Coming Undone Read online

  Coming Undone

  By: Staci Stallings

  KINDLE EDITION

  ~*~*~*~

  Spirit Light Publishing

  Coming Undone

  Copyright © 2010 by Staci Stallings

  Kindle Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Amazon Kindle Store and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also Available from Staci Stallings

  Chapter 1

  “Don’t give me that, bro. Come on. We want details. Lots of details.”

  At the stainless steel refrigerator in the kitchen, Ben Warren grabbed the handle as he smiled. “Oh, no. I don’t kiss and tell.” He reached in, snagged three cold ones, and headed back for the large round table currently taking up a good portion of his living room. Setting the other two beers on the table, he sat down and twisted the cap off his before taking a long drink.

  Friday night and the living was good.

  “Since when?” one of the guys called.

  “Yeah, come on, Ben,” Kelly Zandavol, Ben’s best friend since high school said as he nailed Ben with an I-don’t-believe-that-for-a-minute look. “You can’t leave us hanging like that. What’s she like?”

  “No. Uh-huh.” Ben shook his head even as he took another drink. “You ain’t getting any more.”

  “Dude,” Logan Murphy said, surveying his cards although there was only sparse attention to the actual game, “you know that you’re our in with the ladies. Now you’re gonna freeze us out just when it’s getting good? What’s up with that?” He rearranged the cards in his hand though presumably that didn’t help. God Himself couldn’t help Logan with cards or with the ladies as he called them. “If I can’t live through you, I’m doomed.”

  “Not to mention the shape Kelly’ll be in,” Todd Rundell added. “You know what that marriage thing can do to a guy.”

  “Hey. Hey.” Kelly lifted his chin. “Speak for yourself there. Me and my lady are doing just fine.”

  “Uh-huh.” Todd put down his beer, picked up his cards, and shuffled them back and forth in his hand. “That’s why you’re over here at nearly midnight on a Friday night.”

  “That’s better than you turkeys,” Kelly retorted. “At least I’ve got a woman to go home to.”

  Logan laid three cards on the table. “Three.” He waited for Kelly to deal him three new ones. “The man does have a point. Yes. Yes, he does.”

  Ben took one more drink of the beer before setting it down and getting down to the business of raking more of his friends’ money to his side of the table. “Well, I’ll take beer and cards over having some chick looking over my shoulder all the time an-y-day. Two.” He waited and accepted the two cards Kelly gave him. He fought not to let the disappointment in the hand show, but it didn’t work very well. “Dang, Kelly. I think you need to go back home to that lady of yours. This dealing thing is not your forte.”

  “Ha. Ha. Funny-man. You in or out?” Kelly nodded to the table, indicating the betting had begun.

  A long breath that Ben exhaled very slowly. Finally he pushed his cards together. “I’m out. No sense playing trash like that.” He stood to go back into the kitchen, figuring if no one was leaving, they might as well get some sustenance. Pushing the unbuttoned and rolled sleeves of his blue pin-striped work shirt up to his elbows, he reached into the cabinet and pulled out a bag of chips and another of pretzels. With two rips he had them open. He didn’t bother with the dish. The guys didn’t care about that kind of stuff anyway.

  “Ah, dude! Aces? You’re kidding me!” Logan exclaimed as Ben headed back.

  “Hey, you play, you pay,” Kelly said, raking all the money in the middle to his side of the table. “So, are you at least gonna tell us her name?”

  Ben put the bags in the center of the table. He pulled a chip out and sat down, crunching loudly. Truly, truly, he wished they would stop the questioning. If they didn’t, he might have to resort to making things up.

  Unfortunately, Kelly had known him too long. He stopped gathering the cards and looked right at Ben who was crunching and drinking but not really looking up. “You don’t know it, do you?”

  “Know what?” Ben asked as if he had no clue what Kelly was talking about. Then he shrugged and grabbed another chip. “Of course I do. It was…” For one second too long, his brain went on vacation. “Cheris. Her name was Cheris.” He bit into the chip and smiled widely. “See. I told you I knew it.”

  “Uh-huh.” Kelly’s look told Ben he wasn’t at all sure if he believed that or not.

  Truthfully, Ben wasn’t completely sure whether to believe himself or not. That whole night after the company party was a little fuzzy. In fact, there were very few nights when he ended up in his bed or someone else’s that weren’t more than a little fuzzy. Of course, the guys didn’t need to know that part, and they were on a need to know basis, if that.

  The phone in the kitchen rang precluding anymore discussion of the subject.

  “Speak of the devil,” Logan said as Ben’s gaze jumped at the sound.

  Puzzled by who might be calling at midnight, other than Cheris—if that was her name—he got to his feet. Then again, he didn’t think she had his phone number although she might. Those details weren’t exactly clear. The thoughts swirled in his brain as he headed for the still ringing phone.

