the two blankets from the bed, and went back to her room. Covering her up, I could already smell the orchids filling the room.

  I sat in the chair, laid my head back, and closed my eyes.

  The next time I opened them, I saw the sun peeking through her blinds and stood to stretch. She was still sleeping, so I used the restroom and went back to the chair. She blinked her eyes a few times, and then they landed on her flowers.

  The moment her eyes slid to me, I felt trapped with the thoughts and memories of what had happened, and in that moment, I hated her.

  At once, all of the horrible things I wanted to say to her flooded my mind. I wanted to show her how badly I missed my mom. I wanted her to know that I spent many nights curled up in bed, sobbing. Images of missed opportunities took over my thoughts. I wanted her to know that I was on the edge of my sobriety, and just the slightest breath of air could push me over the edge, never to return. I wanted to tell her that I haven’t been able to breathe since my mother took her last breath.

  Mostly, I wanted her to know that I’m not fine, regardless of what I tell everybody.

  I hated her for killing my mom but I wanted her to live because she had her heart. She couldn’t give up and waste the gift my mother gave her. She had to live and treat her body with respect and be thankful that it was given to her. Be thankful for life.

  “Are you a ghost?” she finally asked.

  I ignored her ignoring the flowers and sat back in the chair, unsure of what to say next. My hands were in fists. My jaw hurt from forcing it to remain shut.

  I wanted to scream at her, tell her what she’s done wrong, but I couldn’t.

  She already knew.

  She was already punishing herself.

  “Yes.” I finally replied.

  She closed her eyes. “Good to know.”

  I thought about the picture in her file. How stunning and beautiful she was before the accident. She’d lost her outgoing positive look on life. Even though she was thin and fragile, her beauty was still there. She hadn’t lost it all.

  She was just broken.

  Rock bottom.

  I knew what that was like.

  “I died,” I said, grabbing her attention and she opened her eyes. “I died a few years ago.”

  “Really?”

  “Apparently, I hadn’t snorted enough coke, and they were able to get my heart beating again.”

  “I’ve been there,” she said, glancing at her flowers, then back to me. “They brought my heart back, and then gave me a different one.”

  I had to swallow back the bile that threatened to rise in my throat. I closed my eyes against the burning behind them and softly said, “I know.”

  “How do you know?”

  “People at work,” I lied, “they talk.”

  “I don’t believe you work here.”

  “Maybe I don’t.”

  “Why did you come back?”

  “I’ve been where you are.”

  “And where’s that?”

  “In that bed. Giving up. Dying.”

  She rolled her eyes and looked out the window.

  Chapter 6 – London

  I didn’t like the way he looked at me or the way he made me feel. He saw me, wasting away in the hospital, reminding him of what he went through but didn’t leave.

  He looked upset like I had let him down.

  He looked angry like I had broken his heart.

  And I hadn’t because I didn’t know him, and I had no idea why he was back.

  He thought I was looking out the window, or at those gorgeous flowers, but I wasn’t. My eyes were lost on the white wall, following the small pattern that someone had scratched into it. It was barely noticeable and was probably why they never covered it up, but I saw it. I liked to think about what that person was thinking when they did it. I liked to think that they knew I’d end up in this room and that I’d need those ragged little lines to get lost in.

  “I’m sorry, London,” my shrink said walking into the room. “I didn’t know you had company.”

  “I don’t, he’s a ghost.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the man, the man with no name, because I haven’t asked for it and he hasn’t given it to me, stand and move from the chair. “I was just leaving.”

  He left, and I saw my shrink, David I think was his name, look at the flowers before he sat down.

  “You’re early.”

  “Yes, I thought I would switch it up a little.”

  “I’m miserable.”

  “You made yourself miserable.”

  “I can’t do this, not today.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’re the shrink, aren’t you supposed to know everything about me?”

  “I’d like you to say it.”

  I replied by rolling over in bed, giving him my back. My eyes were burning with unshed tears, and if I opened them, he’d see them. I’d feel them and I didn’t want to.

  I didn’t want to feel anything.

  “Today’s your birthday and as of 6:13 am, you’re officially twenty-two years old.”

  “Keep going,” I told him, knowing there’s more.

  “One year ago, today, your mother passed away. The moment she was buried, you left your family’s ranch in Wyoming and moved here, to New York City.”

  My heart clenched, remembering that day. “I left because of the promise I made to her.”

  “So, you didn’t want to leave the ranch?”

  “I always wanted to leave the ranch.”

  I heard his pen scratch against the paper, no doubt he was writing about how miserable I was. Maybe he would write that I couldn’t be saved because I sure as shit felt that way.

  “But you didn’t?”

  “Not until my mother was on her deathbed, begging me to leave. She knew I wanted more than to live my life on the ranch and I promised her . . . I promised her I’d experience the world.”

  “Tell me more,” he said when I stopped talking. I forced the tears back and rolled back over to him.

  I don’t know what it was. Maybe I was ready to talk about Mom. Maybe I wanted him to realize that he wasn’t horrible at his job. Maybe my throat betrayed me when it allowed my voice to come out, soft, just like the day I made those promises to her. “I promised her I’d try new things, including all the jobs I’ve had. I promised her I’d move around as much as possible until I found a place that felt like home. I promised her I wouldn’t settle. I promised her . . . everything.” I pulled my blanket up to my eyes. “I can’t do this.” But it was already too late. She was already behind my eyelids, her kind eyes staring into mine. Her warm hands cupping my face, rubbing my hands. The tears leaking from us both. The loud click of the clock, counting down our last minute together. Her voice, soft an
d strained, as she told me she loved me, that I was her greatest achievement in life. That she knew I would never be the same, but that I would carry her in my heart.

  How can I keep her in my heart now that it isn’t my own?

  “You’re doing just fine.”

  “Please leave.”

  “You need to get upset and angry, London. Feel something because you aren’t dead. You’re very much alive.”

  “I don’t feel alive.”

  “With time, you will.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “I think you do.”

  “Whatever.”

  He changed the subject and asked about my flowers.

  “I told you.”

  “That man wasn’t a ghost. You know that, right, London?” I chanced a glance at him and for a minute, he looked worried. Worried that maybe these four white walls had finally driven me to madness.

  I shrugged. “He could be. We could both be crazy.”

  I heard him chuckle. “Is he your friend?”

  “No.”

  “Then why the flowers?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Orchids, they’re your favorite, right?”

  “Yes, and before you ask, I don’t know how he knew. I don’t know him. He showed up the other day, brought me my breakfast and then stayed for a chat. I thought you sent him. I thought you were trying to get me to talk to him, thinking maybe because he was handsome that I’d give in and tell him everything you wanted to know. But you don’t know him, and I don’t either. When I woke up this morning, he was here, in that chair. I have no clue why or what he wants.”

  But he somehow made the time move faster. Made me comfortable.

  “I’ll talk with the nurses, see if I can’t figure out who he is. In the meantime, would you like to go for a walk?”

  “No.”

  “Today was a good day, even if it doesn’t feel like it.”

  I waited to make sure he had left and then slipped out of bed to use the bathroom. Afterward, I walked to my door and slowly leaned my head out of the doorway. I looked up and down the halls while holding my IV cart. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, maybe another tortured soul, a ghost.

  I shook my head and came back into my room, stopped to smell my orchids, and then crawled into bed.