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I look at her, and she winces.
“Good news, considering the circumstances,” she corrects. “Your brother is stable and alert. He’s been for x-rays which should be back soon and they just wheeled him back from his CT scan, so we can’t tell you, just yet, what we’re looking at in terms of injury, but the fact that he’s breathing on his own and he’s not unconscious is a positive. The doctor should be along in a few minutes, if you want to just sit with him and let him know that you’re here. Can I get you anything? Water, coffee…”
I shake my head and step through, terrified of what I might see. The room is filled with the same frightening, beeping machines, the wires connected to the man lying in the bed. There’s a drip in his arm, monitors clipped to his fingers, more monitors stuck to his bare chest, and there’s a mask over his mouth, fogging with each breath Rowan takes. But, contrary to what the nurse said, his eyes are closed, and anyone would think he was sleeping.
“I’ll leave you to it,” the nurse says, patting my arm as she walks off.
I stay where I am for what feels like an eternity, too afraid to move further into the room, too afraid to disappear back into the hallway. It’s hard to explain, but I don’t feel like I belong here. I don’t feel like I’ve earned the right to be the first one he sees after all I’ve put him through. And looking at his bruised face, his split lip, the rusty blood around his nose, the matted blood in his hair, I’m evermore certain that this is all my fault. Sure, he could’ve called, but he wouldn’t have had to call or feel the need to come back to me if I’d just told him that I wanted us to be together, and that I was happy to just take each day as it comes. See, there’s another side to the coin of “no one is guaranteed tomorrow”. It doesn’t have to mean all or nothing. It can just mean, “let’s be grateful for today, and each day we get”.
“Summer? Is… that… you?” One watery eye peeks out through the crack in his eyelid—his other eye swollen shut. “Are you… really here?”
The spell that’s holding me by the door shatters, and I’m at his side in a heartbeat, perching on the vinyl chair that’s angled toward him. I fumble for his hand, hidden somewhere under the thin covers, and feel a sob rising up from my chest as I close my fingers around his. He’s here, he’s alive, he’s awake, and no matter what comes next, I’m not moving. I’m going to hold this hand, this precious hand for as long as I’m able.
“I’m here,” I tell him, choking down the tears. “I came as quickly as I could.”
He smiles drowsily behind his breathing mask. “I was… on my way… to you,” he wheezes. “I think… I was in an… accident. I was… talking to you, and then… there were lights. Bright lights. Someone… hit me. Are they… okay?”
“Don’t you worry about them,” I reply, battling with my anger. There’s a part of me that still wants to go next door and rip every wire and tube out of Levi, to snatch some semblance of justice from him, but that would mean leaving Rowan’s side and I won’t do that, not even to watch Levi suffer. “You just concentrate on getting better. The nurse said you’re stable and that you’ve had some tests, so it shouldn’t be long before the doctor comes to explain where we go from here.” I pause, my mind catching up to what Rowan just said. “Wait… what do you mean, you were talking to me? You didn’t call.”
“I was… talking to you, and then… I got hit,” he repeats, muddling my thoughts. Did I miss his call? Was he leaving me a voicemail? “I was about to tell… you that… I made up my mind. I didn’t… get to tell you. I was so… mad, but… then it all went… dark. Thought I was… a goner.”
I give his hand a nervous squeeze. “Rowan, I think I’m missing something here.” I slow my words, the way I used to when I’d speak to my grandma at her care facility. “What do you mean, you were talking to me? Did you call me, and I didn’t pick up; is that what you mean?”
I’m guessing the medical staff put some hefty painkillers into his IV because there’s a doll-eye glassiness to Rowan’s gaze as he stares back at me through his one good eye, like he’s still not completely convinced I’m here. His smile is woozy, too, reminding me a little of the night we spent together at the wine bar, before it all went south.
Unless… you were the drunk driver?I shake the thought off immediately. There’s no way that Rowan would be stupid enough to do that, even if his emotions were at a fever pitch. Levi, on the other hand—he’s probably driven drunk a thousand times, maybe hit some other people, too, but he doesn’t have daddy’s money and influence to cover his ass anymore. No matter what, I’m not going to rest until he goes down for this.