  “Hi, honey,” Logan said sweetly. “Oh, sure, you can come on over. I’ll just chase the guys out…”

  Ben wanted to deck him, but he was already to the phone. The guys all cracked up at the kissy noises Logan was making. For grown men who were all 30-something, they certainly could be childish sometimes. “Hello.”

  “Uh. Mr… Mr. Warren?”

  In the background he could hear the too familiar sounds of a medical facility. Worry dropped on him as he spun and ducked next to the cabinet. “Yes, this is Ben Warren.”

  “Uh, Mr. Warren, I’m sorry to bother you so late, but this is St. Anthony’s Hospital. Your father has just been admitted. You are listed as his next of kin…”

  The rest of the words evaporated in a swirl of alarm and concern. “What? Is he okay?” He put his finger in his ear to block everything else out. “What happened?”

  “I’m not really authorized to discuss it, but the doctors think it would be a good idea for you to get here as quickly as possible.”

  Ben ran his hand through and over his thick, dark hair. “Uh. Yeah. Yeah. Okay. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

  Somehow he ended the phone call, but it too was lost in the spinning of the world around him. He closed his eyes and foug
ht to breathe, hoping to make it stop. However, when he opened his eyes, it was still tilting and shifting around him. Decisions. He had to make some decisions. First, he needed to get to the hospital to see what was going on. Pushing away from the cabinet, he stumbled through the myriad of possibilities as he headed through the living room.

  Three surprised and very concerned faces gazed up at him.

  “Something wrong?” Kelly asked.

  “Uh. Yeah. I guess. I don’t know. It’s my dad.” None of the words seemed to even correlate with reality. “I don’t know. Something happened.”

  At the little closet, he pulled out the first jacket his hand found, and he yanked it on. “You guys just lock up when you’re done.”

  “You want me to go with you?” Kelly asked, standing. His dark face was ash-washed with concern.

  “No.” Ben tried to shake the looks on his friends’ faces from his consciousness. “No. Of course not. I’m… I’m sure it’s nothing.” Do they call you from the hospital at midnight if it’s nothing? He couldn’t answer that question, and he didn’t even want to try. “I’ll just…” The words were jamming together in his brain in no distinct pattern. “Um… Just let yourselves out when you’re finished. And be sure to lock up.”

  Remembering he would have to drive, he patted his pockets and then looked around. “Keys? Where are my keys?”

  “By the front door where they always are?” Kelly asked, clearly tipping toward legitimate concern for his friend.

  “Oh, yeah. Right.” Ben nodded, having no idea why.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to go?”

  “Yeah. Yeah. I’m sure. I’ll let you know.” Taking the keys from the little hook, Ben wrenched the doorknob and for one second, considered reconsidering his friend’s offer. He didn’t want to face whatever this was alone. Then he took his ego by the collar and gave it a good shake. He was Ben Warren, and Ben Warren didn’t back down from any challenge. With that thought, he yanked the door open and headed to the hospital.

  The final credits rolled up and off the screen as Kathryn Walker swiped at the tears streaming down her cheeks. The only good thing was that she was alone, no one here to witness this pitiful display of sap and desperation. She could hear Misty or Casey or her mother. Ugh. Her mother. That was enough to dry all the tears with one single sniff.

  Her mother would count this as verifiable proof that being unmarried was the single worst disposition a woman could have on this earth. Especially a woman of 32 and three-quarter years. As Kathryn stood, she sniffed again and walked over to the DVD player to replace that disc in its proper case. It was strange how somewhere north of 28, she had started counting the months to and from her birthday like a ten-year-old.

  “I’m still six months from being 30.” “I’m only 30 and two months…” It was pathetic really—as if there would be something magical about the four months before she was 30 and six months, or 31 and six months, or 35, or whatever. At one time she had vehemently sworn to herself that by such-and-such an age, she would’ve found Mr. Right. But when such-and-such became six months ago and then a year ago, and then five years ago, she had given up that game and morphed into the newest incarnation of singlehood—the defiant, “I kind of like it this way. No, really, I do. It’s easier…”

  She wasn’t sure if anyone believed her. She didn’t even believe her. Especially on nights like tonight. The movie that was supposed to cheer her up had hardly done that. Instead, it had brought her face-to-face in vibrant color with the fact that everyone else found that perfectly perfect person for them through these neat, cute little coincidences that just, for whatever reason, never seemed to happen for her or to her. She couldn’t quite tell which it was. She wondered for the millionth time if they knew some secret that she didn’t. However, she was pretty sure it was all just one big, stinking luck of the draw thing. And she was about as unlucky in that department as anyone had ever been.

  As she flipped off the light and gingerly made her way through her dark apartment toward her bedroom, she went through the inventory of herself once more. Weight—not bad, could be better, but not bad. Looks—above average but definitely not model territory. Financial standing—quite good actually. Good job—check. Moral with values—check. Although honestly, she wasn’t sure if that one counted for her or against her.

