“Everything’s good. I’m good,” I say, still frozen to my spot. Guess I’m a better liar than I used to be, because I’m bawling like a baby. “How are you?”
“I’m doing a lot better,” he says.
“That’s great. I’m happy for you,” I say, and I am. No matter how badly he hurt me. I don’t want him to suffer any more than he has.
“I’m at a rehab facility in Atlanta. It’s helping.”
I had no idea. I didn’t know he wasn’t in Charleston. I’ve cut myself off from him, and the people around me have respected my need for a complete blackout on Rhett information.
“I know I have no right to ask, but I was wondering if you could come visit me.” I hear his voice crack. Hot tears flow down my cheeks, and there’s no hiding my sobs any longer. “Oh, Ainsley, baby, please don’t cry. Please, baby.”
All it takes is that little term of endearment for me to break the rest of the way. Collapsing to my bathroom floor, I cry, “I waited so long for you to ask for me. You never did.”
“I know I shouldn’t ask now, but . . .”
“I’m on my way,” I say, wiping my tears.
I hang up, grab a duffel bag, fling some clothes and toiletries inside, and am out the door within fifteen minutes. I’ve waited for this moment for so long, and I’m not about to waste a second. I open the front door and smack right into Brody and Skye.
“Hey, where are you going?” Brody asks.
“Atlanta,” I say, closing the door and locking it. “Rhett called. He needs to see me. He’s at a facility there.”
“I know,” he says.
Skye and I both stare at him. He shuffles his feet a little. “I’ve been writing to him.”
“You never told me that,” Skye says. He never told me, either.
“Have you talked to Rhett?” I ask.
“I try every week, but he never answers.” Brody places his hands on my shoulders. “I’m not sure why he’s reaching out to you now, but you shouldn’t go alone. Skye or I will go with you.”
“I’m leaving now,” I say, pushing the button to the elevator. “So I can see him first thing in the morning.”
“Ainsley,” Skye starts. “Brody’s right. Stop and think for a minute.”
I don’t want to stop and think. I don’t want to think about what this means. I don’t want to think about what we will say, how we will act, what he wants. I just want to see him, at least one more time. To know that he’s really all right. To say the things to him that I never got to say. I want him to see my tears. I want him to hear me scream. I want him to feel what he did to me. But mostly, I want him to see what he lost. For the first time since all this started, I feel a tiny flame in my chest.
They say the second step in grieving is anger. Guess I just got there.
I step inside the elevator. “I’m leaving now. I’ll call you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
THIRTEEN MONTHS AGO
AINSLEY
I don’t know how many days it’s been. It all seems like one big nightmare. The days and nights run together; time moves so slowly in the hospital. Every second seems like an hour. He’s been unconscious for a lot of it—the trauma, surgery, and different procedures.
I’m thankful he was out for a lot of it. Maybe he won’t remember, because I will. Every long second. There’s not a detail I don’t remember—the color of the hair scrunchy the admit nurse wore, every item in the vending machine, the smell of Rhett’s hair when they wheeled him out of surgery. I live and breathe it all. It’s as if I’m acutely aware that each minute could be my last, so my senses pick up on everything, but the constant drumbeat in my head is: It will be okay.
It’s a constant prayer, as if saying it enough can will it to be true. They are the words I whisper in his ear when I’m not sure if he can even hear me. Over and over again, more times than I can remember.
It will be okay.
A promise. My promise to him. And I always seal it with a little kiss on his lips.
It’s truly amazing what we are capable of as human beings. Things you think you could never get through, somehow you do. I never thought I could sit and wait through hours and hours of surgery, never eating, never going to the bathroom, but I did. I never thought I could sleep in a chair for nights and nights on end, but I have. I never thought I could hold in my tears when the doctor told us Rhett wouldn’t walk again. But I had to.
The doctors had been vague as to his prognosis, hoping once the swelling went down and the rods were in place, something might change. But yesterday, they finally delivered the final blow.
The paralysis is permanent. He won’t walk again.
When something like this happens, there’s a lot of stages you go through.
There’s the initial shock.
Is this really happening?
Why Rhett?
Then there’s the deal making.
Please God, I’ll do anything if you make Rhett okay.
Now comes the anger—at least for Rhett. Alert and fully aware of what’s happened, he jumped straight to the anger stage, often distant, short-tempered, and in pain.
“Rhett, you have to eat something,” I beg. “You need your strength.”
“Why?” he snaps at me. “Doesn’t take much energy to lay here every fucking day.”
“So your body can heal and . . .”
