Never Let You Go (a modern fairytale) (31 page)

“Find me,” she murmured, though the words were slurred and garbled, like she was talking under water.

I’ll keep looking at you. So you won’t feel so lost.

She tried to say “I love you,” but it hurt too much to breathe. His lips tilted up in a sweet smile.

I love you too.
His face was fading, his voice dreamy and far away.
Forever, angel.

Her hair was yanked again, and her face lifted off the floor. A second later her skull exploded in more pain than she could bear.

Darkness.

Holden was good for nothing.

Since Griselda had left, four days ago, he’d spent almost all his time at work or in his truck, saying little, unable to take pleasure in anything, coming home drunk, as late as possible, and crashing on the couch. Up and out at the crack of dawn, he’d been able to avoid Gemma almost entirely since Sunday afternoon, when she showed up with her car full of stuff. Reminded near constantly of her condition, he’d grudgingly helped her move in, hating every second. She’d taken over his bedroom and bathroom, the strong stink of her cigarettes lingering in the air when he finally stumbled home.

She’d quit her job at the DQ, and he left ten dollars on the kitchen table every morning. Every evening, it was gone. He didn’t know what she did with it, but she’d already left one receipt for prenatal vitamins in the same spot to assure him, he assumed, that the money was going to good use and he should keep up the flow.

There were two things Holden was quickly understanding.

The first was that having a baby was expensive. In addition to the $300 a month he planned to give Gemma for her living and prenatal expenses, there was going to be a hefty doctor bill when the baby came, plus all the furniture babies needed. Quint and Maudie were kind enough to offer them Clinton’s old crib and changing table, under the condition that they be returned in good condition. Holden didn’t mind borrowing old things from good friends, though he could tell that Gemma wasn’t happy about hand-me-downs. The couple of times she’d caught him at home, she dropped not-so-subtle hints about him taking on some more fights. But he’d promised Griselda he wouldn’t fight anymore, and he worked in a glass factory, not a bank, which left a tight income stream where there used to be wiggle room.

Griselda.

Holden’s second realization was that life was barely worth living without her.

Though he agreed with her, in principle at least, that he couldn’t risk Gemma terminating the pregnancy, losing Gris had been next to unbearable. He still felt her smooth, warm skin under his fingertips, her small body curved into his. He still heard her belt his name, sweating and gasping, when she came, and whisper his name with aching tenderness when she told him she loved him.

Her loss was everywhere and agonizing. There wasn’t a moment that he didn’t think of her while awake or dream of her while asleep, tangled dreams of a girl in braids and a beautiful woman. He’d told her
, I’m ruined for anyone but you
, and no truer words had ever been spoken.

As the hours turned into days, the future that had looked so promising a week ago looked bleaker and more empty. If he had to support Gemma and the baby, he’d never make enough to support Gris too. Not the way he wanted to. They’d live in some shithole close to Gemma so he could see his kid, his money going to the baby, unable to help Griselda with college, both of them working like dogs for a mediocre life.

Sometimes his thoughts were so desperate and dark, he wondered if it would be better for Gris to go ahead and find someone else. Though every cell in his body roared and raged in objection to the idea of someone else touching her, loving her, taking care of her, he was a selfish bastard if he didn’t let her go.

Twice he’d sat down to write her a letter.

Move on, Gris. Forget me. Go to college and make a life for yourself.

But each time, he had balled up the paper in sorrow and fury and poured himself another shot. He couldn’t let her go. Not yet. Oh God, not yet.

He had nothing to live for but his memories of Gris and his unborn child. But despite his longing to be a good father, that baby almost wasn’t enough. He was trapped, and life felt hopeless. Foolishly hanging on in the hope that sunshine would break through the darkness—someway, somehow—every day was more lonely and soul crushing than the last.

Waking on the nubby, brown couch, he sat up, rubbed the back of his neck, and blinked his eyes. It smelled like coffee and food, and he narrowed his eyes suspiciously as he noted Gemma in her nightgown standing by the stove. She turned and looked at him, spatula in hand.

“Mornin’,” she said, offering him a very small, cautious smile.

