What to Do?

EMERALD

I was numb. I wasn’t sure if I liked feeling nothing over feeling ~everything~, though.

We got back to the penthouse, and Tate led me to the couch, making me sit down while he crouched in front of me, his hands on my knees.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He was there, and that’s what I needed.

Then, there was a cup of tea in my hands and a familiar pair of arms holding me.

“M-Macy?” I blinked.

“I called, and Sophie answered your phone,” she said, rubbing my back.

“I thought it was you or Tate calling to tell me what was going on,” Sophie said as she handed me a cookie. “You look like you need some sugar before you fall apart.”

“What’s going on, Em? Lance is in the hospital?” Macy asked.

“I can’t.” I shook my head at the terror that was trying to claw itself up from the drug-induced calm.

“Hey,” Tate said, taking my face in his hands. “I’ll tell them. Do you want to take a bath or get changed into pajamas?”

I nodded and left, but I didn’t make it to the bathroom. I went to the bed and sat on the edge of it, staring at my feet.

I didn’t even know how long I was there before Macy came in and climbed on the bed behind me, wrapping her arms and legs around me, and she kissed my cheek.

I held on to her, and strangely, no tears came. I just held on.

“I know saying ‘I’m sorry’ means jack shit, but I am sorry, Em,” she said, her chin on my shoulder. “Do you need me to stay?”

I shook my head, and she sighed.

“He’s beside himself, you know,” she said. “Mr. Bosshole. I bet if you sneezed, he’d come breaking the door down like a bull with a bee on its balls.”

I laughed, and she gave me a squeeze.

“I thought you were taking a page from my book, rushing into something that’s too new to be real,” she said. “After I went home, it didn’t make sense to me. Now, it kind of does.”

She leaned back, taking me with her until we were lying down. She let me go, and I rolled off of her and grabbed Tate’s pillow, curling up with it.

“I think it’s real. Like, ~really~ real.” She poked me in the side and leaned over to whisper in my ear as my eyes closed. “I think you might have a narwhal, Em.”

“I think so, too.” I smiled at her.

“Are you sure you don’t need me to stay?” she asked, moving the hair off my face.

I nodded.

“Okay. You’ll call, right?” she asked, and I nodded. “Love you, Em.”

“Love you, Mace,” I muttered into Tate’s pillow.

The bed shook as she got up, and I heard the bedroom door open. There was silence for a while before the elevator chimed.

“Hey,” I heard Tate say from the door.

“Hey,” I replied.

The dam holding it all back broke, and my entire body shook as the quiet sobs came with the memories of how my father’s cancer was discovered.

The fear that followed as we sat in the hospital for hours waiting for news.

The days we spent waiting for tests.

Always more tests.

The hopeless, helpless feeling of the waiting room. The uncertain dread that lingered in the dark corners, waiting to leap when you’re at your lowest.

When Mom went into the hospital, it was nerve-racking, but there was no waiting to be done. Not really.

As serious as it was, I had expected things like that to happen with Mom as her disease progressed. I had been ~prepared~ for something like that to happen.

How do you prepare for an accident no one knew was going to happen? How do you predict the way another person’s actions alter your own? You don’t. You can’t.

“I don’t know how to help you, baby,” Tate said, sitting on the edge of the bed, unsure of himself. It would almost be entertaining if I wasn’t needing him so much right now.

I abandoned his pillows and held out my arms to him. When he took his shoes off and laid down, his arms and legs wrapping around me like a cage, I felt a little stronger.

More like myself and less like I was trying to walk blindfolded over a floor that constantly shifted. Eventually, the sobbing stopped, and I felt exhausted and worn out.

“Go to sleep. I’ll wake you when the phone rings,” Tate whispered to me.

“Don’t leave me.” I tightened my hold on him.

“Never.”

***

I jumped and grabbed my phone as it vibrated on the table, bringing me out of sleep. Tate grunted, possibly because of the elbow in the stomach, as I hit accept.

“Hello?” I answered.

“I heard you were worried about me.”

“Lance! You’re awake. Why didn’t they call me when you got out of surgery?”

“They did, baby,” Tate answered. “I tried to wake you up, but you told me to leave you alone.”

“I’ll be right there,” I said, throwing the covers back.

“No, you won’t, Em,” Lance said, and I stopped.

“What?”

“I know how you are about hospitals, and Carter told me about when he called you,” he said, and I flinched. “Right now, I look like utter hell, and all that’s going to do is make you worry more than you need to.”

“You don’t want me to see you?” I frowned.

“I don’t want you to see me right now,” he clarified. “Come later. Decompress after what I’m sure was a very stressful night.

“Get some coffee, maybe eat something, because I don’t think you would have eaten much last night. Take a shower and wash your blotchy ass face because we both know you get patchy when you’re upset.

“Besides, I’m not the best of company right now. The only reason I’m able to talk to you without crying in pain is training and lots of painkillers.”

“Well, how are you? What has the doctor told you?”