“I… do this… thing,” Rowan replies, rasping between words. It’s taking a lot of energy to speak to me; I can see it in the creases of his brow and the labored up and down of his chest. “I got… put into… therapy when I…” he fades off, turning to his left, squinting at the bedside table where there’s a pitcher of water and a cup with a straw.
“Are you thirsty?” I jump up and run to the other side, grabbing the cup. Leaning toward him, I bring the cup to his lips, but he clamps his mouth shut like a kid that doesn’t want to eat his veggies and shakes his head. “Not thirsty?”
He shakes his head. “Where’s… my phone? It’s easier… if I show you.”
“I’m not sure. They might not have brought it from the… uh… from the accident,” I reply, picturing the totaled car, crushed against the tree. It really is a miracle that Rowan is talking and breathing and smiling at all. “Hey, don’t worry about all of that. We can talk when you’re better and you’re walking out of here on your own two legs. You can come to the cottage, or I can come back to New Orleans, and we can go to that wine bar and sit out on the terrace, seeing as you’re a valued customer. Or we can go to the Brass Whistle. We can go anywhere you like, but you have to get better first, okay?”
I hear the change in my voice. It’s desperate, and so am I, as I perch right up on the side of his bed and take hold of his hand, bringing it up to my lips. I kiss his bruised and scraped skin, wishing I could heal him, like when you’re little and you’ve skinned your knee or your elbow and your grandma kisses it all better.
“I need… my phone,” he insists, his body twisting as he tries to reach for the bedside table with the hand I’m not holding. With grim determination, he squirms, struggling to sit up, tugging on wires which I’m pretty sure aren’t supposed to move that much.
All of a sudden, alarms start blaring. Red lights flash and sirens wail on the machinery that, in hindsight, have been beeping with a comforting steadiness. And I don’t know what to do. A few days ago, I knew every part of him, unafraid to touch him, relishing in that intimate knowledge of him. Right now, I’m terrified that if I try to push him down onto the bed, I’m going to hurt him in ways that can’t be fixed.
So, I do nothing. I hold his hand and I do nothing, as I repeat over and over in a small, scared voice, “Relax, Rowan. Lie down, please. Please, you have to lie down. Forget about the phone. Forget about everything. Just lie down, please.”
A grimace contorts his face, fog spurting up the inside of his breathing mask until I can’t see his mouth, his good eye squeezing shut as he goes rigid. His hand tightens around mine, the cords bulging out of his bright-red neck, his chest seizing, and I don’t need a doctor to tell me this isn’t good.
“Help!” I hear someone scream, only to realize it’s me. “Please, help!”
The door flies open and a whole team of scrubbed-up medics come running in, dragging machines, their faces serious as they swarm around the bed. I feel hands grab me roughly by the arms, dragging me away from Rowan, and though I try to hold onto his hand, his fingers have gone limp, slipping away from mine as a nurse hauls me out of the room.
“Rowan!” I shout at the top of my lungs, not caring if I’m causing a scene. “Rowan, I love you!”
My feelings for Rowan have been sliding nearer and nearer to that golden core of love since the wine bar. I’vefallenin love, and while that seems fast, it’s anything but—it’s too slow, considering he’s in a hospital bed, surrounded by staff who are trying to save his life. I want to have a whole future stretching out ahead of us, to walk toward together in our own time, but time itself is tumbling away from me, and I don’t know if we’ll get another minute together, much less a lifetime.
So, if there’s some part of him that isn’t unconscious yet, if there’s some part of him that can hear me, I want him to know that I love him. I can skip ahead a step, if this is the last thing he ever hears. I can jump to the future, if we’re never going to get one, together.
“I love you!” I bellow, as the door to his room slams shut in my face.
And that is when I crumble. All the strength and adrenaline that has been carrying me through, past the memory lane of my nightmares, past the wreck that put Rowan in this place, past the sight of Levi in a hospital bed and the knowledge that he caused this, past the terror of history repeating itself—it all drains out of me as if the slam of that door was the plug being pulled.
