Chapter 14
MADDY
“Ican do this,” I whisper to myself as I stare at the foreboding white building in front of me. “I can do this.”
My mouth believes in me. So must my tongue, vocal chords, and whatever other parts of the body are responsible for speech.
Given my erratic pulse pounding in my ears, my heart has its doubts.
I’m completely unable to take a deep breath, so my lungs aren’t too confident either.
And given the fact that I’m perspiring through my silk blouse, I take it that my sweat glands think I’m screwed.
I hate hospitals. I avoid them whenever possible.
Haven’t set foot in one since we lost Dad.
I’m twenty feet from the entrance, but I can already smell the antiseptic they use on every surface.
The incessant beeping of monitors. The sight of people that need to be there, either sick themselves, or sick with worry for someone they love.
More than that, it’s what hospitals represent. Loss. Heartache.
I didn’t always feel like this. When I was a teenager, I volunteered at my local hospital once a week.
It was a program for kids to gain experience, and it looked great on university applications.
But even then I’d only worked at the coffee shop, selling snacks and drinks to people in the lobby, far away from any of the inpatient units.
That’s not what’s in store for me today.
Today, we’re touring the pediatric unit with our ambassadors.
My stomach churns at the thought of all the children in there.
Kids who should be in school with their friends but instead are stuck in hospital beds, hooked up to machines for reasons completely out of their control.
It’s not fair.
“Get someone else to go,” Derek had told me when I’d tried to talk to him about it this morning. “Or just call in sick. You don’t have to babysit the jocks.”
He couldn’t understand, if he had tried at all. The annual ambassador hospital visit is one of the most important events for the Festive Fellowship. Several of our most prominent donors are hospital board members. And most importantly, the kids look forward to it every year.
“I can do this,” I say again. It sounds less sure every time I say it.
“You can do what?”
Startled, I turn towards the speaker. My stomach drops when I see Alyssa and Annika are standing not six feet away regarding me like I’ve lost my mind. I must look like I’m talking to the no parking sign next to me.
No, Madelyn, you’re talking to yourself. That’s much better.
“Good morning.” My tone is bright, my smile isn’t. “How was your commute? Was traffic okay?”
“Were you just talking to yourself?” Alyssa looks delighted at the possibility that I may be unravelling before her very eyes.
"I talk to myself all the time."
Ben’s deep baritone rumbles from behind me, steady and sure. The tension gripping my chest loosens. His presence feels like armour, shielding me from the daggers of Alyssa’s gaze.
Alyssa forces out a laugh, high and artificial like the sound of shattering glass. "You're so funny, Ben," she coos, flipping her hair in a way that feels practiced. "Are we ready to get started? The photographers are already inside."
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. My throat tightens. I try again, willing myself to speak, to say something—but the words won’t come.
Ben steps in smoothly, placing himself directly in front of me, his broad frame cutting off Alyssa’s judgmental stare. "Actually," he says, voice effortlessly casual, "can I get your opinion on something really quickly?"
I nod stiffly, my pulse hammering in my ears. Out of the corner of my eye, Alyssa remains rooted in place, watching. Waiting.
Ben doesn’t give her the chance to argue. He turns back to her with that easy, million-dollar smile. "We’ll be right behind you," he assures her smoothly. "Just need to pick the Director’s brain about something."
Alyssa’s eyes narrow, suspicion flashing across her face, but she relents. With a tight smile, she spins on her heel and stalks inside, dragging Annika along with her. As they head for the doors, I hear her muttering something about a tight schedule.
I watch Ben as he watches them go. He looks so handsome in his dark jeans and black Ottawa Otters warm-up jacket, soaking up the morning sun. So effortlessly put together, as I stand here falling apart.
“What do you need?” I ask, secretly hoping it's something that will take me far, far, away from here.
Ben looks me over with concern. “What do you need?”
I blink up at him, confused. “What do you mean?”
“Madness, I could hear your mind racing from across the parking lot. I know you hate hospitals. I also know that you have a very good reason to. So tell me what I can do to help you get through this. Please.”
