I turn, letting her see, through my eyes, my resolve. “Bring him here. She’s as much a part of this as we are. I’m not stepping away from this bed till they pull me away. Please.”

Her eyes sink a bit, and I can see disappointment in their depths, her grip weakening on my arm. “Fine,” she lets go of my arm. “I’ll go talk to him.”

“Hey,” I call out, a moment too late, when the door is swinging shut behind her. I reach for the handle, but her foot kicks back, holding the door, her eyes looking expectantly my way. “I missed you. Thanks for coming.”

She steps backward, and I move forward and we hug. A tight embrace that reminds me of what I have missed out on. “I love you,” she whispers.

“I love you too.”

STEWART

I walk down the hall, nurses barely glancing up—the drama of earlier gone. They have now accepted the fact that Madison has two boyfriends, and that we are both present, the additional female regarded as a non-issue. I check my messages outside, six new voicemails all urgently demanding a callback. I have not called them back but they weigh on my mind, poking my brain at inopportune moments.

Madison has never asked me to cut back my hours. She accepted my schedule, my obligations. She just explained, in no uncertain terms, that schedule would mean non-exclusivity.

A part of me wonders if I’ll be able to do it. Be able to cut back. Work less. Delegate more. Six voicemails. I shouldn’t be thinking of them—not when her life hangs in the balance.

I hesitate outside the door, taking a deep breath and steeling myself. For the image of her, plugged in and supported with cords and machines. For the image of him, my baby brother, stars in his eyes and all grown up, ready to fight me over the woman I love.

I push the door open and step into the room, his head tilting up, his eyes steady on mine. He stands on the opposite side of her bed and I step forward, until the only thing separating us is her body. His eyes are wet but steady. This is not the same man who crumbled under my words an hour earlier. This man has fight in his eyes, strength in his shoulders. And I am suddenly hit with a burst of pride in him.

I come to a stop and we stare at each other for a long moment without speaking.

“You can’t have her.” His voice is strong, resolute.

I glance to the monitors. “Neither one of us might get that opportunity.”

Anger lights his face. “She’ll make it. You don’t know her. She’s strong.”

I want to respond, to put him in his place but the truth hits me hard. I don’t know her. I know her body, ever last inch of it. I can close my eyes and draw out every curve of her skin, freckle on her face, flex of her muscles. I can tell from her breathing when she is about to come, can describe the moan she makes when she needs it harder, the gasp when my length has hit the place where she likes it. But her? I have spent too little time with her. I love her, but I need more time to know her. I don’t know what time she wakes up in the morning, don’t know her favorite ice cream flavor or what caused the small scar on the back of her knee. I don’t know her mother’s name, her TV shows, or how she likes her steak. But I do know that Paul is right. She has fire. She has fight. If there is a way, her mind will make it happen. I look down at her. “You love her.”

“Yes. I’m not letting her go.”

I pull my gaze back to him, my eyes heavy, not wanting to see what rests there. Resolve. “You fall in love easily, Paul. You don’t know what—“

“You don’t know me anymore, Stewart. You don’t have the right to tell me how I love. I’m not the nineteen year old kid you walked out on.”

No, he isn’t. I feel lost, like I have no footing in this room and am questioning every word that comes out of my mouth while he—he is so secure. Strong. Like this is his room and I am an intruder in it, instead of the opposite way around. “She was mine first, Paul. I had her. I told her to find someone to keep her entertained.” I looked at him. “Entertained, Paul. That was it. I was always the primary in this relationship. You were the secondary.”

“Your work is the primary. Everything else in your life comes secondary.” His voice rises and he points to me, then to her. “Tell me that isn’t true. Tell me you didn’t put her to the side while you slaved away for your job. Tell me she wasn’t an afterthought to your business and deals.”

I can’t. I softly run a hand over hers, wanting to get on my knees and beg for forgiveness. I curse his presence for being here right now. When all I want is to be alone with her and tell her how I feel. Tell her the mistakes I’ve made. Apologize for any and every time that I put her second in my life. I clear my throat. “I can’t fix what I’ve done. I can only change going forward.”

