“He had a seizure,” Douglas said, keeping an arm tight around his wife. “We had to wait for it to pass before we could bring him down. He needs to get to the hospital immediately.”
“Only one of you can ride with him,” said the driver, rounding the side of the ambulance. “Choose quickly, we need to go now.”
Plucking Emma from Dad’s arms, Douglas turned to his wife. “You go. I’ll take these two home. Keep me posted.”
Nodding, Faith climbed in behind Tate, sitting near his stretcher and reaching out to grab his hand. Her tear-streaked face was the last thing I saw before the doors closed and the ambulance sped off.
“Bellamy,” my dad urged, giving my shoulders a little shake. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I whispered. “We have to get to the hospital. I need to make sure he’s okay.”
“Okay, but first, the police are asking to talk to you,” he said, gesturing toward the uniformed officer who stood nearby, waiting to take my statement. “The sooner you do that, the sooner we can go check on Tate. Okay?”
I nodded in agreement and tried to keep my composure, but the tears came anyway. The sobs swelling in my chest spilled out.
“Oh, munchkin,” he crooned, pulling me closer. “It’s going to be okay.”
But he couldn’t know for sure, and neither could I. After all that had happened, I’d thought we were in the clear. We were happy—dancing and smiling, laughing. Living. And now, Tate might die, and Lincoln, too. Even though he might deserve it after trying to hurt Tate, I didn’t know how I could live with what I’d done. Part of me felt guilt, yet another part would do it again if it meant saving Tate’s life.
I couldn’t understand it. Nothing made sense anymore. I couldn’t think about anything beyond that ambulance speeding away and carrying with it the love of my life.
Dad and I arrived at the hospital a few hours later to find that Tate had been taken to surgery. We’d remained at the event hall for about an hour after the ambulance left, answering questions for the police. Once I’d managed to get my emotions under control, I was able to relate my version of the story with a steady calmness that surprised me. Douglas added what he’d seen when he arrived on the balcony. The police assured us that they would follow up once they’d gotten more information from Tate, the other two boys who’d been up there, and Lincoln, if he survived.
I’d wanted to go straight to the hospital from there, but Dad had insisted I go home to shower and change.
Douglas met us in the waiting room, informing us that Ezra had volunteered to stay with the kids so he could be with Faith during the procedure. Tate had been in surgery an hour already by the time we got there.
“Tate never regained consciousness,” he told us solemnly, his eyes bloodshot and watery, voice shaky. “During their exams, they performed a CAT scan and found swelling in his brain caused by the head trauma. They’re performing a craniotomy—to cut away a flap of his skull to allow the brain room to swell. He’ll have to stay like that for a few months if he makes it out alive, then once the swelling goes down, they’ll replace the piece of his skull.”
I clapped a hand over my mouth and choked back a sob. If Tate’s father could keep it together, so could I.
“The seizure,” I whispered, my voice still hoarse from screaming. “Did that affect anything? Make it worse?”
Douglas shook his head. “Not that they could tell. It’s typical with his disorder, and the blow to the head might have triggered it. So far, the swelling is the main concern, and they seem confident they can save him. It’ll just be a long road to recovery after. Since his skin is so thin on the side of his face affected by the disease, Lincoln split him good. He needed several staples to close the gash.”
“How long is the procedure?” Dad asked, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. It wasn’t until he did it that I realized I was trembling.
“They told me about three to five hours,” Douglas replied. “We’ll call you when it’s over if you like.”
“I’m staying,” I declared. “If that’s okay with you.”
With a nod, he gave me a sympathetic smile. “Of course it’s okay. Here, come with me to the surgical waiting room. Faith is there. We’ll wait together.”
Dad kept a hold on my shoulders as we walked, and I was grateful for the physical reminder of his presence. Faith greeted me with a tight hug when we arrived.
“I’m glad you were there with him,” she whispered to me, her voice quavering as she choked back a sob. “I wouldn’t have wanted him to go through that alone.”
