The Hidden Life (8 page)

Falling into step next to him, I simply nodded my understanding, but my brain was too busy processing the ease that he referred to him and Monroe as a “we.” I wasn’t sure if it was from the familiarity they’d developed from working side-by-side for the last several months, or if it was something more. My gut said more.

In comfortable silence, Oliver and I each poured what ended up being a poor excuse for a cup of coffee and returned to the waiting area where Effie was still off to the side on her phone, simultaneously carrying on a conversation via her headphones and punching a bunch of buttons on the screen.

Biting my tongue to not ask questions I had no business asking about his and Monroe’s relationship, I instead focused on the serious reason for why we were together in the first place. “So this is one of the kids that’s supposed to be moving to the home when you guys open the doors?”

“Yeah, JoJo,” he sighed, running troubled fingers through his dark hair. “She’s probably the one Monroe is closest to. And I know Monroe is gonna blame herself, at least partially, for not seeing this coming.”

A frown pulled down the corners of my lips as I stared down at the black molasses in my Styrofoam cup. I remembered Monroe talking about JoJo quite a bit when we used to hang out regularly. And Oliver was right, she would carry a huge portion of the guilt for what had happened. That was just Monroe.

“Don’t let her,” I blurted out, surprising both of us.

“Huh?” He cocked his head to the side and pinched his eyebrows together as if he didn’t understand the words that had come out of my mouth.

“I said don’t let her,” I repeated confidently. “When she comes back from that room, you make sure you tell her over and over again that this isn’t her fault. She is not to blame for what that girl did. No matter how much time, love, and support you offer someone
— whether it be a child, a family member, a friend… a lover,” I swallowed hard, “ultimately, the decisions and choices they make are theirs and theirs alone. You can’t make someone want the life you want for them.”

He considered my words with a pensive expression, but didn’t reply immediately, so I kept talking. “And when she gets tired of you telling her it’s not her fault, tell her again. Tell her until she believes it. And even then, tell her again, in case she forgets. That woman hauls around burdens she shouldn’t, and it’s time someone helps her unload some of the weight.” My pointed gaze met his as my voice dropped. “I think that man is you, Oliver.”

His brown eyes grew wide and his chest swelled protectively under the long-sleeved thermal he wore, answering every question I had about them. “W-why do you say that?” he stammered.

Chuckling softly, I left him hanging for a moment as I stole the cup of nastiness from his hand and sauntered over to the trashcan to throw them away. Happiness filled me with the possibility that Monroe had found someone who could give her everything she needed. Everything she deserved.

“I’m pretty sure you know that answer better than I do,” I replied with a smirk when I returned, then leaned closer and dropped my voice to a whisper. “Your secret is safe with me, but you hurt her and I’ll cut your balls off myself and feed them to my sister.”

With a loud gulp, he shuffled backward, but before he could say anything, Monroe reappeared from the ICU corridor and he made a beeline for her. Encasing her small frame in his arms, I watched on as he soothed and comforted her the way she needed. Assuming her pain and troubles as his own. Like a man in love.

After a few seconds, they released each other and strode over to where I stood in the middle of the room. Monroe gave us a quick update of what she’d found out in the back, and though JoJo was far from out of the woods with the damage she’d done with the overdose, she was at least stable for the time being.

“Seth, I hate to ask you to do this, but do you think you could call Colin for me?” Monroe asked nervously, knowing how long it had been since I’d actually heard his voice. “I’ll do all the talking, but I need to let him know I’m not coming today, and I won’t be getting a replacement phone until later today.”

Without a second thought, I retrieved my cell from my pocket and pulled up his contact. “Of course, Roe. And I’ll talk to him first to let him know everything’s fine,” I assured her. My heart may have still ached for the man, but my feelings in that moment were irrelevant and insignificant. Making certain Monroe was taken care of was top priority.

I pressed his number and held the phone up to my ear, ignoring the swarm of bees stinging the inside my stomach repeatedly. No matter what, I would be strong for the person who was always strong for everyone else.

“Hello?” Colin answered on the first ring, his deep voice reverberating in my ear. With only one word, my entire insides turned to molten lava
— a fifty-fifty mixture of burning ire and blazing lust.

Suppressing the urge to hang up, I forced a smile as if he could see me. “Hey, Colin, it’s Seth,” I began, my words rushing out all together. “I’m here at Boston Children’s Hospital with Monroe. One of her kids, JoJo, was admitted into ICU this morning for an apparent overdose attempt, and things are still pretty touch-and-go. Monroe’s phone is broken, and I’m not sure when she’s going to be able to get a replacement, so she wanted me to call and let you know she won’t be able to make the game today, and that she’s very sorry.”

The ensuing silence on the line lasted so long that I thought maybe the call had dropped, but after glancing at the screen, I saw that wasn’t the case. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah, sorry, I, uh… your, uh… your call just caught me a little off-guard,” he replied hastily, then he took a deep breath and continued in a much more poised, Colin-like tone. “But yes, of course she needs to stay there with JoJo. I understand completely. Thank you for calling and being there for her, Seth.”

“You know I’d never let her down.”

“I do know that. Thank you again.” He paused for a moment, and then asked, “Is she close by? Can I talk to her for a minute?”

I pressed my lips together and nodded. “Yes, hold on one second.”

Blinking back the burning tears, I held the phone out to Monroe and took advantage of the few minutes they spoke to get myself back under control. Effie rejoined our group just as Monroe disconnected the call, wearing a scheming smile I could spot a mile away. Sometimes
— many times — I wanted to wring my little sister’s neck with her selfish behavior. The little princess who was never told no as a child had turned into a hell of a diva adult, and unfortunately, I was partially responsible for the way I’d given in to her all her life.

