“Mallory. God. I’m so sorry.”
“I know.” My mouth hinted at a small smile. “Of course I know, Scott.”
He waited like he said he would and when Vickie and Lucas arrived, Scott held me against his chest for a solid, wordless minute. It felt like it might’ve been more for his sake than mine, but I was okay with that. We could console each other; we’d done it before.
“Go.” Vickie shoved at me with her duffle bag the instant she walked into the entryway. Her eyes blinked rapidly but didn’t conceal the reddened veins that webbed them. “Go. I’ll be fine here with Corbin. I brought my things for overnight.”
After finding my phone, I reached for my house keys and then turned to follow Lucas out the front door to his Jeep. His mother caught his elbow and meant for it to be a conversation between for the two of them, but the stern volume was easily overheard.
“You do not fall apart in there. You understand me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She gritted through her teeth. “I mean it, Lucas. You keep it together … for her.”
Another nod from her son and we were down the walkway and in the car.
Lucas fiddled with the radio, never really landing on any station for more than half a song. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t use the distraction of music to temper my distraught mind. Everything was worn out, all emotion exhausted.
I’d lived this before.
Maybe at some point, you ran out of tears. My heart broke at the possibility that there weren’t any left for Heath.
When I saw him, though, I saw through that lie.
Each loss was a fresh wound, even if the pain occurred in a similar way. Some hurts just dug into the old scars. But it could cut them, too. Rip open the healed-over flesh to expose the same ache, same throb, just in a new and sharp way.
Lucas and I waited six hours in a room designated for that task. Where we’d get one answer from a particular nurse, another would come by with a completely contradictory statement or update. I didn’t know what information to let my heart rest in. Hope seemed like a foolish thing to chase.
Despite the confusion, two things were clear: he never saw it coming and he wouldn’t likely walk anytime soon.
My emotion bled out of me when I ambled into the hospital room and finally laid eyes on Heath, the man I loved—had always loved—as broken on the outside as I felt on the inside. My scars split wide open.
“He’s in an induced coma,” a young brunette nurse said to us before leading us all the way in. Machines beeped steadily near Heath’s hospital bed and monitors flashed out a regulated pulse. “He had some swelling to his brain and large amounts of internal bleeding. He’s lost a lot of blood, along with the lower portion of his left leg. He won’t be responsive, so don’t expect that from him. But you are welcome to stay until family arrives.”
Heath’s parents, along with Hattie and her husband and children, had left two days earlier for a summer trip to Cancun. I spoke with Anthony on the phone just three hours ago when they were about to board their return flights, which would put them in town right around dawn.
Tomorrow he could be with family, but tonight he would be with me.
“I’ll wait in the hall, Miss Quinn.”
“Thank you, Lucas.” I squeezed his hand.
There had been an empty feeling in the hollow of my stomach—an ache that bent me in half. The sort of despair that heartache shares with the rest of your body making you physically ill. Seeing Heath—finally being in the same room as him—took that away.
I only felt one thing. Gratitude. Not for what had happened, but for the fact that he’d survived it. That he wasn’t completely taken from me. His act of kindness had a horrific result, but he was still here.
Heath was still here.
As I stepped closer, taking in the tubes that threaded in and out of his body, studying the new marks on his skin that were crudely sewn together, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, I felt something else.
“You are such a good, good man, Heath,” I whispered against his cool forehead, my lips lighting on his bruised skin. “Always doing the right thing.”
He really was good. When it came down to it, Heath was the kind of man I hoped Corbin would grow up to be, and that realization struck me in the gut even harder than the news of the accident. Where that brought shock, this brought peace.
Heath was the man I wanted to raise my son with. He wasn’t Dylan’s replacement. Of course not. People couldn’t replace others. And our life together would be different, it had to be. But circumstance took Dylan from me and gave Heath to me. It took my mom and gave me Nana. It took pieces of my dad but gave me the gift of his talent in his paintings and our new way to communicate. It didn’t replace the person or cover up the memories, but it filled in the void with something different. A different kind of love.
Love was the healer that poured into the cracks of heartbreak.
Heath’s hospital room was dark, only the light directly above his bed turned on. It contoured the cuts on his face dramatically. I examined each one, reminding myself to be thankful that they weren’t worse. As gruesome as it was, this was not the worst-case scenario. There were other families in this very hospital living out that horror right now. I’d lived it out before. There was thankfulness to be found in each scar that would mar his face, in the time it would take to heal, in the recovery and the physical therapy and the process of regaining his strength.
What started as a well-meaning stop on the shoulder of the road resulted in a gruesome hit and run. A hit and run that sideswiped Heath, leaving him trapped under the stalled vehicle, his leg pinned under the tire, his body a heap of unconscious flesh and muscle pocked with gravel and asphalt.
Scott was the first on the scene, as he had been at my accident so long ago.
It must’ve felt like déjà vu.
When he came to my house shortly after, he was rambling about texts and secrets and how sorry he was and if I could ever forgive him. I couldn’t process any of it at the time though I later pieced together what he was trying to reveal. I understood his involvement, and I forgave him, of course I did. It was something we would need to talk through, but I saw the regret in his eyes and tears and heard it in his voice. Maybe he felt like he’d upended my life back then, but he was sincere in trying to make it right now, and that was all I could ask out of anyone.