“Morning,” he rasped, clearing his throat. His head pounded from last night’s three-hour date with cheap whiskey, and his stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t had dinner. “What’re you doing?”

“Makin’ you breakfast.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s morning,” she snapped. She grimaced, then forced her face to soften. “Because I’ve decided to forgive you for cheatin’ on me. It’s time for us to move on from that . . . mistake.”

He flinched, his body tightening in anger at her use of the word
mistake
. In no universe would Holden classify his time with Griselda as accidental or regrettable. The only thing he truly regretted was letting her go.

“It wasn’t a mistake,” he muttered.

“Well, whatever it was, it’s over now,” said Gemma sharply, turning back around to tend to whatever she was cooking.

Like hell
, thought Holden, leaning over to pull his cell phone off the end table.
It’ll never be over.

He squinted at the small screen. Three missed calls from an unknown number. Hmm. That was unusual because, besides Clinton and Quint, barely anyone ever called him.

“You trying to get a hold of me last night?” he called to Gemma, wondering if she’d gotten a new number and forgotten to give it to him.

She looked at him over her shoulder. “Nope.”

Holden looked back down at his phone, touching the voice mail icon and entering his pass code. He held the phone up to his ear.

“Holden? It’s, um, my name is Maya. Maya Harper. Zelda’s friend. She called me from this phone number last weekend to pick her up. And, um, oh God, I don’t even know how to say this, but Zelda’s, she’s in the hospital. Jonah, her ex, he beat her real bad. He . . . he punctured her lung and slammed her head against the floor, and, well, they put her in a coma. It’s been two days now. And I didn’t know if I should call you, but I decided I should. So I don’t know. Maybe I was wrong. I’m just . . . I’m so scared. Call me back, maybe, okay?”

Holden was holding his breath, and his body finally rebelled, forcing him to exhale and gasp in another breath.
Fuck! Fuck, no! Shit, shit, shit.
Suddenly he was breathing like he’d just sprinted a mile, and he looked down at the phone. Two more messages.
Oh God. Was she dead? Did she die? Oh, Gris. Oh my God. Please, no!

He pressed Play for the second message.

“Hi, Holden . . . it’s Maya again. I’m worried she’d be pissed if I called you. I’m sitting next to her right now, and . . . she’s still in the coma, but her vitals are good. Her cheeks are pink. They say that’s good. Maybe they can wake her up soon or something. I’m visiting her as much as I can, but I’ve got to go to work too. I’m sorry I keep calling you, but I don’t have any family, and Zelda doesn’t either, and she’s real important to me, so . . . Oh, wait. Doc’s coming. I’ll call back if there’s news.”

“Breakfast is ready!” called Gemma.

“Shut up,” sneered Holden, pressing Play as fast as he could for the final message.

“Holden, it’s Maya. She’s gonna be okay.” Maya started laughing and crying, and Holden sighed raggedly as she took a moment to catch her breath. “They’re . . . Oh, wow. They’re waking her up from the coma now, and she’s gonna be here for a while longer, but her brain wave function is real good, and they say she’ll probably make a full recovery. I mean, her ribs are busted, and she had some intra . . . intracranial bleeding? But I guess she’s gonna be okay. So I . . . well, you haven’t called me back. I guess I’m sorry for calling you. I thought . . . well, it doesn’t matter. Good luck with your, um, your baby. Bye, now.”

“I said, ‘Breakfast is ready.’”

Holden looked up at Gemma, her image blurred by the relieved tears that crowded his eyes. Gris was going to be okay. Thank God.

“I have to g-go,” he said, standing up. He shoved his phone in his pocket and grabbed his keys from the end table.

“Where the hell are you going? I made you some fucking breakfast.”

“Th-then you f-f-fucking eat it,” he said, striding to the apartment door and walking through it without looking back.

***

“Holden? Holden . . .”

It felt hard to make the words, like her mouth was full of sandpaper and chewing gum, dry and swollen. And her head felt fuzzy, but it was also pounding. Where was she? Was she in Holden’s apartment, or—no, they’d left his apartment and gone to the cabin. Was she at the cabin?