“I’d never leave him if I could help it,” I told her.
It was the truth. The guilt I felt over possibly having ended Lincoln’s life was nothing compared to what I’d endure for Tate. I only hoped he would live so that I could make sure he knew that. I needed to tell him, and he needed to hear it from me.
“Any news on the other boy?” Dad asked as we took our seats.
Douglas sighed. “Not yet. I heard a nurse mention someone else in surgery. I didn’t catch a name, but it could be him. I’ll ask around and see what we can find out.”
The hours crept by slowly as we waited for the surgeon to come back with news. A few inquiries about Lincoln led us nowhere, since legally no one could give us information on a patient if we weren’t in his family. Faith handed out cups of coffee, and I drank mine without tasting it. The television in the waiting room was tuned to the news, which included frequent updates on the impending Canton Haines case. I couldn’t escape the irony of this moment, watching the news about something that had put us in danger, while Tate lay on a surgical table, injured from something completely unrelated. All this time, it turned out that an old friend of his would pose more danger to him than a crooked mayor, corrupt sheriff, and murderous criminal.
Once Tate had made it through this and recovered, I was looking forward to a long stretch of our lives in which, literally, nothing happened. After such an unpredictable summer, nothing would be welcomed.
Finally, the surgeon returned right around five am. At the sight of him, Douglas and Faith stood, clasping hands and clutching each other tight while they waited to hear the news. I stood, too, remaining in my place behind them and holding my breath while I waited to hear what the doctor said.
“Mr. and Mrs. Baldwin,” the doctor began. “Tate’s procedure is finished, and he’s now in recovery.”
Douglas issued a loud sigh of relief, while Faith collapsed against him, sobbing hysterically.
“Oh, thank God,” she managed between cries, clutching the front of her husband’s shirt.
I closed my eyes, allowing myself to feel relief now. Tears wet my face when I opened them again.
“He’ll remain sedated and on the ventilator for about twenty-four hours while we monitor the swelling,” the doctor continued. “But his vitals are good, and everything else is clear. Your son should make a full recovery.”
Cradling Faith in one arm, Douglas extended his free hand to the doctor. The two shook. “Thank you. When can we see him?”
“As soon as we get him out of recovery and into the critical care unit,” the doctor replied. “It should take about an hour for us to run all the post-op tests. We ask that visitors only come in one to two at a time, and not for very long. Once he’s clear of the critical care unit, we can discuss preparing him to go home, and eventually returning to replace the skull flap.”
Turning to me, Faith smiled. “Do you want to see him?”
I nodded, taking a step toward them. “Yes, but I don’t want to get in the way of you seeing him.”
Douglas shook his head. “We won’t stay long, so you can have some time with him. It’s what he would want, I think.”
“Yes,” Faith agreed. “He certainly would.”
I smiled, trying to dry my tears, but they just kept coming. Finding my seat again, I laid my head against my dad’s shoulder and rested there, relief stealing all the tension from my shoulders. Within seconds
, I had fallen asleep.
Faith awakened me some time later, gently shaking my shoulder. “Bellamy, honey, wake up. You can go see him now.”
Blinking my bleary eyes, I sat up to find that Dad had also fallen asleep, his head rested against the wall.
“Don’t worry,” Faith assured me. “I’ll sit with Nate until you get back.”
Standing, I rubbed my eyes and stretched, realizing the sun had started to shine through the windows. It was only six-thirty, but I felt as if I’d been asleep for hours. Suddenly, I was wide awake, my entire body humming with the rush of blood pumping to my extremities.
“Come with me,” said a nurse, who had followed Faith from wherever Tate was being kept.
I obeyed, trailing her down a twisting maze of hallways until we reached a wing labeled ‘Critical Care’. She guided me to room 347 and opened the door, standing aside to let me in.
“You can have a few minutes, and then I’ll have to come escort you back,” she said.
