“Me too.” His voice lowers. “I’m scared.”
I lift my head to look at him. “Of what, baby?”
“Scared if Alexander doesn’t wake up; or if he does, that he won’t have a memory.” He swallows. “I’m scared that Stephen won’t be able to forgive me. Scared that I’ve ruined everything.”
“It’s not your fault, Chance.” I shift and straddle his lap, putting myself right in front of his face. “I know you have it in your head that you are the reason for your mother’s death, but your father was the one behind the wheel that night. He was the one who was drunk. He was the one responsible. You were trying to help your mother. You were just a kid.” I clutch his face between my hands. “You cannot hold onto this any longer, do you hear me? You have to stop blaming yourself, and let it go. It’s not serving you.”
A lone tear rolls down his cheek, and his bottom lip trembles.
“Let it go,” I whisper. Leaning in, I press a kiss to his cheek, swiping away his tears. “You don’t deserve this eternity of pain you’re forcing yourself to live in.”
His shoulders shake with his silent sobs.
I slide my arms and legs around his body, and squeeze him with all my might—with all of my love, as if it can heal him all the way to his soul.
“Life happens to us all, good and bad. The only things you can take responsibility for are the choices you make. You choose to drive drunk? Yes, that’s your fault. You decide to throw a punch, or cheat on your husband, or gamble all of your money—these are all choices you’d have to face the consequences of. But other things are accidents. They just happen, and I don’t know why, but I’d like to think we’re faced with them to make us stronger.”
He rests his forehead on my shoulder. “I don’t think Stephen sees it that way.”
“He has to navigate this for himself right now. You know, he’s never experienced trauma before. Me and you? We’ve lost people. We’ve suffered through grief. His life has been pretty much perfect up until this point, and he doesn’t know what to do with all of this pain. We have to be strong for him, and be patient while he figures this out.”
I lean back and tip his head to look into my eyes. “I have faith that he will come back to us. He just needs some time.”
He huffs out a humorless laugh. “We’ve already been apart for four years. What’s some more time, huh?”
I smile and press a soft kiss to his lips. “Don’t give up on us, Grumpy Man. We’re going to make it out of this together.”
“You know, Stephen told me we’d find you again. He told me that we’d be together one day, and I didn’t believe him.”
“I’m sorry that I put you both through that.” I let out a sad sigh. “I’m sorry I put myself through that. It would’ve been so much easier to have you there, helping me through it. Then again, maybe it’s like what I said—maybe I needed to go through with it on my own. Who knows.”
“My mother always used to say that we don’t know what the reason for all of this is until we meet our maker in the sky.” A soft smile touches his lips as he remembers her. “I have a few choice words for this maker.”
I giggle. “You don’t talk too much about her. When was the last time you went to visit her grave?”
He shakes his head. “I haven’t. Not since her burial.”
My eyes widen. “I’d like to come with you someday, if you’ll let me.”
Chance brushes a strand of hair out of my eyes. “Okay.”
Well, that was easy.“Thought you’d put up more of a fight.”
“I’m done fighting. I just want to love you.”
I smile against his lips as he leans in. “That sounds great.”
“Daddy,look. I drew you another picture. This one’s funny. I made you into a unicorn, and gave you rainbow wings. Unicorns have magic, and maybe if you had some magic, you’d wake up.”
God, this is the worst kind of torture.Day in and day out, watching Alexander’s daughter talk to him while he lies there, lifeless.
Giuliana pats him gingerly on his head, careful as to not upset the bandage wrapped around it. “I wonder if he’s dreaming. What do you think, Uncle Mac?”
I clear my throat and try to speak around the lump lodged in it. “I think people can dream when they’re in a coma. I think they can hear us talking to them too.”
“Maybe he’ll have a dream about a magical unicorn now.” She giggles, her thick brown curls bouncing around her cheeks. “That’d be funny.”
It’s been six days. The longer he stays in a coma, the worse his prognosis gets. I’ve done what the nurses told me not to do, and Googled every possible outcome. Memory loss; braindamage; death. This is like a sick nightmare that I’m stuck in, and I need someone to shake me awake.