She tried to open her eyes, but they were so heavy, and the sounds around her were so garbled, like being underwater.

“Holden?” she said again, but trying to talk was so exhausting she stopped trying.

Darkness.

***

Holden called Clinton on his way out of town.

“I’m headed to D.C.”

“What the fuck, Se—?”

“G-Griselda is in a coma.”

“What? Oh Jesus. What happened?”

“Her f-fucking ex-boyfriend beat her up.”

“Shit. I’m so sorry, man.”

“I ran out of my apartment as soon as I got the message. Gemma’s pissed.”

“Don’t worry about her,” said Clinton quickly. “I’ll cover for you. Just, uh . . . I’ll say Chick had a problem with a delivery and he needed you to take some stuff back to Ohio. You’ll be gone a couple of days. Maybe text her, though, okay? So she doesn’t go crazy?”

“Yeah. I will. Thanks, Clinton.”

“You love this girl.”

“Gris? Yeah. She’s it for me.”

“What’s your plan? What about Gemma and the baby?” A protective edge crept into Clinton’s voice, and Holden was half tempted to tell his friend to go to hell, or better yet, go to Gemma and convince her that she and Clinton deserved a second chance.

“I don’t know. I just . . . I have to see Gris. I have to be sure she’s okay.”

“Yeah. Call me tomorrow, okay? I don’t think I can make this convincing for more than a day or two.”

“I owe you, Clinton.”

“No, I think we’re even now. But we’re
even
, Holden. I don’t owe you anything else.”

With that warning simmering between them, Holden decided it was time to clear the air. “You never got over her, did you? Gemma.”

Clinton didn’t miss a beat. “I thought I did. Damn, but I wanted to be. Over her. She’s pregnant with
your
kid. And that fucking kills me.”

“You’d make her happier than me,” said Holden.

“She don’t want me.” He chuckled in that unfunny way that told Holden how much it hurt. “Aren’t we all a fucking mess? You want Griselda. Gemma wants you. I want Gemma.”

“Yeah. It’s a mess.”

“I hope Griselda’s okay. Call me tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Clinton.”

Holden hung up the phone and dialed Maya’s number as his truck crossed the county line, leaving Charles Town behind.

“Hello?”

“Maya, this is Holden C-Croft.”

“Holden. Hi. I’m, um, sorry for all the messages.”

“How is she?”

Maya sighed deeply. “Well, she woke up for a little bit, asking for you, but she didn’t open her eyes. She’s sleeping now. Sometimes it takes a while for the patient to wake up after . . .”

He winced, imagining what she’d been through and cursing the fact that he hadn’t been there to protect her. She should have been with him. She should have been safe. He would never, ever fucking forgive himself for letting her go.

“How’s her head?”

“Bleeding’s stopped. They didn’t have to operate, thank God. And the swelling’s already going down. But they won’t know everything until she wakes up. You know, the extent of the damage. In her brain.”

“Got it.” He clenched his jaw until it hurt. “And Jonah?”

“Arrested. He’s being charged with assault and battery, and possibly attempted murder.”

“Good.”

Holden had a fleeting thought that Jonah was lucky to be behind bars. If he wasn’t, Holden would have tracked him down and killed him with his bare hands. No question.

“She was on a ventilator for her lungs, but she got off that today too. Her ribs will take a while to heal.”

“I wish you’d called me sooner.”

“I wasn’t gonna call you at all, but I got scared.” Maya’s voice was sheepish and soft when she said again, “She asked for you.”

“I’ll be there soon.”

“Oh, thank God. I didn’t know if I should ask . . .”

“When it comes to her? Always ask and I’ll always come. Where are you?”

“Laurel Regional Hospital. In Laurel, Maryland. On Van Dusen.”

Holden cradled the phone between his shoulder and ear and punched the address into his GPS. “Fifty minutes.”

“Great,” said Maya. She sighed heavily. “I’m glad. Can you stay a little while?”

“As long as she needs me.”

“Okay,” she said, relief thick in her voice.