“Bullshit. You aren’t going to step in as a Monday-morning quarterback. I gave her my heart two years ago, spent every day of that time being there for her. This is the woman I wake up next to every day. Every day except when you snap your fingers and steal her for the night. I breathe and live for her. She is mine, despite what you think or say.”

There is a soft cough behind me and I turn, seeing Dana in the doorway, her steps moving in. She crosses her arms and shoots us both a look. “I don’t hear either one of you thinking about her. She doesn’t belong to either of you. You’re both acting like you hold any decision-making rights in her life, like you can cockfight your way to a victory. Who would she pick, if she was awake right now?”

I look away from Dana and Paul and down at her. Look at her closed eyes and the rise and fall of her chest. And I am absolutely terrified of the answer.

DANA

I don’t know what to make of my brothers. Of the men they have become. They snarl and snap over her silent body like she is the last scrap of meat and they are starving. They are both desperate in their love, both terrified of losing her. Both reckless in their announcement of happily ever after. But they forget the most important thing. That they don’t have much of a choice in this. That her heart, her damaged brain, will decide if she ever wakes up. If they ever get a chance to look in her eyes and tell her how they feel. And if she does wake up, it will be her choice to make.

I myself am torn. Over this woman, over my feelings for her. I have spent the last two months hating her. Secretly watching, trying to figure out her motives, her plan. And now... it appears she has no plan at all. Stewart was the executor of this insane figure eight. She is just the center of it. The place where the two halves come together and meet.

This entire situation is a disaster.

It is at this point in time that the beeping, the slow beeping that has been the heartbeat of this horror show slows, the change in tempo catching all of our attention. Lights that I never noticed begin to flash, alarms begin to sound, and all I can pay attention to is that the beeping has stopped.

Stopped.

Flatline.

Both men rush to her body as the door slams open and white coats swarm.

MADISON

I cannot speak for others who have died. Their experiences might have been different. They might have been met at glittery gates by Morgan Freeman and cute little cherubs with cheeks of sparkles. I only know that it felt like being pulled. Not pulled forward in a vacuum of suck, but pulled apart, each arm and limb yanked slowly, an excruciating pain as cracks formed in bone, tissue and muscles popping and ripping, my chest struggling to pump as ventricles broke loose and cavities collapsed. My heart struggled to pick a side as my body broke in half, tearing down the middle in the unclean division of all the things that made my body whole. Its pieces were stubborn, sewn into ribcages and sternums, and it finally yanked into two separate pieces, my soul screaming in protest as I was released to the heavens.

PAUL

There is shouting, unintelligible words, and we are pushed aside, the small room suddenly full, my back hitting the sharp edge of a machine. I struggle to see her face, my panicked eyes meeting Stewart’s, despair in his blue eyes. Our gaze holds for a moment, and in that moment, everything is forgiven. We need only one thing... and I return my gaze to her, to her body, which is so still, the monitor still showing a flat line, buzzing and alarms sounding throughout the room. I choke back a sob and watch the fury of activity, my hands clenching into fists. Then I drop to my knees and pray, silent fast words spilling from my mouth. I promise things I will never be able to deliver, promise to let her go, to let her be with him. I promise to lead a perfect life, to devout myself to good, anything, everything, just to have her live. I need her life. I cannot, will not, make it without her. I don’t have to have her as mine, but I need her to live. This world cannot lose her. I cannot exist if she is not alive.

STEWART

Six voicemails. The fact that it crosses my mind in this moment is sickening. It is something I will never admit to anyone, I am pushing it out of my mind at the moment it creeps in, desperate to bury it with emotions, love, grief, anything. I don’t deserve her. I don’t deserve anything but my empty office, stacked with deadlines and trades, dotted lines and stock prices. I don’t deserve the sunny smile flirting with me while snow dots her face, her giggle when I awaken her at four AM, her hand tugging me to my feet while she drops to her knees. I try to catch sight of her, try to see past the flash of metal, white cloth, and gloves. I try to see her face. I try to send her a silent apology for every piece of the man that I am not. I step backward, against the wall, and pray.

