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I can tell she doesn’t love that, but she concedes. “We’ll be talking daily, and the nurse will make home visits to help change your bandages.”
“I know. The doctor said the same thing before I left the hospital,” he grumbles.
“Can I have a minute with Randall?” I ask.
“Of course.”
They leave the room, closing the door behind them.
I take a seat beside him on the bed. “I know this is hard, BJ. I know you’re in pain and you’re probably overwhelmed, but your parents are leaving in a few minutes. They’re going to drive back to Pearl Lake, and they’ll talk about how worried they are the entire way. Do not let them go without telling them how much you appreciate and love them. They almost lost you. I almost lost you. I know they’re being overbearing, but give them a fucking break, yeah?”
He closes his eyes, and tears leak out of the corners. “I’m fucking terrified, Winter.”
“I know.” I brush his hair away from his face. It’s finally clean. They must have gotten him in the shower before they brought him home today. “And that’s a totally reasonable feeling. But don’t take that fear out on them.”
“I’m sorry. My mom is a lot right now.”
“Of course she is. You’re her baby.”
“You’re right. I know you’re right. I’m not trying to be a dick.”
“Pain makes it hard to be nice. It shortens the fuse. Tell them you love them, tell them you’ll send them regular updates, and if you can’t manage, you’ll come home.”
“I’m not going home.” He crosses his arms. It’s pretty unconvincing with him lying here all broken and exhausted.
“Okay. But give them the peace of mind they need to walk out the door and not feel guilt or regret. Your mom is already struggling because she feels like she should have seen what Adele was doing. Give her the gift of your appreciation and an assurance that you won’t tough it out like a testosterone-fueled idiot.”
He stares at me for a few long seconds and uncrosses his arms. “Okay, point taken.”
“I’m going to get them, okay?”
“Yeah. Okay. Thank you for not letting me be a complete dickhead.”
“I know it’s not intentional, and I don’t want you to have any regrets.”
I open the door, and his parents come back in. BJ lets his mom fawn and help him get comfortable, and I leave them to have some time before they go.
When they come out a few minutes later, they close his door behind them. “He’s pretty tired,” Coach tells me. “Just the drive home was a lot for him. It’s probably going to be a tough few days.”
“If you think it’s too much, you can let us know,” Lily whispers.
I nod. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”
I walk them to the door, and Lily hugs me and thanks me for what has to be the hundredth time for saving her son.
“No way was I letting him go without a fight.” Not when he has such a tight hold on my heart.
For the first few days BJ is home, expectations are low. He needs to get used to moving around with crutches and heal. But by the end of the first week, I’m not seeing much progress, and he’s made zero attempts to attend class, citing too much pain and an inability to sit in the uncomfortable chairs.
Sure, he can get to and from the bathroom on his own. He’ll even make the occasional trip to the kitchen when he’s hungry. But he usually goes for easy things, like bags of chips, chocolate bars, and cookies. The empty boxes and bags are strewn across his bedroom floor.
BJ isn’t a neat freak like River, or orderly like Quinn, who spent a couple of years in the army before he started college. But usually, BJ’s lack of order is limited to a shirt thrown over the back of his chair or a stray pair of socks that didn’t quite make it to the basket.
Currently, however, his floor is littered with discarded clothes, and there are empty pop cans on his dresser, along with crushed boxes and bags. It’s seven on a Friday night, and he’s sleeping, which is a new pattern. I’ve been staying at my own place at night because he watches TV in bed until late, and I can’t sleep with the noise. I’m also a bit of a roller-arounder, and I don’t want to bump his leg. But also? His room smells like the inside of a gym bag.
Communal dinner is at my place tonight. We’re making personal pizzas and salad, one of BJ’s favorite meals.
I knock on his door. “Hey, it’s pizza night. You gonna come to my place and hang out?”
