Gravity: A Salvation Society Novel

by K. L. Jessop

“Okay. I believe that.”

  “Good girl. Now we need to go. I’ve got your phone and everything we need.”

  “Don’t leave me, Grayson. Please.” I grip onto his shirt, needing him with me in order to keep me upright. He kisses me on the head and his words soothe my fractured heart as he whispers against my skin.

  “I’m right here with you.”

  I can’t remember leaving the house, nor can I remember the drive to the hospital, but somehow, I find myself in a building that smells of antiseptics while men and women in blue and green scrubs rush around beds and patients. Asher says Dad had another seizure on the way here, this one lasting longer than the first, and left him even less responsive afterwards. I feel like we’ve been here hours already, and it’s not even been three. All we can do is wait while they treat him as best as they can.

  “Why aren’t they telling us anything. Why hasn’t Mom come back with any news?” Asher asks in frustration, pacing the floor like he’s been doing ever since we got here.

  Mom arrived not long after we did. I’d called her on the way here and told her in a fit of rambles and tears what had happened. She amazes me with how calm she is. There hadn’t been an ounce of panic in her voice when she’d said she was leaving work, while I was still a mess, Grayson holding my hand all the way here while he drove.

  “She’ll update us when she knows more,” I murmur, completely drained as I look out of the window and watch the world go by.

  “These things take time, Ash,” Grayson adds. “Even though it feels like you’re left here waiting or sometimes feel like they’ve forgotten about you altogether. It’s not as long for them as it is for us. You just have to sit it out.”

  I look back at Grayson who is sitting in one of the hospital chairs, staring up at the ceiling. His face is pale, and his knee moves up and down anxiously. Being here for Dad and awaiting his prognosis has blinded me to how Grayson must be feeling right now. The last time he was likely to have been here was when his mom died, yet here he is supporting us when he no doubt has a head full of ghosts and a heart too heavy. Needing to give him comfort, I leave my spot at the window and sit beside him, taking his hand in mine.

  “Too many memories?” I whisper, already knowing his answer.

  When he rolls his head to the side, his once bright blue eyes hold mine with discomfort so prominent it makes my chest even tighter than it already feels.

  “More than you can imagine.”

  “I’m sorry, Gray. You don’t have to stay with us if this is too uncomfortable. No one will think any less of you.”

  He lifts his head and holds my gaze. “I would think less of myself. I said I wouldn’t leave you, Shortcake, and I won’t. What I feel doesn’t matter right now. You and your family are more important than anything else.” He catches the stray tear that slips down my cheek with his thumb and smiles softly, whispering. “No more tears. You need your strength.”

  “You are my strength,” I admit. Because it’s true. Asher goes into full-blown panic mode these days when there seems to be a crisis—a reaction that never used to be there. Over time, he’s changed. Pacing the floor is the only thing that seems to give him control over the situation. But with Grayson—even knowing of the heartache he is facing of his past—I wouldn’t be able to function if he wasn’t here.

  “As you are mine.” Placing his arm around my shoulder, he kisses the top of my head as I cuddle into his embrace. His heartbeat under my ear is soothing to the soul, generating a calmness over me. For the first time in hours, I can think more clearly regardless of the anxiety that weighs heavy, but even though I’m now relaxed, I can’t settle with the pacing from my brother.

  “Asher, come and sit down. You’ve not stopped since we got here.”

  “I’m fine. I need to keep my mind active. Stops me thinking.”

  “If you need it active then sit and read a magazine or something. Just stop the pacing, you’re making me more nervous.”

  When he looks at me, guilt radiates in his eyes and his shoulders drop. “I’m sorry. I just… fuck. I don’t know.” He lets out a heavy breath and rubs his hand over his face. “What if this was me. What if this is all my fault?”

  “Why would it be your fault?” Grayson asks.

  “I gave him a beer. He asked for a damn beer.”

  The look in his eyes tells me he now feels like I had earlier—where I’d felt helpless for not being able to do anything. The look in my brother’s eyes now screams that he is holding himself completely responsible for all of this.

