But her voice is raw. And choked. Like invisible hands are strangling her.
And I won’t pretend not to hear it.
I break her kiss, but I don’t push her away. This time, I pull Abby in, wrapping my arms tight around her and holding her still.
“What’s going on with you, Abby?”
Her head thrashes side to side. “Nothing. I just need you. Please, please just do it.”
Wetness glistens on her closed lashes, liquid silver in the moonlight from the window. And she shakes harder in my arms. And my ribs tighten and compress—a heavy, squeezing pressure around my heart.
Because she’s hurting. Badly.
I pet her hair and press my lips to the soft strands at her temple.
“If you want me to fuck you, Abby, I will. I’ll happily fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow. But first I need you to talk to me . . . tell me what this is about.”
Abby opens her eyes and they’re swimming with tears, drowning in pain. Her lips tremble and she shakes her head, and I hold her tighter because her voice is broken.
“We lost her.”
“Lost who?”
“Maisy Adams. Today was her final surgery. She was done. And I promised . . . I promised her she’d be all better.”
Abby’s breath shudders in her chest and she steps back from me, moves away into the center of my front parlor. She looks down, her eyes darting between her empty hands, staring horrified at things I can’t see.
“She coded on the table and we tried . . . we tried for so long . . . but we couldn’t get her back. I’ve gone over it in my head—every dosage, ever step—we did everything right . . .”
Abby looks up into my eyes—begging for forgiveness. For absolution. For a reprieve from the pain that’s crushing her.
And it’s a shock to realize I’d cut off my fucking arm to be able to give her that.
To take this from her if I could. To make it all better.
“But we lost her.”
Her shoulders shake and she slips down to the floor. And I go down with her, holding her close and rubbing her arms and letting her get it all out.
“I’m a surgeon,” she sobs. “This is why I do what I do. I’m supposed to be able to save them . . . but I couldn’t.”
“You do, Abby. But you can’t save them all.”
Her mouth twists angrily at that and her eyes go sharp.
“You don’t understand. I have to—I need to know that I can. Because if I can’t, what the fuck am I doing this for?”
I brush her hair back from her face, forcing her to look at me.
“You’re doing this because no one will give them a better chance than you. They’re in the best hands, because they’re your hands. But sometimes . . . death is going to win. And it’s not because you did anything wrong, and it’s not because you’re not capable—it’s because that’s how it works, Abby. It’s part of the package. And you have to be able to know that and keep going in spite of it.”
She shakes her head. “But what am I supposed to do with this? I don’t know what to do with all this . . . hurt. It’s so hard.”
I nod and kiss her forehead. Then I stand.
“Do you have to go in to the hospital tomorrow?”
She swipes at her cheeks, even while her tears continue to trickle down.
“No. Dr. Dickmaster said I’m not allowed near the hospital for forty-eight hours.”
“Smart man.”
I walk over to my cabinet and take out the bottle of good scotch. Then I uncork it and come back and sink down beside her on the floor.
“Then we’re going to sit here and talk, and you’re going to let yourself feel it. If you don’t, if you block it all up, it’ll just build and build and one day it’ll shatter you. So you’re going to feel it and we’re going to get fucking drunk because it’s going to hurt like a bitch . . . and I’m going to be here with you the whole time.”
I take a swig from the bottle and pass it to her. She gazes at it for just a moment, and then she relents—putting it to her lips and pressing the back of her hand to her mouth as she chokes the amber liquid down.
She turns to me and her face crumples, pitiful and pleading.
“She was just a little girl, Tommy. A tiny, beautiful little girl. It’s not fair.”
I draw her into my arms, rocking her gently.
“I know, sweetheart. I know. I’m so sorry.”
Abby clasps herself to me, soaking my shirt with her sobs. And eventually, we finish that bottle together. And she stays the night. There in my bed—in my arms—her head on my chest, her hair loose and lovely, her soft breaths tickling my neck.