After discussing Monroe and Oliver’s plans to stay at the hospital for the majority of the day, I reiterated to both of them if they needed anything at all, not to hesitate to call me, making sure Oliver had my number. He gave me his word he’d take care of Monroe, and I then shook his hand before hugging and kissing Monroe’s forehead.

Effie stepped up to Monroe, wrapping her up in a warm hug. It was a very un-Effie-like thing to do, and I groaned internally as I feared what she was about to ask. I honestly had no idea what it could be, but my sister was never that nice unless she wanted something from someone.

“Me too, Monroe. Whatever you or Oliver needs,” Effie echoed my offer to help them before breaking the contact and stepping toward me.

For only a split-second, hope that maybe my sister wasn’t the egotistical villain I made her out to be flickered in my mind, but before she reached me, she stopped and spun around, smiling sweetly at Monroe. “Oh, hey, I saw your ticket for the game today sitting on your bar when I grabbed your purse earlier. Do I need to do anything with it? Contact the Pat’s front office or anything?”

Monroe shook her head. “No, I don’t think there’s anything they can do, unless you know someone who’s going to be in Denver tonight.”

Effie’s eyes lit up and her smile widened. “Actually, I was toying with the idea of catching a last-minute flight out there. I just checked online and there are seats available on the flight you were scheduled for. That is, if you don’t need me for anything around here today or tomorrow.”

“Yes, of course, you can use it. I’m sure Colin would appreciate having at least one of us there to support him,” Monroe responded, naturally thinking of Colin’s feelings before her own. “Just get Seth’s house key and let yourself in to get it, and then return it to him later. I’ve got several extra jerseys hanging in my closet if you want to borrow one of those too.”

“Thank you so much!” my sister exclaimed, obviously pleased her little plan had worked out. “You have no idea what this means.”

Sadly, none of us ever could have imagined how horribly true her words would be.

“What should I say and how should I begin

to say it, when all I feel requires no

words at all? Is this when silence was

born? When you feel so much inside of

you but you have not the tiniest notion

if it really means anything at all?

It is, a rather terrible thing, to feel

like a map that leads to nowhere or a

compass with hands that forget which way

to sway.

Sometimes I sit alone under the stars

and think of the galaxies inside of my

heart, and truly wonder if anyone will

ever want to make sense of all that

I am.”

-Christopher Poindexter

Seth

I WOKE UP
early the following morning, my sleep restless as my brain alternated from worrying about Monroe and JoJo and replaying the sound of Colin’s voice over and over. Much in need of the morning runs I’d implemented at the turn of the new year, I threw on my sweats and running shoes after a quick wash of the face and brush of the teeth, stepping out of my apartment less than ten minutes after rolling out of bed.

Thankful to see the snow had already been cleared from the sidewalks, I slipped my earbuds in and took off on the five-mile route I’d established over the previous weeks. With each footfall that landed on the cement, I slowly began to unwind, leaving behind some of the stress and tension that had built up inside me over the past twenty-four hours.

Until I passed the first corner newsstand a few blocks from my place.

My quick pace came to a sudden halt the moment my eyes landed on the blown-up photo plastered across every single daily tabloid on display. With the Patriots big win over the Broncos the night before sending them to the Super Bowl, I’d already prepared myself to see Colin’s handsome face gracing the cover page of pretty much every form of print media in the city. But apparently there was a bigger story to be told.

“Sundance Wife Celebrates Pat’s Win Without Clutch”

“Cassidy Wins on Field, Loses at Life”

Those were just the first two headlines I read, sprawled out in dark bold letters atop a perfectly in-focus photo capturing a half-dressed Monroe and Oliver in a sensual, intimate moment inside her and Colin’s living room. Uncontrollable rage claimed me, coloring my vision red as I trembled inside my sneakers. I was going to kill whoever was responsible for this.

After buying a few of them, I sprinted straight back to my apartment, not even bothering with a shower before hopping in my car and hauling ass straight to Beacon Hill. I first called in sick to work, which wasn’t a complete lie based on the way my stomach had lodged up near my throat, and then tried calling both Monroe and Oliver’s phone repeatedly during the ten-minute drive, but neither one answered, probably still sleeping after their apparent busy night.

I stopped at a red-light and picked up one of the newspapers, skimming through the story to determine how much they knew or if some random paparazzi had gone rogue and ended up stumbling upon the jackpot of all photo opportunities. Unfortunately, whoever had leaked the picture had also included a very-detailed, very-
accurate
account of what the situation was, including Oliver’s name and his working relationship with Monroe.

As soon as I reached their street, I noticed the parked cars and news vans lining the curb and slammed on the brakes, pounding my fists against the steering wheel. “Fucking shit!” I roared as I glared at the circus of reporters.

Busting a very illegal U-turn in the middle of the road, I drove over a few blocks and parked in front of a random house, then traveled on foot to their backyard, newspapers rolled up inside my jacket, hopping the fence and staying undetected by the growing swarm of blood-thirsty vultures out front.

I silently cursed Evie for having my key to the house and pounded on the glass French doors. Several minutes passed and I didn’t detect any motion indoors, so I banged harder and louder until I finally saw Monroe emerge from the staircase, squinting her sleepy eyes in my direction.

Once she realized it was me, she shuffled her bare feet over to let me in, holding her flimsy silk robe tight up against her. “What in the world are you doing here so early? And why are you at the backdoor?” she murmured as she moved opened the door.