  Leaving Grayson’s embrace, I go over to him, standing in front of him and grabbing hold of his arms to make him stop. When he looks down at me, his eyes are clouded with so many emotions that I can’t read which one is the most prominent. Despite his asshole ways, and the times he smothers me in protection I don’t wish for, I dislike seeing him so strung out about things like this.

  “Ash, this is not your fault. It’s not the only beer he’s had since his stroke, and knowing him, it won’t be the last. The man loves a beer with his boys. This is not down to you.”

  He studies me for a moment before he pulls me against his chest and wraps his arms around me, gripping on to me so tight that it’s a struggle to breathe but I go with it. “God, I fucking hate this.”

  “Me too.”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you earlier. I just freaked out and wanted to make sure Dad was okay. It wasn’t until I was in the ambulance that I realized I never checked you were okay.”

  I smile, understanding it completely as I look over at Grayson. “It’s fine. I had Gray taking care of me.”

  “What would we do without him, hey?”

  “Nora would be fine. It’s your pussy ass that I’d worry about.” Grayson cuts in, relieving the tension between me and Asher.

  “You love me really.”

  “Can’t think why?” Grayson grins, causing both my brother and me to laugh for the first time since we got here before Asher kisses my head.

  “You know I love you, Nora, right?”

  “In your own twisted way.”

  “Watch it,” he squeezes me tighter playfully. “I always swore to Dad that I’d protect you any way I could, and even the age you are, that doesn’t change for me. That will never change for me. You’re our little lady.”

  “Correction. She’s my little lady,” Grayson adds with a grin.

  “She’s your Shortcake.”

  “And also my little lady. Find your own name for her.”

  “The only other one I can think of is ‘annoying’.”

  “Asshole!” I jab him in the ribs playfully, grateful that his strange vibe has left him for a moment, and I’ve got the old Asher back.

  He chuckles. “Couldn’t resist.”

  I’m about to reply when I see Mom through the window of the family room, heading down the corridor with Dad’s regular doctor, Dr. Newman. “There’s Mom.”

  In a flash, Asher is racing out of the door with myself and Grayson right behind him.

  When I approach, Dr. Newman greets us, but it’s the look on Mom’s face that has my chest tighten with apprehension.

  She’s been crying. Why has she been crying?

  “What’s wrong? What’s happened?” I ask, a lump in my throat that’s almost choking.

  “Nothing is wrong, sweetheart,” Mom says with a soft smile. “Your dad has had some nasty seizures that’s all. He’s comfortable now.”

  “Do we know why he had them?”

  “He had a beer,” Asher adds. “Were they because of the beer?”

  Doctor Newman shakes his head. “It’s most likely to do with his previous stroke. Poststroke seizures normally happen within a few hours after. However, for some patients, it’s also common to develop late-onset seizures which we believe is what is happening with your father.”

  “So, it will happen again?” I ask, hating every minute of this conversation.

  Doctor Newman smiles flatly. “It’s ve
ry likely.”

  I look at Mom and see worry in her eyes, but she quickly corrects herself, straightening her stance and holding her head up—the same way she always used to respond when Dad was deployed. It’s her bravery pose, and this time it only makes me feel sick when she does it.

  “Mom?”

  “I’m afraid your father is high risk. And it isn’t going to get any easier for him.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Asher exhales, taking a seat at the side of us and holding his head in his hands. The agony in the pit of my stomach is gripping as I try once again to hold it together, but my emotions rise to the surface. Like he knows I need the strength, I feel the light touch of Grayson’s fingers entwining with mine as he stands behind me.

  “What does this mean for Dad? How bad can they get?” I ask Dr. Newman.

  “The intensity of each one may depend as there’s such a wide scale of them. Some will be vacant episodes, others more severe. Unfortunately, your father’s seizures were on the higher end of the scale—”

  “What does that mean?” I ask, feeling my heart squeeze with the answer I know I’m going to hear.