  Certainly she could have bedded many in the past if she had been into that existence, which she most definitely was not. No. Even snagging a guy wasn’t worth giving up her self-worth. Besides, she knew quite a few who had done just that only to find divorce papers on the other side of the marriage certificate.

  With a sigh, she climbed between the pressed cotton sheets and sighed. Nope, the hard truth was all the good guys were long gone. The only ones left had track records that read like rap sheets not to mention baggage from their several failed marriages and a couple of kids thrown in for good measure. Still, as she did every night, she closed her eyes, snuggled into the covers and thought about him. She had no real picture of him although she had seen him in her dreams on a couple of occasions—never his face, just vague pieces.

  She snuggled deeper thinking about those pieces. Like his hands. She’d always liked his hands, with nice long fingers and a presence she couldn’t quite put into words. And his dark hair. That one always made her heart snag. She would know that hair when she saw it. Of that, she was sure. She had seen it so many times in her dreams. Slowly sleep began to take over her senses, and as she drifted off, she let out a long sigh. “God, please be with him wherever he is. Keep him safe and guide him. And please let him know that I already love him. Amen.”

  The disorienting transition from the darkened parking lot and street lights into the blinding white light of St. Anthony’s emergency room cut right through Ben’s skull with the precision of a sharp scalpel. He blinked it back, hoping he wouldn’t trip over something he couldn’t see because he never even slowed down all the way to the counter. The nurse on the other side looked both bored and half-asleep.

  “Excuse me, I need to know…” he started.

  “Please get in line,” she said with no feeling to her voice at all.

  “What?” He glanced around in confusion. “There is no line.”

  “All patients must get in line behind that sign.” She pointed to the ceiling without so much as looking at it.

  Ben looked around and up at the sign. For privacy, please remain behind this line until you are called forward. The same was written again in Spanish and then in some language he neither spoke nor could decode.

  “Please step behind the line and wait to be called.”

  Man, he wanted to argue. More than he’d ever wanted to do anything in his life, he wanted to argue, but he sensed from Ms. No-Nonsense that doing so would only prolong this nightmare. Tilting his head at that understanding, he nodded. “Okay.” He pushed back from the counter and took the four steps to the front of the non-existent line. After a moment, he put his hands out to his side to indicate that he had fully complied with the request.

  The nurse took her own sweet time as she finished up whatever she was doing. Then, looking like she was bored to tears, she looked up. “Next.”

  Finally. Ben rushed forward.

  “Name?” she asked.

  “Um, it’s for my father.”

  “Name?”

  Frustration growled through him. “Mine or his?”

  She checked him with a condescending scowl. “Are you the patient or is he?”

  “He is. They said they brought him in…” Composure slipped away from him as he looked at his watch. “Like an hour ago or something like that.”

  “Okay. His name?” She put her fingers on the keyboard.

  “Ron… uh, Ronald Warren.”

  “Ronald F. Warren?”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded but didn’t continue. As panic set into his heart, he arched forward, straining to see what was on that screen. With a deepening scowl, she looked at him and
turned the screen from his line of vision as he backed off.

  “Sorry.”

  You should be went through her eyes. “Mr. Warren has been taken to the 8th Floor, Neurology.”

  “Neurology?” Ben repeated the word, trying to understand the horrors it hid in its depths.

  “Yes.” The nurse glanced behind him. “Next.”

  It was a fight to keep his balance on an even keel as he turned from the desk and hurried to the elevators at the far end of the room. This part he knew. This part he had memorized. The riding the elevator part—up to see doctors, down to see administrators—working to incorporate his company’s newest line of life-saving drugs into the hospital’s current regimen of patient care.

  At the elevator, he hit the button and stepped back, putting his hand on the beltline of his jeans. He arched first his gaze and then his neck to watch the numbers above the elevator slowly slide downward. Part of him wanted them to speed up. Part of him wanted them to stop altogether. If they just stopped, then he wouldn’t have to deal with whatever came next. He tried to think about what that might be—what neurology meant, what he should do if this was truly serious.

  He let out a quick I’m-being-stupid breath and fought to tamp down the clutch of fear around his chest. His father was fine. Of course, he was fine. He was, after all, only 66. That was hardly old. With the back of his hand, Ben scratched the side of his face as indiscriminant nerves attacked him.

  The elevator dinged, yanking his attention upward. He stepped back as those on the elevator disembarked, and then raking in a breath, he got on and hit the round number 8 button. So many things. So many memories and thoughts of the past and future criss-crossed in his brain as the little box slid upward. Should he call his mother? She would probably want to know. Especially if it was serious.

  What about Jason? Surely his mother knew where his brother was. She should make that call. Ben certainly didn’t want to—even if he knew the number, which he didn’t. Truth be known, he didn’t want to do any of this. If he could somehow just skipped over the next hours or days or whatever this turned out to be, he would with no questions. He didn’t do serious or responsibility very well. How had the universe not gotten that memo? Or maybe it had, and this would in fact turn out to be nothing. False alarm. Nothing to worry about.