Chapter 27
James
When Jane and I split up, I thought sharing a bed with someone else would feel strange, but after Sadie and I made each other come on the couch, going to our separate bedrooms seemed ridiculous, so we curled up together in Des’s big bed.
It made my chest ache in an unexpected way.
Sex wasn’t that emotional between Jane and me.
We were kids when we started fooling around, and over time it grew into knowing and doing what the other person liked.
It was nice, but it wasn’t all-emotions-on-the-line, no-holds-barred, I-can’t-contain-myself sex.
It was more like we’re-both-so-tired-but-this-will-be-nice sex.
Was that romantic love? After all that’s happened, I’m not sure anymore.
Last night, Sadie and I were in this perfect feedback loop: Just as I wanted something, she did it.
Everything she did to me was so fucking thrilling: I was utterly lost in it.
I went into the office because I woke up early and started watching you sleep like a creeper.
I laugh. God, I love her straightforward way of putting things out there. And perhaps this is all weird for her, too. I type in a reply:
Was I drooling and snoring?
The dots start up immediately:
You looked very peaceful.
If only that was my real life! I’ll watch you sometime and let you know how you look.
Truth be told, I didn’t want you to witness my rat’s nest hair again.
Damn. That was my favorite look. It was sexy.
You’re trying to make me blush, aren’t you?
Absolutely. Is it working?
She sends a grumpy face emoji in return:
Can I bring you a coffee?
And banana chocolate loaf?
You don’t even need to ask. See you soon.
I smile as I zip through the shower, wrap a towel around my waist, and head back to the bedroom.
I get that she was embarrassed this morning; it’s a new thing for both of us, and we’ve got a lot of things to navigate, including work.
But for the moment, I want to savor this, enjoy feeling like myself for the first time in a long-ass time.
I pick up my phone again and tap out a text to Des:
Thanks for persuading Sadie to live here. She’s a gem.
My phone rings in my hand.
“Jimmy-boy!” Des says in my ear.
“Hey, Des. What time is it in Korea?”
“Nine p.m. I’ve just finished dinner. What’s with the message about Sadie?”
“She’s a great person to share a place with. She’s good company.”
I can’t tell him any more than that now, can I? I should have known I’d get the Spanish Inquisition. I step into my boxers and pull out a shirt and a pair of pants from the closet.
“Good. I’m pleased to hear it. Alex was worried about her.”
My hands still. “Really? Why?”
“He just thought she was too quiet. And she had that bruise on her cheek.”
God, I promised Sadie I wouldn’t tell anyone about her stepdad. “Well, she’s been great.”
He hums in my ear like he’s thinking about whether to push for more information, and I hold my breath. The air shimmers with all the things we’ve left unsaid.
“I’m glad it’s working out” is all he says.
Better than he knows. I grab my laptop. “Tell me what’s been happening this week out there,” I say as I head out into the hallway and press the button for the elevator, and he starts talking to me about Alex and some of the staff that have just started.
When I get to the street, the sun is filtering down between the buildings and New York is almost vibrating in the heat.
I’m even looking forward to my team meeting, which is a first. After he hangs up, I’m just settling into my desk when my phone rings again.
“James.” Jane’s breathless voice reaches me from the other end of the line, and I look up from the software on my screen across the sea of bent heads in the office.
“James. You need to come and … oh … oh …”
“Are you okay?” Cath’s head pops up and her eyes meet mine.
“No. I’ve fallen off my bike and … oh …” A gust of air rattles through the microphone. “I don’t know what I’ve done.” There’s a long pause, a shuffling sound as she goes muffled. “Christ,” she gasps. Then she hiccups and her breath hitches.
Shit.
“Jane, what’s happened? Where are you?”
“Brighton Beach.” She gulps out through what sounds like tears.
Brighton Beach. It was our favorite early-morning ride on the weekend. I thought of taking Sadie there one day.
“Why aren’t you at work?”
“I’m working from home today. I went for a spin to let off some steam, and … ohhhhh. I don’t think I can move.”
“What have you done?”
“I fell off my bike, hit my head, and every time I try and ... ohhhh.”
Shit.
“Jane, you need to go to the ER.”