  Sympathetic eyes hold mine. “I’m afraid those types can be life threatening, if not fatal.”

  I gasp, falling back into Grayson and shaking my head. “No. No, that can’t be right. Mom, that can’t be right.”

  “I’m so sorry, Nora.”

  “So not only could he die if he has another stroke, now he has the added chance with seizures?”

  “I’m very sorry I couldn’t give you better news.”

  Like I’ve no control anymore, my body breaks, and I burst into tears with the news. Why? Why does this have to happen? What has Dad done in this life to deserve this? All the years he’s spent fighting for his country and this is the thanks he gets.

  “This isn’t fair,” I whisper.

  Grayson’s arms wrap around me from behind in a hold so secure it’s as though he’s afraid of letting go, but as much as I need him, I need to see Dad more.

  “I need to see him. When can we see him?”

  “He is available for visitors now. I can take you when you’re ready.”

  “You go, Nora,” Mom says. “I need to speak with Dr. Newman once he’s shown you to your father’s room. I’ll be right with you once we’re done.”

  I look at Asher, who I’ve noticed hasn’t spoken a word. His head is still hanging down, and his shoulders look heavy.

  “Ash, are you coming?”

  “You go. I just need a minute.”

  As we head down the corridor, each step feels like I’m heading down death row. The fear in my stomach from what I’m about to face is unbearable.

  “Is he awake?” I ask Dr. Newman, holding my waist.

  “He’s likely to sleep for a while, but this is normal. There may be times when he drifts in and out, but the exhaustion takes over quickly.”

  “He’s been doing so well,” I whisper. “Or so I thought.”

  Dr. Newman smiles flatly as we get to the door to Dad’s room. “Now, take no notice of the machines, they are just helping us with your father’s observations. Take as long as you need.”

  When I enter the room, the anxiety in my stomach cripples me. The machines around him play their own tunes as Dad lays on his back, sleeping, his head tilted to the side. He looks peaceful. The closer I get to him, the more I notice how pale his skin is—the same color as when I’d arrived home earlier. I knew he hadn’t looked right. My sixth sense had told me as soon as I’d laid eyes on him.

  Taking his hand in mine, I gently stroke his arm as fresh tears sting my eyes at the sight of him laid here looking so helpless. Maybe this is my fault. Maybe I’ve pushed him too much when trying to act like things used to be.

  “You scared me, Pop,” I whisper, wiping the tears from my cheeks. “I thought I was going to lose you. I can’t bear the thought of losing you, and today made me realize how wrong this world would be without you in it. I can’t lose you, Pop. I just can’t.”

  “Nor…” he whispers, and my breath catches.

  “Pop?” Dad’s eyes flutter open but not enough for him to look at me. He’s exhausted but he knows I’m here. “It’s me.”

  With me still holding his hand, he slowly lifts his arm from the mattress. He’s unsteady as always, so I just guide him, unsure what he’s doing, but the second the tips of his fingers brush against my cheeks, my tears fall harder and a sad smile spreads across my face when he whispers. “My… Girl.”

  “I’m here,” I weep. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  But he doesn’t answer. He falls back to sleep, still holding my hand with his pressed against my face.

  “All the times I used to hate seeing you head off to save the world and all the restless nights and nightmares that came with those times. I’d go through them all over again before seeing you the way you were earlier,” I whisper. Those times he’d left had been agonizing. Waiting for him to come home. Wondering if he ever would and because of that, my mind had become so active. I’d dreamed of his death in many ways as each night brought a different nightmare. When the day arrived that he’d be returning home, the sun had shone in my heart, even if the sky outside had been gray.

  My daddy was coming home…

  And I’d run to him like you see the girls do in the movies, and I’d leap into his arms to be spun around by him, laughing and cheering with a smile on my face so wide my cheeks ached. I’d give anything to go back to those moments and see him like that instead of laid here helpless and possibly in discomfort.

  “Nora?” Asher whispers, entering the room. “How’s he doing?”

  “He just woke briefly. He knows we are here.”