The thing I could process immediately, though, was the fact that Heath had been hurt, that he was suffering. But now, looking at him under the thin blue hospital sheet, his eyelids shut, his body stilled, he looked almost peaceful.
I smoothed his hair with my palm and brought my face close. “This is going to put a damper on those ballroom dancing lessons I just signed us up for.” Maybe it was morose, but to joke felt better than to cry. “You’d said that you were two left feet, but now you don’t even have the one.”
With a twisted laugh, I cupped my hand to my mouth. Had anyone heard me, they would’ve thought it insensitive, but if there was any chance that Heath could hear—could understand what I was saying—it would be worth it. It was the sort of thing he would say to me, I knew it.
“I love you.” I dropped my head to the empty side of his bed, the space between his body and the rail. I closed my tear-stung eyes. “With all the heart that I have left, I love you, Heath.”
Exhaustion must’ve set in because the next thing I remembered was feeling Hattie’s delicate hand on my shoulder, her palm rubbing slow circles to wake me. I startled and rushed to my feet. The room spun, black circling in at the edges of my vision.
“Shhhh,” she shushed, her finger brought to her lips. “It’s okay. You don’t have to go. Sit for a few minutes. Stay.”
I rubbed at my neck. “No, no. I should go home to Corbin. Is everyone else here?”
“Mom and Dad are getting briefed by the staff.” Hattie tilted her head toward the hallway. Through the window, I could see Heath’s parents deep in discussion w
ith one of the doctors. His mother had both hands to her mouth; his father had both hands on his wife’s shoulders. They were doing an excessive amount nodding, but that’s what you did when hearing news like this. Like bobbing your head would somehow rattle the words into your brain in a way that made them easier to understand.
“The nurses said he had a good night. That they expected him to be much more restless. Having you here calmed him, Mallory.” Hattie gave my wrists a squeeze. “Thank you for being here when we couldn’t. We can’t thank you enough.”
I didn’t have words that would be able to come out alone. Any I tried to utter would have tears attached, so I just bobbed my head and hugged her back before I reached for my purse.
“Lucas is in the waiting room and said he’s ready to drive you home whenever you like.”
“He’s still here?” My stomach tightened with guilt. “He didn’t have to stay.”
“He loves Heath, too, Mallory.”
Of course he did. Heath was an incredibly easy guy to love.
“Will you call me if anything changes?” I asked before turning to go. “Or even if things don’t change? Just … just keep me updated?”
Hattie smiled as she took a seat in the empty chair next to her younger brother. “Of course. But for now, go home and love on that baby of yours. Take a nap. Get a shower and some food. We’ll be here and you’re welcome to come back at any time.”
“Is it bad that I don’t ever want to leave?”
Hattie’s eyes crinkled with another grin and she gave me the sweetest of looks when she said, “I know for a fact that my brother feels exactly the same way about you.”
Heath
Someone had crammed a hundred cotton balls into my mouth, beaten me within an inch of my life with a sledgehammer, and then vomited flowers all over the room.
I was about 99 percent sure that’s what happened, at least.
My tongue scraped my throat with a gritty swallow. My dry lips tightened. My eyelids had weights attached to them, which made opening them a herculean effort. I groaned.
“Heath!” Hattie shuffled to my side. Her hand found my arm, right where a needle jabbed into my flesh like I was a human pincushion. I groaned once more. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” Then she whipped her head away from me and shouted, “Mom! Dad! Anthony!”
Her voice grew fingers that wrapped around my brain and squeezed it like a vise. I groaned again.
“Sorry,” she whispered this time. “Sorry.”
“Why does this room look like a wedding aisle?” I turned my head as best I could to observe the table to my left, overflowing with petals and greenery.
“Because your girlfriend is a florist. That, and all of the Whitney kids get a discount there.”
“Got it.” I was incapable of doing anything but groan; even my words were pained. “What happened?”
“I think I should wait for a doctor—” Hattie started to say, but it was too late.
I wiggled my toes. On the right side of the bed, underneath the starchy blue drape, my foot twitched. On the left, nothing. Bile crept into my throat, burning my nose and eyes.
“Hattie …” The volume of my voice rose at the end. Panic lifted it an octave higher when I said it again. “Hattie!”
“Shhhh, Heath.” Her hand flew to my forehead and raked through my greasy hair. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
“Oh, God.”
There, in a hospital room with only my older sister to witness, I lost it. Sobbed like a baby. At one point a doctor halted in the doorway, but I think Hattie shook him off because he nodded and turned away. My lips were slick and drool pooled in the corner of my mouth. Hattie held my face to her chest and dragged her hands against my scalp, rocking me against the thin mattress. Each movement of my jumping shoulders stabbed me with agony.
And then, as quickly as I fell apart, I pulled myself together. “Can you get the doctor?” I sniffed against my hand as I wiped my face. “I have a few questions.”