DANA

There are too many people in the room, all with a purpose or a deep-ingrained love that will not allow their feet to move. I am the only one with no place in that room. I am the outsider, watching the train wreck with a morbid fascination. I can’t help them. This is something that they have to figure out amongst themselves. I don’t envy Madison when she wakes up. An event that should be a celebration, the survival of death, will be a tense, who-will-you-choose tug of war. She will wake to expectant eyes, competing affections and pregnant pauses. I need to protect her. I need to keep their competition at bay and allow her to heal. I am suddenly struck with the irony of those thoughts. For months I have been worried about protecting them from her. And now, now that I am actually present and a part of this discussion, I have crawled over the fence and am now guarding the opposite side.

As the flatline stretches out, her body jerking with electricity from the paddles, no change, no life coming back into her body, I realize that I may not have a fence to protect. And I join my brothers in fervent prayer.

MADISON

I am brought back to life at 4:08 PM. It is with a jarring impact, my back slamming against the bed with a hard thunk. My eyes flip open to bright white light, shining intensely down on me, heads breaking the line of white, hands everywhere, touching, lifting, squeezing my skin. I briefly hear Paul’s voice, and then my eyes close and I sink back into darkness.

I am so. so. tired.

I feel a squeeze, then a release. A squeeze, and then a release. A hum of sounds, a familiar cadence that my brain recognizes as speech, the words unintelligible. I struggle, the grip on my hand tightening as I try to move. I open my eyes, crust sticking my lashes together, a haze over my vision and I blink to clear them.

An unfamiliar face peers into mine, the man’s features studied, his eyes sharp, looking carefully into mine. I frown, trying to place him, trying to place the white tile ceiling behind his head. Where am I? There is a roar in my head, spots appearing in my vision, and I wince, closing my eyes briefly, the peace instantly returning, and I relax against the pillow, grateful for the reprieve.

The hand squeezes again, and the voices return, incessant and irritating. I try to pull my hand away, try to roll to my side and block out the voices. I want to sleep, and this party of irritating is putting a cramp in that style.

It won’t stop, and now a second hand has joined the party, squeezing my other hand. I groan, opening my eyes again, the white glare doing the tango in stilettos on my head, shooting needles straight into my temples. I try and focus, try to move my mouth and tell these persistent assholes to go to hell. I can’t move my head, can’t do anything but stare up into the light, and I wonder where the stranger went, if he is still here, if he is one of the damn individuals squeezing my hands to death. A new face enters my vision and I relax slightly. Paul.

He leans forward, speaking so loudly that someone two blocks away could hear, the angle of his approach revealing that he is one of the hand squeezers. “Madd, can you hear me?”

I blink at him and try to speak. Swallow and try again, the words coming out as a whisper. “I’m not deaf. Please... shut up and let me sleep.”

He grins. The damn man grins, a smile that stretches across his face as if he has just won the Maverick Invitational. “Yes, baby,” he whispers, and I would swear that a tear leaks from his eyes.

“Thank you,” I grumble, my voice coming out hoarse, my eyes closing against the still-brutal light. “And please have someone turn that damn light off.”

“Anything else, babe?” His voice is close to my ear but at a normal decibel level, and I can feel the warm tickle of breath against my eardrum.

“Yeah.” I sigh, the glare against the darks of my eyelids gone, some angel having found the fry light and turned it off. “Stop strangling my hands.”

If he responds, I don’t hear it. Darkness is once again my new best friend.

DANA

I find Stewart in one of the lobby chairs; he looks up at my approach. “Hey sis,” he says dully.

“She’s asleep but stable. You didn’t want to stay in the room?”

He shakes his head, lifting a hand and massaging his temples.

I sit next to him, run my hand over his shoulder, picking a bit of lint off the material. “It’s okay, that she didn’t see you when she woke up. She’ll know that you were here. Chances are she won’t even remember it.”