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I've just been standing here, staring at the door as if staring will make Reese appear. Spoiler: it doesn't.
"Mama, have you seen Reese? Spoken to him?"
My mother frowns. "Darling, let's not think about Reese right now. Come on, get in the chair so I can wheel you out. Take you home.”
"No call, text, anything?"
"Olivia, please?—"
"Guess that's my answer."
I shuffle toward the wheelchair. I've been given the green card to leave. My parting gifts? A month's supply of prescription painkillers, a packet describing my needed aftercare once I get home, and leaflets that talk about how to deal with the mental drain following a miscarriage.
I find the last one a little unnecessary. I know how to deal with the aftermath of a miscarriage. It's the aftermath of murder that I'm not well-versed on.
Lowering myself into the chair, I have to keep myself from crying again. I don't have the bandwidth to break down again. Especially not in front of Mama.
"There you go, honey." As I sit, she slips a hand over my shoulder, squeezing there. "It'll be okay. We'll get you home. We can start putting the pieces back together there."
I don't have the heart to tell her how skeptical I am about that. So we say nothing more as she rolls me out of my room.
The nurses at the nurses station wave to me, give me smiles. Behind their kind eyes I can see the faint hints of pity.
Nope. Not giving in to that.
I tear my eyes away from them and focus squarely on the floor in front of my moving wheelchair. They should write happy stuff down on the tiles there. You’re Strong. You Can Do This. He’ll Come Back. I need something, anything—even a damn floor tile—to tell me life really can pull through for the better here. You know things are bad when you’re hoping for positive encouragement from the floor.
"Olivia!"
My heart jumps and I jerk up, looking around. My wheelchair picks up pace as my mother tries to make it to the door before he can catch up.
Reese makes a skidding halt between us and the mechanical door. He nearly gets run over, but Mama manages to skid to a halt before that can happen.
"What are you doing here?" Ma’s voice comes through harshly before he or I can even say anything.
Our eyes lock. There's a hint of desperation in Reese's green gaze. "Holy shit. I thought I'd missed you. I went to your room but the nurses said you were already discharged?—"
"You'd know that if you actually stuck around long enough to be by her side." My mother comes around the wheelchair. Despite her small demeanor, she's an impressive sight. Arms folded, her gaze hard and fixed right on Reese. "You have a hell of a lot of nerve. Do you even know half of what my daughter has been through because of you?"
"Ma—"
"It's okay, Olivia," Reese interjects. He turns his whole body toward my mother. "I know we've been on some rocky ground for a while, Mrs. Carter. I know this isn’t the situation that you'd want your daughter in. Believe me: no one hates me for what Olivia has had to go through because of me more than I do. And that's a fact. But I love her. Violet loves her. She's my family and we're going to get through this as a family. I'm going to make things right—and this is never going to happen again."
My mother shakes her head. "You can't make my daughter getting kidnapped and shot right, Reese Dalton. You?—"
"Ma!" I interject. My voice is small and frail. I look at Reese. "You mean all that? Where have you been then? Why… why did you leave?—?”
"Been beating myself up. Trying to figure out if you really would be better without me than with me."
I shake my head. "That's not a choice you get to make for me, Reese. I'm the only one that's allowed to say whether or not you're good for me. Whether or not I need you in my life."
"Yeah.” He nods. “That's what Coach said. He gave me a kick in the ass to pull my head out of there and see the light. You're the only person I want by my side. Through everything, all the bullshit. I love you."
My heart skips a beat. "I-I love you, too, Reese. You know that. Through all this, I was just trying to get back to you."
Reese kneels down in front of me. He cups my cheek, pressing his forehead to mine. "I'm sorry for everything," he says softly. "Come back with me?"
I brush my lips against his. "That's something you never have to ask."