  Coming to the end of the bed, my brother stands with his arms folded as if he’s trying to remain confident, but I don’t miss the redness of his eyes from his defeat.

  “He looks so frail,” he murmurs.

  “I know.”

  “Fuck, Nora. This is hard to process,” he sighs, stepping away from the bed and going to the window. “I don’t think I can watch him go through that again.”

  “It’s going to be harder not knowing if and when it will happen. But as hard as it will be, we need to be there for him like he would be us.”

  His jaw muscle moves, but he doesn’t respond. He just watches Dad sleeping, and soon the sounds of the machines have me looking back at Pop.

  “He’s getting old before his time,” I whisper. “His mind and body are giving up on him before his heart is.”

  “Life is one cruel bitch,” he grits.

  “What do we do, Asher. What do we do once he’s gone?”

  “Stop it, Nora. It’s Dad: he’s a fighter.”

  “Who’s losing the battle too quickly.”

  His brain is a ticking time bomb, and all we can do is wait, but like he always does, my brother shuts down and changes the direction of the conversation. “Mom is staying here tonight. I said I’d stay with her. Grayson will take you home.”

  I shake my head. “I’m fine, here.”

  “Nora,” he warns. “You need to rest. There’s nothing you can do until Dad’s awake. Grayson will be with you.”

  I want to say there’s nothing he can do either and that I can make my own decisions about where and when I’ll go, but the truth is, I’m tired. I don’t like hospitals at the best of times, so for the sake of not starting an argument I agree with him.

  “Okay. I’ll go.” I turn to look at him. “But the slightest change, you ring me.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  Kissing Dad on the head once more, I give Asher a hug before I head out of the room with a heaviness in my body at the thought of leaving him and everything I’ve learned today.

  It’s unbearable at times seeing the way he has become and knowing that it’s only a matter of time until a stroke takes hold of him again, or now a seizure. Now he has the chance of either, I feel like I’m a day closer to losing the first man I’ve ever
loved. With a heavy heart, I say goodbye to Mom, and I kiss her on the cheek, right before I head out of the hospital and fall apart.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Grayson

  I pull up outside the Nelsons’ house and turn off the engine to my truck, taking in the silence as the past few hours have been nothing but chaos. I knew from the moment I’d seen the look in Dr. Newman’s eyes that he wasn’t giving good news—I’ve grown to recognize that look over time—and although Pete is doing well with all things considered, that hasn’t stopped the weight in my chest crush me since we heard the news.

  Why is it always the good ones—the ones who fought, loved, and cherish this world and those around it? Why them? Who decides it’s their time to fight for their freedom and health while others walk around this world completely untouchable? I don’t wish ill of anyone, but there are people out there who have done wrong and are still doing it while the likes of Pete and my mother suffer in ways they don’t deserve. Looking over to my porch, I latch eyes on the rocking chair that rests in the corner—Mom’s rocking chair. The one that brings back so many memories each time I walk in and out of the house. That chair has been in our family since she was a child herself, and I’ll never forget the spring mornings I’d find her sitting out on it enjoying her first hot cup of coffee. Spring was her favorite season, and she’d thrived each day like a flower that bloomed. With her fair hair and her green eyes that sparkled, and her big white smile, she was enough to brighten up anyone’s days.

  But that would all change once my father returned home after being deployed.

  Many military wives shed a tear when their loved ones leave, knowing they won’t see them for months or maybe even at all, but with Mom, it had been reversed. She’d lived her best life in the times when Dad hadn’t been around.

  It was fucked up, and I’d never been able to understand it, but the older I got, the more I started to witness, and I understood fully when I saw it clear as day with my own eyes: she hadn’t been terrified of losing him; she’d been terrified of him returning.

  If only she’d known how hard it was for me losing her, maybe then she would have thought twice—still be here. If only she’d realized how fucking hard it had been being back at that shit hole of a hospital today, waiting and waiting. I’d hated every second. I’d felt sick at every turn, and my heart had been racing so fucking fast I’d thought I would end up in the Emergency Department.