But I already know I’m talking to deaf ears: Jane hates hospitals. We had that in common at least. She won’t go on her own. “Are you dizzy or …”
“A bit. I can’t walk, it’s …” She hiccups in my ear again. “You have to come and help me.”
Go out there? My eyes flit over the sea of spreadsheets on my screen. She’s hit her head. Christ, she needs somebody there. And what kind of person would I be if I didn’t help someone in trouble? No matter what’s gone on between us.
“It will take me more than an hour to get to Brighton Beach from the office. I’ll come, but you have to get yourself to the hospital.”
She goes silent, but I can hear from her breaths that she’s in tears. “I can’t move my arm,” she gulps out. “I tried to stand, but the pain in my chest is just …”
Is she even safe to get herself there if she’s banged her head? “Call 911. Find someone on the boardwalk who can help you. I’m an hour away at least, Jane.”
“I know,” she says with quiet desperation. “I can’t go on my own, Jim-bug. Every time I move I feel sick. I called 911. They said they were experiencing a high call volume. I think they decided my injuries weren’t life-threatening.” And she starts crying again.
Jesus. “How long before they get to you?”
“They couldn’t say.”
Christ. “Okay, okay. I’m on my way.”
I head over to Cath, and she raises her eyebrows at me. I lower my voice.
“Jane’s had an accident on her bike that could be nasty. She’s got no one else in New York and I …”
“Go, James. I can handle the team meeting, no problem.”
I study her for a beat. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” She makes a shooing motion with her hand. “Go.”
I glance at Sadie across the room. Her head is down, concentrating on something on her screen, and my feet carry me across the floor.
She raises her head when I reach her desk.
“Jane’s had an accident on her bike. Sounds like she might have broken something.
911 can’t give her a time of arrival and she’s got no one else here in New York, and I think I need to go and … ”
She stares at me with wide eyes. “God, James, of course. I hope she’s okay. Can I do anything? You want me to come with you?” She glances toward where Cath is sitting.
“No. There’s no sense in both of us going out there.” I sigh and drum my fingers against the wood of her desk.
Sadie reaches out and stills my hand. “You’re a good friend, James. No matter what’s gone on, it’s the right thing to do. Go.”
She’s always so easy, but it’s more than that, too. It’s like she has some deep, quiet understanding. My eyes roam over her soft hair and her lips, and my body aches. You can’t kiss her here. I take in all the bent heads: The sooner we tell people in the office that we’re a thing, the better.
“Thank you.” I squeeze her fingers on the desk.
She nods. “I’ll talk to you later. Message me when you know how bad it is.”
She’s already making me feel better. I check the time—8:50 a.m.—and glance at the gray sky outside the window. “I will. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
By the time I reach Brighton Beach station, a fine mist of rain has started to fall. I fire off a message to Jane:
Where are you?
On the boardwalk. Near the Aquarium.
Jesus. No ambulance yet?
No.
Did she really call them? As I head down the street and out onto the boardwalk, birds wheel across the sky, and a lone jogger moves steadily along the seafront.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and search on Google Maps.
The hospital isn’t that far away, thank God, but a taxi has to be our fastest option now.
I flick over to Uber and order one. I scan up and down, and after walking for about five minutes, I spot a small figure huddled against a painted brick wall next to a bike lying on its side.
The front wheel is badly twisted. When I reach her, Jane’s face is tearstained and her cycling shorts are ripped and torn, her legs all scraped up.
Her helmet is lying split on the ground, a graze running down one side of her face, and a nasty bruise is coming up on her temple. She’s cradling her left arm.
I squat down beside her. “How are you doing?”
She shakes her head. “I can’t breathe. The pain in my chest … my arm … Jim, maybe I had a heart attack.”
God, I hope not. I came here out of a sense of duty, and coming all the way out here has really tested my patience, but seeing her now like this, I can’t help but feel sorry for her.
“The Coney Island ER is just over the beltway. I’ve organized a cab to pick us up just down the boardwalk.
It’s probably five minutes. Do you think, if I help, you could walk to it? ”
Her eyes are glassy as she gazes at me. “Thank you,” she says, voice breaking. “I didn’t have anyone else to call.” A tremor rolls through her as the rain starts to seep into the collar of my jacket.