“Of course.” Hattie raced out the door like she was sprinting at a track meet. When she returned, she had the sleeve of someone who I assumed was on the medical staff in her hand.
“You didn’t have to physically drag him in here.” I laughed, but it hurt my ribs and my brain to do so.
“Heath.” The doctor lowered a hand to the bedrail. “I’m Dr. Callahan.”
“Good to meet you.” I winced when I tried to stretch out my palm for a shake.
He denied my offer and trapped my hand to lower it to the bed. “Just rest, Heath. You’ve sustained some pretty significant injuries last night. Do you remember what happened at all?”
I remembered being pulled over, then finding an old student of mine stranded on the side of the road. I recalled hauling the old tire to the trunk, skirting around the side of the car with the spare in hand, and then crouching down to fit it on the wheel hub. But that was it.
“I don’t remember a lot. Just changing a tire and then nothing. Just blank.”
“You were struck by a passing vehicle that swerved out of its lane going about forty miles an hour. We’re guessing the driver was distracted by something. Their vehicle dragged you forward five feet and wedged you under the car you were attempting to fix.” The doctor’s light blue eyes squinted behind his thin, round spectacles. “Heath, you lost part of your left leg in the incident. Just below the knee. The bone was so badly crushed and muscle mangled that all efforts to reattach it were lost. I’m so sorry.”
My head wobbled unsteadily. “Okay.” I hissed the painful words. “Okay.”
“You are lucky to be alive.”
It seemed trite for him to say, but I understood his intentions. “Don’t I know it.” And I honestly did. I was lucky. Maybe a little unlucky, too, but I could see the good and how it possibly outweighed the bad in this scenario. “How long before I can walk again?”
“First things first, Heath. Your body has a significant amount of healing to do.”
“I understand that, but timeline-wise, what are we talking?”
Dr. Callahan grimaced. “I hate to give any projected amount of time for this kind of recovery.”
That did not satisfy me. “If everything goes smoothly, what the best-case scenario?”
The doctor rubbed at his jaw. “You’re not going to let me out of this room without an answer, are you?”
“Not a chance.” I smiled, but my lip cracked at the side, opening up some cut I must’ve had. I brought my thumb to my mouth to swipe at the blood but the doctor retrieved some gauze from a nearby cupboard and handed it to me. “Six months? A year? Two years?”
“Definitely not two years. Best case—and I mean best case—is that you can leave the hospital in a week or so. And that’s just leaving the hospital. The real work begins after that.”
I nodded to keep him talking.
“If the site of the amputation heals without problem, you could be fitted for a prosthetic as soon as two to three weeks. But the average fitting time is usually two to six months post-surgery.”
“Well, I’m not really satisfied with being just an average guy, so I’m shooting for weeks rather than months.”
“All of that will depend on how things mend, Heath. Attitude is often more than half of the battle, but your body physically needs time to recover.”
“Understood.” I did, at least mentally. My heart had more hope in it than my brain, though. “So walking. When will that happen?”
“With hours and hours of physical therapy and the help of a rehabilitation team—and if all things happen as quickly as you hope—I would say anywhere from four months to a year.”
“So by November.”
“Possibly.” Dr. Callahan leaned forward. “I don’t want to set any false expectations here, Heath. This is going to be a long road to recovery. Prosthetics are expensive. Rehab takes time. There are more variables than I can even list at the moment.”
“But there’s a chance that by Thanksgiving, I�
��ll be walking again.”
The doctor relinquished a sigh. “There’s always a chance.”
Life had a strange way of giving me second chances. This was one I was banking on getting.
Mallory
I tightened my black jacket around my waist as I walked through the hospital parking lot. Though only August, the sharp chill in the air required the extra layer, and I was thankful for it. Plus, hospital rooms always seemed to be several degrees cooler than other establishments. Maybe germs didn’t survive well when the temperature dropped. Whatever the reason, the lightweight overcoat was a necessary addition tonight, and I adjusted the fabric while I traipsed through the automatic entrance doors that spread open wide.
Heath had been in the hospital for a week and a half, which was a week and a half longer than he’d hoped. If it were up to him, he’d be at home, recuperating while he prepared lesson plans. But not at his home. There was no way he’d be able to navigate those stairs to his second story apartment.
His roommate, Paul, had been surprisingly incredible this week, helping Boone and me move the majority of Heath’s belongings into my spare bedroom at the other end of the house. Maybe we weren’t at that stage in our relationship yet—the one where our lives intertwined right down to waking and sleeping—but this was the only reasonable solution I could come up with. He would need someone to take care of him, and I was more than willing to be that person.
I passed familiar faces in the hall as I rounded the corner to the elevators. Spending any prolonged amount of time in a hospital made you realize that this was, in fact, home for many people. While it was looking fairly good that Heath might be discharged in a few days, there were others who would be here for months at a time. There were also some who would never leave.
Blessings were constantly showing up for us, just waiting to be counted.
I rode the elevator to his fifth floor and my favorite nurse at the front buzzed me in through the locked double doors.
“Hey, Mallory. Here to see the hottie in 23?”
Where We Left Off Page 21