“Dad,” I reply.
He walks over to the side of my bed, but there’s no pity in his gaze, only a fierce kind of determination. “Sage gave Tabitha’s number to your mother. She’s calling her now.”
I close my eyes.
Tabitha.
I want her in my life. I’m not a whole man—not yet—but I remember what I was thinking as I walked through my home, looking at the construction.
I was thinking I wanted to be with her. Getting ready to take Zach and drive to Boulder to apologize and tell her I wanted to try.
I can’t lose her. The realization washes over me, as clear and as sharp as the pain in my head. I have no idea if she even feels the same way about me. The only way to find out is to ask her. She could easily tell me to fuck off, and I wouldn’t even blame her. But it’s a risk I’m willing to take.
“We’ll let you know when she’s coming,” my father says.
We’ll let you know when she’s coming, he said. They assume she’ll come.
I hope they’re right.
“Thank you,” I reply, my voice barely a whisper.
He gives me a nod before leaving the room. I’m alone again, with only the steady beep of the monitors and my own thoughts for company.
I close my eyes and imagine her—her honey-blond hair, those light-brown eyes, the curve of her lips when she smiles. I imagine her laughing, her hand warm in mine. I can almost feel her presence, like a soothing balm for my battered body and soul.
My mind plays out different scenarios. Tabitha walking through the door, her face lighting up when she sees me awake. Tabitha slipping into the chair beside me, our fingers intertwining as we talk about our lives and dreams. Tabitha’s laughter echoing in the sterile room and making it less daunting.
A soft knock on the door snaps me out of my thoughts. I open my eyes, half expecting to see Tabitha standing there. But it’s just the nurse, holding a tray with a small cup of ice chips and a pitcher of water.
“Mr. Simpson.” She smiles and sets the tray on the bedside table. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” I manage. “Thanks.”
She checks the monitors and adjusts the drip rate of the IV. “Your vitals are stable. That’s a good sign.” She pours a small cup of water and hands it to me. “Small sips, okay?”
I nod and take the cup from her. I take a sip, the coolness soothing my dry mouth and parched throat.
“Thank you,” I say, my voice clearer now.
She smiles and leaves the room, the door closing softly behind her. I take another sip of water before settling back against the pillows and closing my eyes. Thoughts of Tabitha come rushing back, filling my mind with pictures of her smile, the sound of her laughter. I let them consume me, comfort me, until they’re all I can see and hear.
And reality hits me with the force of a rainstorm.
My life, no matter how precarious it may seem now, would be even more unbearable without Tabitha in it. Whatever comes next, whatever challenges I have to face, I want to face them with her by my side.
I drift in and out of sleep.
Nurses come and go. My doctor comes. Mom and Dad. Sage and Dave.
I love my family, but the woman I want to see doesn’t show her face.
Has Mom called her? I thought someone said she did.
“I did,” Mom says when I ask, “but she didn’t pick up.”
“Did you leave a voicemail?”
“I asked her to call me. I didn’t want to tell her you were in the hospital over a message. I didn’t want to worry her.”