“Okay,” I replied. “Thanks.”
As she walked away, I had a sudden thought. “Excuse me, ma’am,” I called after her.
The nurse paused and turned back to me. “Yes?”
“Is there a patient named Lincoln Burns here? He got hurt at the ball, too, and… I was wondering if he survived.”
Wrinkling her brow, the nurse took a look around as if ensuring no one else was there. She edged toward me and lowered her voice. “I’m not legally allowed to tell you any details,” she whispered. “But I know what he did to your friend. All I’ll say is, he lived… but he’s going to be living with his injuries for the rest of his life.”
I experienced mixed feelings at that news. Relief that Lincoln hadn’t died as a result of my pushing him over the edge of that balcony. A mixture of sadness and relief that he might be hurt permanently—sadness because I wouldn’t wish disability on anyone, relief because it meant he couldn’t hurt anyone else ever again. Maybe, like Tate, he would learn a little humility as a result of the karma he’d been served.
“Thank you,” I managed once I’d fully digested what she’d said.
With a nod and smile, the nurse left, closing the door once I’d crossed the threshold. I paused at the foot of the hospital bed, gazing down at Tate and feeling helpless at the sight of him surrounded by so many machines with tubes connected to him. The respirator lay between his lips, held in place by a piece of medical tape. It made his chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm, while the cannula in his nose provided necessary oxygen. An I.V. connected to a machine controlled his medications, while a heart monitor blipped steadily nearby. A pristine white bandage covered his head, a match for the hospital gown draping his body. I wondered if they’d had to shave his entire head for the craniotomy.
Coming around the side of his bed, I took the chair close to his bedside and reached for his hand—the one without the I.V. stuck in it.
“Hey,” I whispered. “You had us all scared there for a moment.”
I paused, wondering if he could hear me. I’d once watched a documentary about surgery that claimed patients could actually hear everything going on around them while sedated or under anesthesia. Some coma patients even thrived when people played music in their rooms or read and talked to them.
Laying my head on the bed beside his, I laid a hand against his chest. “I know you have to sleep now so you can heal,” I told him. “But I hope you wake up soon, so I can tell you to your face that I love you.”
Smiling, I gazed at his lowered eyelids, a tear running down my cheek. “When I met you, you were a rude, surly, arrogant brute,” I said with a laugh. “But I got to know the real you. The sweet, compassionate, thoughtful person you always were. When this is all over, you’re never going to get rid of me. Because I love you. I don’t know how I know that for sure, because I’ve never been in love. I just know that when we’re together, I’m so happy, and when we’re apart, all I can think about is being with you again. Even when you’re making me angry, I can’t stop feeling this way about you. It makes me want to punch you in the face and kiss you at the same time. If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is… except, I think it is love. I feel it in my heart.”
The heart monitor blipped on steadily, and Tate’s eyes remained closed. Had he heard me? I couldn’t be sure, but when he woke up, I’d be sure to tell him again. Standing, I leaned over his bed and placed a soft kiss on his lips. Going back to the chair, I simply sat, my head resting on the pillow beside his. I almost drifted off to sleep again, but the nurse returned, letting me know it was time to go.
I left the room feeling hopeful, and also as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Tate was going to live. He might have a long recovery to endure, but he would be all right.
Once I arrived home, the worry had fled, and I found myself exhausted again. Falling into bed, I drifted off to sleep in an instant.
Three days later…
Glancing down at the newspaper clutched in my hand, I briefly read the headline on the front page.
Former Young County sheriff pleads guilty, turns on accomplice, former mayor, Canton Haines.
The story about how Sheriff Bailey had turned on Canton in exchange for his plea deal, giving even more insight into his crimes, seemed so far removed from me, despite the fact that I’d been involved in the whole thing.
The headline of a smaller headline just below that story read: Three Wellhollow Springs High students will face no jail time for Founders Day Brawl.
