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I love you, too, Baby.
So much.
Don’t cry, Kaya.
I’m going to be okay.
Please, Baby.
Don’t cry.
The past threedays sit in my mind like murky liquid, sloshing around and mingling together—nothing is linear, nothing is clear.
I’m on slow mode. My brothers walk in and then leave just as fast, the nurse, too, a blur—fast-paced energy. That’s usually me. Fast. Hot. Not right now, though.
But I know things: I know that I’ve had surgery on my brain; that Kaya set up Sylvanians in my hospital room; that my brothers and Stace have visited me twice a day, more, perhaps, maybe they never actually leave; that my dad is back; that Bronson wrote me a letter; and that Kaya stayed. She’s always here, for all the minutes I’m awake, for the ones when I’m unconscious. I feel her hand in mine every time I’m lucid. I’m never alone.
Kaya stands beside me as my mind swims through a foggy channel, the sun from the window creating a silver halo around her silhouette. It pulls me to her. I blink. She’s my woman, and I failed her. I said I was going to protect her, but she’s always gathering the pieces of me together.
I fight the murkiness in my mind and use the image of her to find my centre. The feeling of my toes. Of my breath. It's clear. The present. The room. I can see the flowers, the machines, and the cream-coloured furniture—minimalistic and clinical.
Be present, Xander.
I remember a conversation from yesterday; the nurses said that this would happen. The painkillers and anti-inflammatories were lowered late last night.
So today, my mind seems awake. I’m no longer trying to understanding simple tasks and experience, but instead, I have questions about my environment. Concerns. Emotions. More ofmein my perception.
This is good.
I feel real.
With a groan, I push upward until I sit with my back to the elevated bed. Kaya jumps to press the button, inclining the bed further.
“Baby,” I mouth the word.Water.I grab a cup from the tray, down the liquid and swirl it around my arid gums and stiff tongue.
My gaze catches on the first scene on the windowsill, having been freaking the fuck out that I forgot it. That is us. In a bar. Drinking wine. I don’t remember that, but did I remember it before the accident? Or is that the time I was blackout drunk? “Tell me about scene one. Should I know it?” My voice shudders; I fucking hate it, growling the weakness away. “Fuck! Should I know that one?”
“No.” Her hand touches my thigh, warm and soothing, the sensation seeping through my skin to my cells. “You don’t remember that one. You were way too drunk. We met in a bar. Drank, like, three bottles of red wine. And you came back to my house. You—” She looks around, lowering her voice. “Used your Clit Positioning System skills on me for like two hours. It was really greedy. I passed out.”
A smirk builds around my lips. “My Clit Positioning System?” Blinking, it takes me a few moments to reach the context. Then I get it.Ha— Like GPS. I laugh, my throat so fucking rough from disuse, it hurts, but the noise lights her entire goddamn face up, and that damn near bursts my heart.
That girl… she was alone. On the street.Fuck.I left her alone again. My laughter dwindles. Sadness rolls up my body, dwelling on the weakness in my limbs. I’ll be strong again.
My smile drops and I stare at my woman, this stunning woman who didn’t need this shit, but here she is. Lovely. Sexy. Cute. Sassy. Everything. Mine. Mine to keep.
I remember some parts of my brother’s letter: to see myself in Kaya’s eyes when I’m lost.
You’re going to be okay.
You’re going to be okay.
“Kaya,” I breathe her name, hoping she can see theI’m so sorry, theplease forgive me, thethank you, Baby. “I’m… Just— Fuck. Sorry.”
I reach my hand out to her.
That’s for you, Baby. Take it.
She feeds her finger through mine, those killer baby-blue eyes shining with her tears and affection. Her lashes beat slowly, collecting small beads that escape. “I love you, Hothead. Did you hear that enough?”
