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You’re my brother.
Over the last few days, random snippets, voices, words have been coming back to me. The therapist I’ve been seeing while in the hospital told me that’s normal. That it’s common to hear what people said when I was unconscious, even if I didn’t remember it right away.
“You’re still family to me, too. I know I hurt you when I left. Not just because I cut you out, I know plenty of what I’ve done has reminded you of Marty, and I’m sorry for that. But before that, we always had each other’s backs. I want to get there again.”
He lets out a long exhale. “And are you—can you—be okay with Maia and me?”
I swallow hard. That’s the hardest piece. No one likes to watch their ex move on, especially with someone you’ve both been friends with for years. But I also know how lucky I am that he’s not some asshole who treats Maia like shit or wants to cut me out of Harper’s life. Vince respects me, respects who I am to them. I don’t feel like I’ve done shit to earn that lately, but I’m still grateful for it.
So, I say the truth. “I’ll get there.”
“Are you still in love with her?” he asks, voice quiet.
That’s a question I’ve asked myself a lot over the last few months. Before the accident, I’d have said yes. Now, I’m not so sure.
“I don’t know. It’s… complicated. I think—I think I’m in love with what we were. What I thought we’d have.”
He nods slowly. “Maia said the same thing after you guys broke up. That she was mourning the future she thought you’d have.”
It hits me that Maia was right: she had to pick up the pieces when I was gone. And she did. I don’t know why I ever thought there could be something between us again. She grieved, healed, moved on. I have to figure out how to do the same.
“I think I’m doing a lot of that now, too. I guess my answer is… I won’t be.”
He gives a brief nod as understanding passes between us, both acknowledging who the other is to Maia and our roles in her life going forward.
He opens his mouth to speak, but before he can, the physical therapist walks in the room. She smiles brightly. “Hi, Braden. How are you today?”
“I’m good. Well, as I can be.”
She nods and points to Vince. “Another new one? He sticking around for your therapy?”
I glance over at him then say, “Yeah. This is Vince. My friend.”
And ex’s boyfriend. And possible future stepfather to my daughter.Maybe that’s the thing that’s thrown me the most about all this. I know that they aren’t just dating. If they’re together, it’s serious. Probably the forever kind of serious.
“Sounds good.” She nods toward the head of my bed. “Grab your walker, let’s get started.”
As I force my body to sit without the support of my bed, she walks over and wraps a belt around my waist—where she can grab in case I start to fall. If I had any dignity or pride left, it’s long gone.
I push out a breath and reach for my walker. I focus on how to shift my weight to give me the most stability and least pain. Once on my feet, I stay still for a moment as my body adjusts. Nearly every muscle shakes. I never thought walking would be so hard, especially at eighteen.
Vince stands up and moves his chair out of the way as the PT comes around to this side of the bed to spot me as I make my way toward the door, all the while explaining to Vince that we’ll be walking down the hall, trying to go a few steps farther than the previous few days. I also have to start learning how to handle stairs, because there are three on my parents’ front porch.
Once in the hallway, Vince slowly walks backward in front of me, occasionally encouraging me, as the PT walks behind, ready to grab me if I start to fall.
We do a few more steps than yesterday before turning around. When we’re almost back to my room, my arms start to shake. But I don’t say anything. I can push through. Make it back to my room. It’s just a few more steps. I can handle it. Iwantto be able to handle it. Fuck, I hate how weak I feel. As one arm starts to buckle, Vince leans forward and slides an arm under mine, wrapping it around my ribs. Our eyes meet, faces just a few inches apart.
“I’ve got you.”
“Thanks.”
The PT steps forward and takes Vince’s place, supporting me. A few minutes rest and I get back to the room.
I’m tired as hell and in pain by the time I lower back onto my bed. The PT leaves, letting me know that the occupational therapist will be in shortly.
“You don’t have to stay for that,” I tell Vince.
He shrugs. “I don’t mind.”
“Okay then.”
“Okay.”
He leans back in the chair as I rest against the bed. I want there to be a magic button so I can just fix things. Be able to move around freely, my body to heal, my relationships to be better and stronger. But I know life doesn’t work that way. I guess I made some progress today. I took a few more steps. Both physically and in my friendship with Vince.
A little bit at a time, right?