That story, I skipped over completely. Having the inside track on the details of that particular case, I didn’t need to read it. Lincoln’s friends had turned on him, ratting him out for instigating the fight with Tate and attempting to bash his head in with a cinder block. That, combined with mine and Douglas’ testimony, sealed the deal. Lincoln faced aggravated assault charges, but because the Baldwins weren’t pressing charges, he was going to get off with probation and a hefty fine. Faith and Douglas had agreed that pressing charges would accomplish nothing. Lincoln might never walk again, and they thought that punishment enough for what he’d done.
With all that behind us, my entire world revolved around being with Tate whenever my schedule allowed. Douglas had returned to work, while Faith remained on leave so she could spend as much time with Tate as possible. She and I took turns—one of us remaining with Max and Emma, while the other sat at the hospital with Tate.
He no longer relied on a ventilator, and while he’d taken over breathing on his own just fine, had yet to awaken after surgery. They’d transferred him from Critical Care to the ICU, which meant we were allowed to visit him for longer stretches of time. I’d made it a point to be at the hospital as often as I could, not wanting him to be alone when he woke up in the hospital.
The doctors assured us that it was normal for patients to sleep for so long after brain surgery. That he was breathing on his own was a good sign, and they expected him to come to soon.
Putting the paper aside, I sighed, wracked with boredom. Electronic devices weren’t allowed in the ICU, and I’d already finished the book I brought. The paper was full of the latest town scandals, which I, of course, had already had my fill of. Dad had been dodging reporters the past few days, but they’d bombarded the bookstore, asking questions about both his arrest at the hands of Sheriff Bailey, and the incident with Tate, Lincoln, and me at the ball. He’d urged me to stay away from the store for a few days until everything died down, assuring me he could handle the overbearing journalists on his own.
“Ouch.”
I started at the sound of another voice in the room, turning to find Tate peering at me from beneath lowered eyelids.
“Hey,” I whispered, standing to approach the bed. “You’re awake.”
He smiled weakly and reached for my hand as I came closer. “I am. What a sight to wake up to. My beautiful Bell.”
Leaning down, I pressed a kiss to his forehead. “How do you feel?”
“Like I got hit by
a truck,” he muttered. “And thirsty.”
“I’ll call a nurse for some water. They should know you’re up.”
“Wait,” he insisted, gripping my hand tighter before I could pull away.
Turning back to him, I sank onto the bed beside him, careful not to sit on any of his wires or tubes. “Yeah?”
“How long have I been out?” he asked.
“Three days,” I replied. “You needed surgery, and now you’re in the ICU. The nurse can explain everything to you, but you’re going to be just fine.”
He tried to smile, but the muscles in his face only responded on one side. The doctor had warned us it might be that way until the swelling went down completely and the skull flap had been replaced.
“While I was out, I had this amazing dream,” he murmured. “The most beautiful girl in the world told me she loved me. She promised me that when I woke up, she would tell me to my face.”
I stared at him in silence, dumbfounded that he remembered in such vivid detail. “You heard that?”
He nodded slowly, and then winced as if the motion had hurt. “Every. Word.”
“I meant it,” I told him, reaching out to cradle his face. “I love you, Tate.”
He smiled again, this time with a bit more control. “Sounds even better when I’m awake. I love you, too, Bell.”
“You do?” I rasped, becoming teary-eyed for what had to be the hundredth time in the past few weeks. I’d never been more emotionally wrecked in my life.
“So much that all I could think about while Lincoln was beating the crap out of me was that I might die without ever having told you,” he replied. “You better be prepared for me to tell you every day from now on. I love you… not just because you love me, but because you saw me when no one else did. You found the real me and pulled him to the surface. I couldn’t be who I am now without you.”
I couldn’t choke back the sob bubbling in my throat, but it came out as more of a laugh. Aside from being emotionally wrecked, I was also deliriously happy. Maybe I’d suspected that Tate felt the same way about me, but nothing compared to hearing him say it out loud.
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