Submit and Surrender

chapter 26


Adra woke up slowly, the kind of wake up where she fought it, except that something was telling her to wake up, damn it.

That something was her ribs. Her ribs, and her head.

When she opened her eyes, it hurt. Her head: it hurt. It wasn’t the kind of headache you’d take Tylenol for; it was the kind of headache you’d stay home for. She closed them again, and tried to remember.

She was confused.

She remembered that she’d been rushing because of the baby. She remembered Roman, incoherent for the first time since she’d met him, just shouting “Baby!” over the phone. She smiled slightly, and winced.


They’d had the baby.

She opened her eyes again, this time slowly, giving herself time to adjust. And she remembered other things. She remembered seeing that accident happen right in front of her at that dumb broken light, and she remembered screaming out loud, in her car, alone, because that van had run through the intersection and a tiny little compact had gotten t-boned, and all she could think about was the people who’d been hurt. She remembered thinking they were all in trouble. She remembered pulling over, her hand grabbing desperately for her phone to call 911, thinking she just had to do something. She remembered getting out of her car.

So why did her ribs hurt?

She blinked again, up at the flickering fluorescent lights and the ugly ceiling tiles. She looked to her left, and saw that an intravenous line ran from the bag dangling above her to her own arm.

Why was she in the hospital?

And then she looked to her right, and she remembered something else.

Ford.

He was sprawled in a visitor’s chair that was too small for him, his casual suit rumpled, his stubble starting to come in. Sleeping, yet so…

She didn’t know the word for it. He looked like he was fighting some battle, even when he was unconscious. It made her want to curl up beside him and rub his back.

And then she remembered something else.

Oh God, Ford.

She’d ended it. She’d done her best to end it for good, she’d said things…

She was in a haze of painkillers and pain, but nothing hurt quite like that memory. It was a particular kind of pain, mixed with embarrassment and shame, the kind of thing she felt whenever she knew she was on the wrong side of an argument, even if she couldn’t remember what she’d been upset about in the first place. It meant that even though he was here with her now, at some point she’d get better, and then they’d be over. He’d be gone. That pain stayed with her while she watched him as she fell slowly back into unconsciousness.

***

When she woke up again, much more lucid this time, Ford was still there, in the same chair, practically in the same position. All that had changed was his shirt and the length of the stubble on his face. She had never seen him like this, and she was pretty sure nobody else had, either. Ford looking like he’d slept in a waiting room? Absurd.

He’d slept in the waiting room.

Wait, no. He’d slept right where he was. How did he do that? Hospitals didn’t let people just do whatever they wanted. How…

He was here.

Whatever had happened, he was here. She had left him, tried to leave him, whatever. And he was here.

She knew why she’d done it, and the worst part was that no matter what she felt, she could still see the logic of it. She remembered more now, she remembered going to Charlie and Nicole’s, seeing the state her brother had left his wife in, knowing where it would lead. She remembered how she’d fooled herself into thinking she could be any different. She remembered doing the hardest thing she’d ever done, just because she thought it was right.

And he was still here.

And like he knew she was watching him, he woke up.

She’d woken up slowly again; Ford was up instantly. He jumped out of that chair, his face as pale as she’d ever seen it, but his eyes…his eyes practically glowed. They were fierce. Determined.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just came to her bed, sat down carefully, and held her hand.

Then he said, “Do you hurt?”

Adra shook her head. Obviously the answer was yes, but not in the way he meant it. Not in a call-the-nurse and morphine-drip kind of way. That sort of pain…whatever they had her on now was pretty amazing, actually. Highly recommended.

“You’re crying,” he said.

“Tearing up,” she said. Her throat hurt for some reason. “There’s a difference.”

Ford cracked the most brilliant smile she’d ever seen, and his eyes shone. If she didn’t know any better, she’d have thought he was about to cry.

“Cracking jokes,” he said. “That means one thing.”

“What?” she said.

Ford took her hand and raised it to his lips.

“I’m going to turn your ass bright red for this,” he said.

Adra tried to laugh, and that did hurt—her ribs hated her. Then she remembered that this thing couldn’t last, and that hurt more.

But she couldn’t say it again. Looking at him, sitting there, right in front of her. She couldn’t say it.

“For getting hurt?” she said, her voice weak. “Seems harsh.”

“No,” he said. “For getting out of your car at the scene of an accident to help someone else, getting thrown by another car in the resultant pile on, and then getting hurt.”

Adra stared at him. “I got hit by a car?”