“Relax, Em,” he said firmly. “Stop trying to be the one that takes care of everyone for a few hours, okay? Think about yourself, okay? Come visit after lunch when I’m not a drooling puddle thanks to anesthesia.”

“That’s eight hours, Lance!” I exclaimed. “What do you expect me to do for eight hours?”

“I don’t know. Bother Tate at work or something,” he said.

“I’m not bothering Tate at work, jackass,” I muttered.

“I’m not going to work today,” Tate said.

“What? Tate, you have to go to work. There’s that meeting with Cartwright, the phone conference with the Miami office, and—”

“There’s been an emergency, and I’m not going in today. If anyone has an issue with me being with you right now, then they can go fuck themselves.” He rolled his eyes and yawned.

“Shut up, Em,” Lance said, and I looked at the phone.

“What?”

“You heard me just fine. Don’t do what you did when Dad got sick,” he said. “Don’t push him away like you did us. He cares about you enough to drop everything to be with you when you really shouldn’t be alone. Let him.”

“You need more head scans.” I frowned. “I think you hit your head harder than they think.”

“Very funny,” he grumbled. “Just…don’t worry about me, okay? I feel like I got hit by a car. Oh, wait. I did.”

“That’s not funny, Lance,” I said, shaking my head.

“Maybe a bit soon,” he agreed. “I’m fine. I’m in a hospital, surrounded by staff that are more than capable of changing a few bandages and fluffing a pillow. I’ll see you after lunch, Em, and not a minute sooner.”

I flopped back onto the bed and huffed, frustrated.

“What did he say?”

“That I’m not allowed to come see him until after lunch.” I pouted and dug my toes into the carpet.

“If you did go up there now, you’d be there all day long.” He nodded.

“I want to see my brother,” I said.

“You will,” he said. “Come here, Emerald. It’s still early, and I want to hold you a little longer.”

I sighed and crawled back into bed and into Tate’s open arms. He flipped the covers over us and settled in with a sigh.

“Thank you,” I said after a moment.

“You don’t have to thank me, Emerald,” he said.

“I don’t know how I would have dealt with last night if you weren’t there,” I admitted.

“I told you, you aren’t alone anymore. That means everything. Good, bad, in-between, I’m here for you.” He gave me a squeeze.

We lay there in silence for a while before my stomach growled and made Tate snort.

“Don’t let it lie to you. I’m not really hungry,” I said.

“Don’t care. Get up. Get dressed. We’re getting some breakfast,” he said.

***

“‘Not hungry,’ huh?” Tate smiled at me over his plate while I devoured some waffles and bacon.

“Stress eating.” I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Eating is eating, and I’m glad to see it happening,” he said. “You barely ate dinner and only nibbled on the cookie Gran gave you last night.”

“Can you blame me?” I asked him.

“No, I can’t blame you,” he answered. “On an unrelated note, Gran wanted to have lunch with you next week. Not me. I specifically don’t have an invitation.”

“Don’t look so sour about it.” I laughed.

“Gran doesn’t come to the city often, and when she finally does, she doesn’t want to see me. Just you.” He gave me a playful glare, his lips smiling. “You’ve made an impression on her, Shrimp.”

“Yes, a complete emotional breakdown tends to make an impression,” I muttered.

“I’m pretty sure she came to her conclusions before then.” He gave me a crooked smile. “So, is there anything you want to do between now and lunch?”

“Go see my brother, but he’s being an ass,” I muttered.

“What about Macy?” he asked.

“She’s at work.” I shook my head. “I don’t really want to do anything but being bored is going to drive me insane.”

He tapped a finger on the rim of his cup as the check came, and he paid it, leaving a large tip.

“I’m pretty sure you’re giving our waitress a heart attack.” I smirked up at him as we left.

“I’m making up for the lack of wage earning she gets,” he said. “Waitstaff survive on tips, and these days, there isn’t much of that going on.”

“I forgot who I’m talking to.” I grinned, then gasped and stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “Oh my god. Tate! That’s it!”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Sophie said that the only reason that insane lie was able to take hold was that no one knows the kind of man you are.” I grabbed his hand and smiled up at him.

“I’m not following,” he said flatly.

“Tate, you’re an incredible man, and you really should let others see it, too,” I explained. “The food banks, the shelters, the things that ~you’ve~ done.”

“I don’t like that idea much,” he deadpanned.

“God, you are so antisocial.” I rolled my eyes.

“I’m not antisocial,” he said when I took his arm again and started walking.

“You refuse to attend any kind of function unless you have no other choice but to go.” I laughed.

“Your absence makes you a mystery, which is fine, but now isn’t the time for mystery and intrigue. Now is the time for fact and transparency.”

“You want me to go to some stuffy event where old men brag about how young their mistresses are, and the women brag about how much money they waste?” he asked.

“Don’t act like you haven’t done much of the same things, Tate King.” I gave him a look. “And no. I’m thinking more along the lines of community centered.”

“Okay, what’s your idea?”

“How do you feel about volunteering?” I tilted my head.