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“So, you never actually said goodbye to one another?” Whitney asked, her eyes wide.
“I knew that if I had to say a last goodbye that I would never leave him.”
“Hmmm… and you both decided to try a long-distance relationship?” she questioned.
“Yes, although I haven’t heard from him yet,” she replied. “Not sure how he took my note. I haven’t had any calls or texts.”
“You don’t want my opinion on this, do you?” Whitney asked, folding her arms over her chest.
One thing Ever loved about her friend was her blunt honesty. She always gave good advice, even if it hurt to hear. “Shoot.” Ever replied, bracing herself against the back of the couch.
“I think he needs time to understand why you would leave without saying goodbye to him. He is likely heartbroken.” Whitney offered. “Even if you spelled it out for him in that note, your actions carry more weight than your words.”
Ever put her head back on the couch cushion and sighed. “So, you think I screwed things up?”
Whitney shook her head. “Not necessarily, but you have probably wounded him. The question is, how deep?”
Ever had never thought of it that way. She thought by leaving the way she did, she was sparing them both more pain. How am I going to proceed now?
* * *
Ben sat in the emergency room waiting room, his hand swollen and bruised. Feeling sad, lost, and sheepish, he knew he was the reason he was there now. When he read Ever’s note, his sadness, frustration and disappointment came out in anger and now he had a damaged hand to show for it. Idiot, he thought. Stubbornly he bandaged it up and tried to go about his days, but it hurt too much, both his hand and his heart.
“Ben?” the front desk nurse asked.
“Yes.” he rose out of his chair and strode to the Emergency Room desk.
“Come with me,” said the nurse.
She led him through the back to triage and into a little area in the corner enclosed by a curtain and gestured for him to have a seat on the hospital bed. He sat there, his head down, cradling his hand as he continued to wait. Suddenly the curtain pulled back, startling him and he was greeted by the familiar face of Bea Baxter.
“Hey BB.” he acknowledged with swollen, red-rimmed eyes.
“Ben, you look like shit, my friend!” she exclaimed, hands on her hips as she met his vacant stare.
“I feel like shit too,” he agreed. “Pretty sure I broke my hand.”
Bea approached him and examined his hand, eyebrows raised she looked at him in question. “What the hell did you do?”
“The kitchen countertop…” he hesitated. “I slammed my hand down on the countertop.”
Bea winced and looked up at Ben, her eyes softening with kindness. “What got you so upset, Benny? You’re a chill guy. It’s not like you to act out like that.”
Ben met her gaze, his face turning red and his eyes shining with tears.
“Oh.” Bea whispered knowingly and put her hand on his shoulder in a sympathetic gesture. “Let’s get you over to X-ray and see what the damage is.”
* * *
Ben sat on the old leather couch, a sports channel on mute and a beer in his only good hand. He heard a car come up the driveway, a car door slam followed by footsteps on the porch. Not wanting to get up to go see who was there, he sank further into the couch. Hearing a sharp knock on the door, a pause and the door latch open, he growled. He must have forgotten to lock the door.
“Hey Bro!” a familiar voice sounded from behind him. Hayden came around the couch and stood in front of his brother. “Dude, you look like shit.”
“Yeah, that seems to be the consensus.” He growled, giving his brother an annoyed glare.
“Bea called me saying she’s worried about you. Saying you messed up your hand?” he asked, pointing to the bandage covering his hand.
“Yeah, hairline fracture.” Ben confirmed, holding up his splintered hand.
