Noah’s record label is in the process of transferring him to a private hospital in Ravenshoe. A special intensive care ambulance will transport him the twenty-mile trip tomorrow afternoon. Once he arrives there, he’ll be assessed by a neurologist who specializes in traumatic brain injuries to see if the bleed has caused his brain to have any permanent damage.
I'm confident it hasn't. The Noah I love is in that hospital bed fighting to wake up. His body just needs time to recover from its injuries before he can come back to me.
7
By the time Jenni and I arrive at Ravenshoe Private Hospital the following afternoon, Noah is set up in a private wing. He has a dedicated team of doctors and nurses who are to ensure his medical needs are maintained in a comfortable and secure environment.
I requested to travel in the ambulance with Noah, but the hospital wouldn’t allow it. There were no spare seats for non-patients in his transport vehicle as it carries more than the two standard ambulance officers. It was fitted with a team of dedicated intensive care transport specialists.
When Jenni offered to drive me to the hospital, I greedily accepted. My car was impounded from being left unattended on a busy highway. When I arrive outside of Noah's room, Jacob is waiting for me. He left Parkwood University Hospital a few hours before Jenni and me to ensure someone would be at Ravenshoe when Noah arrived. Neither of us want to leave Noah unattended as we want someone to be at his side when he wakes.
“Is he okay, Jacob?” I question, gazing into his blue eyes that seem more pained today.
“Yeah, he’s doing okay. The doctors said there were no incidents during transport, which is good,” Jacob answers as we head into Noah’s room.
It’s larger than his cubicle at Parkwood. Several digital monitors are attached to him. They indicate his heart rate, blood pressure, and pulse ox. He still has a ventilator connected, but the equipment in this hospital is more modern, meaning the ventilator machine isn’t as noisy while aiding with his breathing. The walls are a bland beige, and the floor is done with a white marble tile.
Upon arriving at Noah’s bedside, I spot my favorite photo of Noah and me on his bedside table. There is also a vase of white lilies sitting on the windowsill.
“I collected some of your stuff from your dorm for you. That’s Noah’s favorite photo, so I brought it in to remind him what’s waiting for him when he wakes. I also have some of your clothes in my car. I don’t know who the flowers are from.”
With my curiosity as high as Jacob’s tone, I walk over to the flowers. My lips twist when I fail to locate a card. Noah has many admirers, but they’re usually more vocal when striving for his attention.
My pulse beeps in my neck when Jacob says, “The suits turned up today. I didn’t know what you wanted me to do with them, so I hung them on the back of Noah’s bedroom door.”
I organize for Noah and the guys' suits to be delivered to Jacob's house Friday so he could take them with him when he flew to Vegas. I haven't canceled any of the arrangements for our wedding because, at the moment, I have more pressing matters on my mind. You don’t realize how inconsequential things are until you face a life and death situation. I’d host our wedding reception at Wendy’s if it meant Noah and I could be anywhere but here.
When I spin around to face Jacob, my already shaky knees quiver more. He is as white as a ghost. His face is etched with so much distress, creases scour his forehead.
“Are you okay, Jake?”
He exhales a sharp breath before lifting his eyes to mine. The pain behind them adds more cracks to my already shattered heart. “This is the hospital Michael and Chris were brought to.” He plops onto the gray reclining chair next to Noah’s double bed before burrowing his head into his hands. “The little white church they were buried at is one block over. Being here brings back all those horrid memories. Did you know I was a pallbearer with Noah at Chris’s funeral?”
Tears almost fall from my eyes when I shake my head. Noah hated talking about how his brothers died, much less any details surrounding the horrific events.
“I watched over Noah the entire service. He sat perfectly still, staring at a picture of Chris on his white coffin. He was certain the man in the photo wasn’t the same one lying lifeless in a coffin. Chris was loved by so many. The church was overflowing with attendees who came to say their final goodbyes,” Jacob shares as his ocean blue eyes fill with tears.
"When we walked out of the church, they played Sarah McLachlan's song 'In the Arms of an Angel.' It tore Noah apart. That song was written about a man who overdosed, so to have it played at the funeral of his brother whodidoverdose was unimaginable." Jacob shakes his head as if stunned by their choice of song that day. "I watched my best friend's heart be torn in half, and I did nothing to ease his pain."
I crouch down in front of me. “Just being there for him would have helped.”
He laughs. It’s a pained chuckle. “I’m pretty sure he hated me the weeks following Chris’s death. I wouldn’t let him give up, and he fought me all the way. I threw his drunk ass in the shower every day for over two weeks just to force him to live.”
He glances at Noah a mere second before he stands and storms out of the room.
“Jacob?” I anxiously follow after him, torn between leaving Noah and comforting the man I know Noah can’t live without.
Jacob's long legs mean I have to run to catch up with him. "Jacob, wait!"
He freezes halfway down the corridor before hesitantly turning around to face me.The pain etched on his face shreds me to pieces.
“I won’t go back to that church, Em. I refuse to go back there. I willnotbury Noah.”
“You won’t have to,” I murmur, staring into his heartbroken eyes that mirror mine to a T. “You said he'd fight. You promised to fight with him. So do that, Jacob. Stand by his side like you did when his brothers died. Remind him what he has to come back to. But whatever you do, don’t give up on him, because without you by his side, he’ll never make it. And neither will I.”
My words nearly break him. They have him fighting a battle even someone as big as him would struggle to win. “I need a minute; just one fucking minute,” he mutters as his watering eyes plead for privacy.
With hesitance, I nod before spinning on my heels and returning to Noah’s room. When I enter, I’m taken aback to discover a gentleman standing at the end of Noah’s bed, talking to him. My breath hitches when the stranger’s focus shifts to me. I recognize the intense dark eyes staring at me. They’re identical to Noah’s in every way.
