Page 31 of Save Me

I want to take the stairs two at a time but that would cause an undue amount of noise, so I settle for ascending them slowly but quietly until I’m at the top landing, right outside Oliver’s door. With care, I turn the knob and step inside. And freeze.

“We’ve been waiting for you.”

I’m not sure what to do. I hadn’t expected anyone else to be here, although in hindsight that was a stupid assumption. In the time it takes to think that, the woman who spoke stands slowly and turns toward me, eyes never leaving mine.

She raises her hand, and I fully expect to have a gun pointed at me. Yet when I glance down, her empty hand is held out between us. I stare at it, unsure what to make of the situation. I’ve never heard of a cartel assassin offering to shake a target’s hand before killing them. The woman smiles kindly, hand still outstretched. “I’m Christabella, but everyone calls me Chris. I’m a hospice volunteer.”

My brain eventually puts the pieces together and I hold out my hand, somehow dredging up a polite greeting, purely by rote, and keep my voice as low as she had. I glance at the bed and she follows my gaze. “He’s sleeping right now, but he should wake up soon. He never sleeps for very long. It’s only ever little naps because he won’t let us give him any powerful pain relief.” She looks back at me. “He’s been waiting for you. He said you’d probably come during the night shift.”

If Oliver reasoned that out, then the cartel surely would have, too. I have very little time. A soft voice breaks the silence. “Ash?”

I’m next to Oliver in a heartbeat, pulling Chris’s chair closer to the bed. “Yes. It’s me. Oliver, darling, I’m here.” He looks frail, and infinitely older than his thirty-five years. The disease has ravaged his body, leaving him excessively thin, with sores covering his skin like a perverted version of freckles. The circles under his eyes are almost black, his cheeks are hollow, and his once handsome face is almost unrecognizable. The rattle of his labored breath breaks my heart.

“You’re a fool for coming.” The words are barely above a whisper, but without noise from hospital machinery to drown him out, I have no problem hearing him. “But I’m glad you’re here.” His smile is feeble, and it’s all I can do not to burst into tears.

Somehow, I manage to breathe and find a genuine smile for him. “Making poor choices is my superpower.”

Oliver manages a soft snort of agreement. “You look well.”

I nod and lean closer. “I always do.”

“True.”

I take his hand in mine. It’s ice cold and trembling. “I’m sorry, Oliver. For everything. For what I’ve done to you, leaving you alone to deal with your illness, taking your father away…”

“Shhhh. Ash, it’s alright. You didn’t take him away.” There’s a slight pressure from Oliver’s hand, and it kills me inside to see how weak he’s become. “He was gone long before he went to jail.” His voice is labored, like he’s forcing sound out of his body through huge expenditures of energy. I want to cry but hold it together. Again. For Oliver. “His obsession with finding a cure took him away from us. After Mother died, he became desperate, stopped caring about how he found the answer, or who he hurt in pursuit of it.” Oliver takes a deep shuddering breath and I inhale with him, willing my lungs to fill his. “Turning my father in and testifying against him wasn’t easy for you.” What little energy Oliver has is noticeably flagging. “But you stopped him from hurting any more people. At great expense to yourself.”

“The worst part is not seeing you. Not being able to be here for you, like I should. I’m safe, and living a wonderful life, and you’re here…” I press my lips together and shake out my hands, unable to continue.

“It’s so good to see you, Ash. Although you look odd without the mustache.” Oliver’s smile is weak but genuine, and I bark out a laugh through the tears that are falling, regardless of my best efforts. “But other than that, you look good. I like the longer hair and the ear and nose piercings. They make you look rakish.” Some of the old sparkle shines in his eyes. “I’ll bet you’ve had tons of gorgeous men falling at your feet.”

“Tons and tons, of course.” I smile ruefully and shake my head. “I was too afraid to get involved with anyone. How could I start something based on a lie?”

“It’s not a lie. It’s your new reality, Ash.” Oliver takes another moment to breathe. “Live your life, fall in love, maybe even get married. Adopt a kid, for god’s sake. You’d make an amazing father.”

I stare at him, and in that moment I see Oliver as he used to be — a bright, vibrant young man with a glorious future. I wipe the tears and croak out, “They would never know Uncle Oliver. It wouldn’t be fair.”

Oliver’s hand shoots out and his grip on my arm is painful, his eyes intense. “Ashley, promise me. Promise that when you leave here, you will have a full life. Find someone to love, and love them intensely and passionately, with everything that you are. Find a man who loves you just as much, and as well. Laugh with him. Have a family. Live the beautiful life you deserve. Live for both of us, Ash. Promise me.”

I nod. “I promise, Oliver. I do.”

I stifle a sob and blush. Even though Oliver probably can’t see it in the dim light, he somehow knows and squeezes my hand. “You have.”

I nod. “Yes.” I hold Oliver’s gaze, wanting him to believe every word. “I have. And I love him, Oliver. I love him so much. And in some strange twist of fate, he loves me back. He’s a good man. The sort you’ve always wanted me to find. Kind, incredibly thoughtful and generous.”

“And gorgeous?”

“So gorgeous. He’s —”

“Shhh. I don’t need to know any more.” Oliver’s eyes dart around the room as if the walls have ears, which is probably what he’s trying to indicate. Saying anything more might identify Jamie, and that could be disastrous. “If he’s good to you and makes you happy, then I approve.”

Oliver looks relieved, like a burden has been lifted, and I don’t have the heart to tell him that coming here has probably destroyed anything I had with Jamie. “He’s good to me. He’s goodforme. He’s everything I thought I’d never have.”

“Good.” Oliver looks exhausted, although the pressure from his hand hasn’t wavered.

“I need to tell you something.”

I shake my head. “Save your strength.”

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