“You got hit by a goddamned car.”

“How am I not dead?”

Ford frowned, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand. Then he leaned forward, brushed her cheek, and held himself high above her aching ribs while he kissed her.

“Because I’m the luckiest man alive, that’s why,” he said.

Adra swallowed. Her throat still hurt, and the seriousness of what happened, or what might have happened, and where she was, all of it started to seep in past the heavy fog of painkillers.

“Am I…?”

Ford smoothed her hair with his big hand, and shook his head. “They’ll do neurological tests because you were knocked out,” he said. “But they think you’re probably fine. You have some banged-up ribs, bruising, contusions, but other than that you’re ok. You’re incredibly lucky. We’re both incredibly lucky. It was a damn miracle.”

“They told you all that?” Adra asked. She smiled a little, in spite of herself. “Isn’t that, like, a massive violation of…something?”

She couldn’t remember the word. Freaking painkillers.

Ford just shrugged.

“I didn’t give the doctor much of a choice,” he said. Then he smiled at her, and it lit her up from the inside. “I regret nothing.”

She almost let it win. She almost let that joy he kindled inside her win out.

But she remembered. She remembered all that pain, she remembered Nicole’s house. She remembered her family.

Don’t cry.

“Nothing’s changed, Ford,” she said.

And that’s when he stood up, one hundred percent fierce, implacable Dom.

“Everything’s changed,” he said.

That. Voice.

It was an order, or a declaration. An order to the universe, maybe. It was the voice he used when he wasn’t f*cking around.

“Adra, look at me,” he said. He still held her hand, and he brushed her cheek again, gentle and light as a feather, but his face was firm. “Everything has changed. I’m going to take you home as soon as they clear you, and I’m going to take care of you. And then we’ll talk about whatever you want to talk about. But this is non-negotiable. I can’t live if you—”

The sudden silence felt heavy. The words he didn’t say felt heaviest of all.

He put his hand on her cheek again, and angled her face up, pinning her eyes with his own.

“The only time my life needed fixing was when I thought something had happened to you,” he said.

“I’m so sorry about what I said,” she whispered. “But it doesn’t change what I am.”

“Can you tell me to go away?” he asked. “Can you do that?”

She couldn’t look away if she’d wanted to.

“No,” she said.

She’d never be that strong.

“Then I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “I’m going to bring you home as soon as they let me.”

He bent down to kiss her forehead again.

“But first, there’s someone you have to meet,” he said, and his smile came back.

It actually took Adra a second to figure it out. She blamed the painkillers still, but on the plus side, Lola actually got to see Adra’s surprised face when Roman wheeled her into the room.

Well, Lola and the baby got to see Adra’s surprised face, but probably only Lola appreciated it.

“Oh my God,” Adra said.

“Right back at you,” Lola said. She looked tired but happy, and had this tiny little pink bundle in her arms, and Adra just couldn’t stop staring. “You know you’re not allowed to jump out into traffic until Emma has gotten a chance to meet you, right?”

Adra tried to laugh, and winced. Screw it. “Emma?” she said.

“Emma,” Roman said. The man was beaming like a lighthouse.

“She’s actually never allowed to jump out into traffic,” Ford said. “Again, anyway.”

“Can I?” Adra asked.

There was that moment of hesitation, when Lola was reminding herself that babies didn’t break, and Adra felt, for a second, kind of bad—she hadn’t thought, she’d just spoken up. Painkillers again. But that baby…

“Of course,” Lola said softly. She was smiling. She was beyond smiling. Adra had never seen anyone look as happy as Lola and Roman did, and it made her heart swell to the point of aching.

And then as Roman wheeled her up to the bed, Ford intercepted.

“I want to get in on that, too,” he said.

Which was how Adra got to watch Ford for with the baby. She watched him pick her up, so carefully, in those huge hands, and then just…hold her. This giant man holding this tiny little life, his whole being focused on just that little light in his arms. And then he looked at Adra.


Adra tried to breathe. She couldn’t. And not just because of her ribs.

She saw about a million things, there. She saw the life Ford almost had, the life he wanted. The life she wanted. She saw this person that Ford hadn’t had a chance to be yet, this amazing father. She saw promise. And she wished, more than anything, that she was able to live up to it.

And then Ford tucked little Emma into her blanket just a little bit better, and gently, so gently, placed her in Adra’s arms, and that was it.

Adra was in love.

“You’re going to have to give her back eventually,” Lola said.

“Hush,” Adra said.