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I pack my bag quietly and refuse to look at Bryce, who’s lying on his bed watching me.
“You shouldn’t give the silent treatment to an injured man.”
“How would you react if I was kicking you out of my apartment?”
“I’m not kicking you out. I’m insisting you go back to school for the one week until spring break.”
“I don’t want to. What happens if you need me?”
“Baby, it’s not a question of needing you. I’ll always need you. But school is important.”
I toss my sweater on top of my bag and decide to try one more time for him to come with me. “Come with me.”
“You know I’m going back to work tomorrow.”
“Ugh!” I throw my hands in the air and swing my head to him. “You are infuriating. Absolutely, one-hundred percent, off the wall maddening! I can’t believe you’re going back so soon!”
“Devon, get over here.”
I stumble across the room and sit between his legs, facing him.
“Do we need to go over this again?”
“Will it convince you to stay home and rest?”
“No.”
I slump my shoulders in defeat. As hard as I try, this is an argument I can’t win. Bryce was released from the hospital three days after he woke up with instructions to rest for another full week. All bruising was almost gone, and his brain was fine and functioning. He was given strict orders to restrict movement and keep his arm in the brace to help the collarbone heal. Otherwise, he was fine.
I personally was amazed that there wasn’t more concern regarding his recovery. But after speaking to three separate doctors, I was finally convinced Bryce was going to be fine. Apparently, the seven days he was out helped heal his brain.
Our parents stayed for a few days after he was released but went back a few days ago, leaving me in charge. Sheila and I talk at least four times a day, which drives Bryce crazy. He says we’re acting like lunatics because he’s fine. In actuality, things are mostly back to normal. He’s going to work
on light duty tomorrow. I still hate leaving him.
“What happens when you need help with your brace?” I point to his shoulder. “That always gives you trouble.”
“Nate can help me.”
“I can’t believe you’re making me leave.”
“You’re looking at it the wrong way. I’m sending you back to catch up for the weeks you’ve been gone. It’s important to me that you get back into a routine.”
I position myself to his uninjured side and lie on his chest. “I’m scared,” I admit.
“I know, but you’ll be back in five days. Surely I can survive.”
We stay silent for a few minutes, him running his lips along my forehead.
“My heart broke every day in that hospital that I couldn’t wake up and comfort you. The sound of devastation and fear in your voice still haunts me. Some things are hazy, but others, I’ll never forget. My parents begging me to wake up, Nate gripping my hand and telling me I had to pull through, your crying as you tried to fall asleep—all of those things.”
“What was it like?” I ask cautiously. Bryce has been very quiet about the days he was unconscious.
“It’s hard to explain. There’s a lot of time I can’t account for. It seemed like one second you would be talking to me, and the next thing I knew, Dad was reading a sports article. Everything found a way to mesh together. Some specific moments stand out.”
“Which moments?” I pry, curious.
“There are two that run through my mind constantly. One was when Liza visited. Her words are scrambled, but I’m pretty sure I heard the sound of skin slapping. Then things went dark. The next thing I know, Nate’s calling you Manny Pacquiao.”