I could deny it, but what good would that do? He’s clearly not buying my “everything is fine” ruse.
“I don’t think I can do this.” I’m having trouble breathing, despite being outside in the clean autumn air.
"You can do this. I understand if you don’t want to, but I know you can do this."
His voice is steady, unwavering. His hands squeeze mine, warm and solid, and I wonder how long he's been holding them. It doesn’t matter. I grip them tighter.
"How do you know?" My voice is barely above a whisper.
A sad smile tugs at his lips. "Because I know you."
He does. After all these years, after everything, he still knows me. How is that possible?
"Okay," he says, glancing around before continuing, his tone shifting into something lighter, almost conspiratorial. "We’ve got two options. If you need an escape route, I’ll be your getaway driver. We’ll say I pulled you away for some crisis that needed your immediate attention."
"What kind of crisis?"
"I don’t know. I’ll make something up on the spot. You may recall, I can be very convincing."
A humorless laugh escapes me. "And the second option?"
"I’ll be your man on the inside." His voice is sure, coaxing. "I’ve been to this pediatric ward a dozen times. There’s a direct route we can take that’ll bypass the other medical units.
You can monitor everything from the nurses' desk. You won’t have to go into any patient rooms unless you want to. "
Could that work? He makes it sound so doable, so much smaller than the mountain I’ve built in my head. My breath comes easier, my pulse less frantic. And yet, it irritates me how easily Ben can pull me back from the edge—how my body listens to him better than it listens to me.
"What if…" I swallow, my throat tight again. "What if I get in there and I can’t stand it?"
"Then you look at your phone, tell whoever's nearby that you have to make a call, and you get out."
I nod slowly, absorbing his words, but a different question gnaws at me. "Why do you care?"
The hurt that flashes across his face makes my stomach clench.
"I’m sorry," I rush to say. "I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t understand why you’re so hell-bent on seeing me do this."
He studies me for a long moment before speaking. "I just don’t like seeing you quit on yourself, Maddy. That’s not you."
Damn him.
He’s right. As much as I don’t want him to be, he is. I don’t back down from challenges. I don’t walk away from a fight. I worked damn hard for my position, and I will get the job done.
"Okay."
Ben lifts a slow, skeptical eyebrow. "Okay?"
I nod, my grip on his hands loosening, slightly. "Okay. Let’s do this."
His smile is soft. Maybe even a little proud. "There she is."
We start toward the entrance, walking in step, his presence grounding me. As we reach the doors, I hesitate. Just for a second.
"You’ve got this, Madness," he murmurs. "One foot in front of the other, slow breaths in and out…and if you need a distraction, just picture me naked."
My head jerks toward him. "How would that help?"
He winks. "Well, it couldn’t hurt."
I groan. "You are the worst."
Ben Michaels is the best.
Ambassador, that is. I have spent the last forty-five minutes watching him cast his spell over everyone in the ward and I am confident that all of them would throw themselves from a moving vehicle if he asked them to.
I spent the first few minutes with my fists clenched and my eyes glued to the Exit, but gradually, I got better.
As Ben instructed, I stayed close to the nurses’ station.
A nurse close to my age with pink hair and braces offered me a juice box shortly after I arrived.
I don’t know if she was just being kind or if she sensed I might pass out, but either way, I was grateful.
I turn my attention back to Ben who is currently down on his knees playing mini sticks with a small girl with auburn hair.
She’s maybe around eight or nine, but what she lacks in size, she makes up for in pure heart.
The little girl's father is getting the entire thing on video while her mother watches next to me.
“She always has so much energy after her transfusions,” she says. A moment ago, she disclosed that her daughter, Piper, is severely anemic and receives blood transfusions regularly.
“She looks like she could scale the building right now.” I tell her.
“Please don’t give her any ideas.” She shakes her head. “This will be the highlight of her year.”
When Ben blocks her shot for the third time, Piper launches herself at him, knocking him off balance and taking him to the floor. It takes him a full minute to pick himself up because he’s laughing so hard. Piper looks very pleased with herself as her dad helps Ben to his feet.