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It’s not important but I can’t focus on what is.
“What happened?” his mom asks. “Start there.”
I press my hand to my forehead and take a deep breath before telling her everything I can remember. What Nic told me. What the nurse told me. I’m shaking by the time I finish, fighting the tears.
There’s a pause long enough for a deep breath before her reassuring voice comes back. “He’s going to be okay, honey. Do you have anyone with you?”
“No.”
“Dammit. I hoped Nic would make it.” She sighs. “He doesn’t like hospitals. His dad died at the scene of the car crash, but his mom was in the hospital for a while. Nic had to make the decision to take her off life support. This will be hard for him.”
My stomach turns. He belongs to the same shitty Dead Parents Club as I do and I called him a coward. I’ll need to apologize.
“We’re about to take off,” Celia says abruptly, “so I’ve got to go, but we’ll be there real quick, honey. Promise.”
Until Timothy’s parents arrive, I’m here for him. He’s not going to be alone.
We say goodbye and I stare at the wall again. My thoughts are a jumbled mess of prayers screamed in my head for Timothy to be okay. I make every bargain with every deity and universal force I’ve ever heard of. Anything they want, if he survives.
I jump when the nurse touches my arm, but the smile on his face is reassuring.
“Your husband is out of surgery,” he says quietly. “Everything went well. He’s awake and asking for you.”
Relief hits me like a wave, and I slump against my chair. “Oh thank god,” I murmur as a tear breaks free. It’s followed by another. The nurse wordlessly hands me a tissue. Somehow I catch myself, shoving my emotions back into place before I can become a blubbering mess.
When I’m ready, the nurse leads me down the corridor. It’s quiet. Late. A memory nudges me. Nan passed away at night after a short stay in the hospital. She’d had pneumonia. I was nineteen, not ready to be alone.
Timothy is going to be okay. He has to because I don’t want to be alone again. If anyone can survive a massive blow to the head, it’s him. His thick skull is the stuff of legends.
“I understand this is a lot for you,” the nurse says quietly when he stops outside a room, “but if he’s asleep, please let him rest. It’s important for his recovery. We also put him in a neck brace. He doesn’t have any injuries to his spine, but when he came in, he was complaining about some pain. He’s strained a muscle, and the brace will only be on for tonight, so he doesn’t aggravate it in his sleep.”
Taking a deep breath, I nod, and we enter the room.
Timothy’s asleep, but the sight of him, the rise and fall of his chest, makes my heart squeeze hard.
“He’s doing great.” The nurse pats my arm before leaving us alone.
Oh, god. Timothy.
I don’t expect my heart to reach for him the way it does, for it to take me to his bedside, but I could’ve lost him today. I could still lose him. So for one blessedly private minute, I allow myself to feel it. To acknowledge it and name it.
I love him.
I love this motherfucking asshole so much it hurts every day, but right now, when he’s lying in this bed, in a hospital gown with bandages around his stupid head, the pain in my chest is excruciating.
His face is slack from the drugs they’re pumping into him through an IV. I’ve never seen him asleep. Never seen him this motionless. He takes up most of the bed, but he looks so helpless right now. This isn’t the Timothy I know. My Timothy is larger than life. A goddamn puppy—barely house-trained, easily excitable, and if left without sufficient attention, will destroy your shit. Chaos in a six-foot-three mass of muscle and mischief, with a panty-meltingly good smile.
I love him. It isn’t something easily contained in a box labeled “friend.” It’s big and scary and I hate how strong it is. Overpowering. I’m caught in his undertow and I can’t handle it.
I push the tears from my eyes, and taking a deep breath, I count to sixty, slowly pulling myself back together. I can never, ever allow myself to love him as anything more than a friend. This, right here, is all the reason I need.
My parents didn’t make it to the hospital. By the time the rescue helicopter got to them, it was too late, though they’d likely died on impact. I was four. I barely remember them, barely had them in my life, and I still feel the hole their loss left in me.
Timothy’s just like them, wide-ranging instead of focused on one activity, but chasing after adrenaline all the same. He’s lucky today, but the next time?
Brushing my fingers over the flat, stiff hospital sheet, I lock my feelings down. It’s not easy, but I’m determined. When I’m back in control, I let myself really look at him.
It’s hard to look closely at the man when he never sits still, so I drink him in. I want to memorize every feature of his face. His light brown eyelashes lie against his cheekbones, unexpectedly long. His lips are full, parted slightly, and already chapped from the dry hospital air. His skin should be golden, but he’s pale and his hair, dyed darker and cut short for his work on Warwick, is stark in contrast. I miss his unruly honey-blond curls.
