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40
MARGARET
IT SMELLS LIKE roses.
That’s the first thought that hits me when I wake the next day. I don’t know why, as it’s not exactly a smell I tend to surround myself with, but that’s what comes to me.
I lift my neck to look around, and the crick in it makes me realize I must have passed out at some point in the middle of the night—or early morning, depending on what you want to call it. Layla lies on the small couch, still sleeping soundly.
The doctor informed us that Liam was still here with us after the surgery to remove the bullet from his left shoulder. He said it was lucky Liam didn’t get hit in the heart and told us the wound wasn’t anything they couldn’t repair; however, there was trauma from the way he fell to the ground. He hit his head on the concrete, which was why he wasn’t conscious when I got to him.
Liam had woken once when he’d gotten to the hospital, but shortly after that he’d passed out again and was rushed into surgery.
My feeling of disappointment in myself only hit me ten times harder when I walked into the room to see Liam hooked up to every tube imaginable. There was an IV in his arm and many others I didn’t recognize. I didn’t know what each one did, but I knew they were keeping him here with me.
He just needs to wake up, and no one is sure when—or if—that’s going to happen.
I look to the door when it opens, revealing a nurse. She gives me a kind smile and checks the machines, writing things down on his chart. I already know what she would say to me if I were to ask questions; she’s give me a placating look and say, Only time will tell. That’s not what I need, though. That’s not what I want to hear or want anyone saying. There’s nothing they can ever say that will make this better unless it’s, He’s awake. He’s alive. Those are the only things I want to hear.
Grasping his hand again, I send up another prayer. I couldn’t tell you how many prayers I’ve sent up in the last twenty-four hours. Hell, it feels like it’s been weeks since we got here, but it’s barely past the one-day mark.
After the nurse leaves, I check to make sure Layla is still asleep before scooting my chair even closer and staring at Liam’s peaceful face. He still looks handsome, even in the state he’s in now. I pull his hand gingerly between mine and lean in, resting my chest on his hand, and speak in a whisper. “I love you.” Shaking my head, I continue. “I know it’s too late for that, to say that to you, but it’s my truth and I needed to say it. God, Liam.” I close my eyes and take a shaky breath, trying not to cry yet again. “I messed up. I should have let you know what I was feeling, because it’s the same. I love you so much I wasn’t even sure what to do with myself when we parted ways. I threw myself into work, trying to forget you…but I never did, and I’m so, so sorry.” I cough, trying to stop the breaking that’s happening inside me. “Please, please don’t leave me here alone. I need you.” My tears spill over, and I rest my head on his hand and let them fall. I let myself feel everything I need to feel, because I deserve every bit of pain that comes with losing Liam.
And that’s how this feels—like I’m losing him.
I’m still in the same position hours later when Layla coaxes me out of the chair. My hand doesn’t want to leave his, and I tell her that. I tell her I can’t leave him. She gives me a pitying grin and I look away, sick of seeing that look on everyone’s face. Layla has been taking this better than I am, and I think it’s because she still has the one thing I’m missing: hope.
I don’t feel the familiar spark inside my chest that makes me look forward, that makes my brain conjure up images of the future. Even when Liam and I parted ways, I still had those pictures flashing in my head, the ones where we were together.
We were apart, but in the end, we were always together, and that’s something I don’t want to replace. I can’t replace that with anything else.
If he goes, if he doesn’t wake up, I might as well say goodbye to any kind of future.
Without Liam, a future is pointless.
“I love you,” I whisper one more time, squeezing my eyes shut and, with everything in me, willing him to open his again.