“Did you fucking hear what the doctor said!” he shouts. “I’m not getting better.”
“I heard him say you won’t be able to walk,” I say. “But you will get better. We will learn how to get around in a wheelchair and . . .”
“We?” He uses his arms to pull himself up a little in his hospital bed. “Did you get your back broken, too? There is no we!”
I hold my left hand in front of his face, the diamond ring bright as hell under the hospital lights. “We!”
He grabs my hands hard, much stronger than I expected from a man who’s been through what he has, pinning them to his bed, pulling me close to him. We’re in a hospital. He’s been seriously hurt, but the muscles between my legs still clench together. He has to know he still gets to me.
“Remember the patio?” he asks.
The first time we had sex. He knows I remember. He pinned me to the wall and fucked me . . .
Standing up! My eyes start to water.
He releases me, saying, “That’s right. We’re never doing that again.”
“Rhett,” I say softly. “It doesn’t matter . . .”
“It matters to me!” he shouts. “Don’t you get it? I’ll never be able to make love to you again.”
“No, the doctor said . . .”
A bouquet of flowers flies past my head, slamming against the wall behind me. I look at Rhett, breathing heavy from the throw. “I’ll never be able to make love to you the way I want to. We’ll never be able to have children.”
I know these things aren’t true. I’ve spent my nights Googling and reading everything I can about paralysis. Most patients go on to have full and satisfying sex lives, but Rhett’s not going to listen to that right now. He doesn’t want to hear that even though most men with paralysis have a problem ejaculating, there are things doctors can do to help. It’s not going to matter to him right now. All he’s thinking about is what he can’t have, not what he can.
“You can’t want this. You wouldn’t want half a man.”
“I just want a life with you Rhett. Any life,” I say, sobbing.
“I promised you everything, and now I can’t give it to you.”
“You are everything!” I cry out.
A nurse rushes in, seeing the mess on the floor. I wipe my face, bending down to clean up. There’s no reason why the nurse should have to do it. It’s not her job to clean up our mess.
“Everything okay in here?” the nurse asks.
“We’re okay,” I tell her, looking over at Rhett.
The flowers weren’t in a vase, so there’s no broken glass, but the petals are everywhere,
the stems shattered—roses. Picking up the petals, some still look fresh, others starting to wilt. The rose is a symbol of love. Maybe Rhett and I are like the rose. Beautiful, but not destined to last.
Holding my eyes, his voice colder than ever, he tells the nurse, “Get her out of here, and don’t let her back in.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
PRESENT DAY
AINSLEY
I walk into a vast workout room, gripping the strap of my purse and scanning the room for Rhett. I made it to Atlanta in record time, spent the night in a hotel close to the facility, didn’t sleep at all, second and third-guessed what the hell I was doing. I dropped my life with one phone call from him. I didn’t make any arrangements at the store. He called, and I came. Does that make me crazy? Weak? The last time I saw him, he was yelling and throwing things at me. Maybe this is a mistake?
“Can I help you?” a deep voice asks. Turning around, I’m greeted by a warm smile coming from a man in scrubs. “I’m Jay, one of the PT assistants.”
“I’m Ainsley Rose. I’m looking . . .”
“Rhett,” he says, smiling, and I nod. “He’s being stretched out in the back. Come on, I’ll show you.”
I follow him through the room, trying not to stare at all the men and women with no limbs or those confined to wheelchairs. Before Rhett was paralyzed, I don’t think I ever gave thanks for my legs, but I do now. Being here brings it all back.
I hear one man crying, another cursing, others cheering and laughing. I stop “not” looking. This is their reality. They live it every day. The least I can do is not treat them differently. I wouldn’t want Rhett to be ignored or deliberately overlooked.
Jay looks back at me, giving me a grin. “How did you know who I am?” I ask.
“Rhett talks about you a lot.”
My legs stop working. Jay turns and looks at me, placing his hand on my shoulder. “It’s good you came. He needs to see you.” I give a little nod indicating that I’m all right, even though I’m more nervous than I’ve ever been.
I follow him to a set of double doors. “Ready?” he asks, placing his hand on the door. When I don’t respond, he removes his hand. “Take your time.”
I know Rhett is just beyond those doors. I’ve waited for this moment for months. It’s finally here. Why am I hesitating? “Thank you,” I say. “It’s been a really long time since I’ve seen him.”
“You don’t have to explain a thing to me,” he says, lifting the cuff of his pants slightly, showing me his prosthetic leg.
“I had no idea,” I say.
“That’s how I know you’ll be okay. You see me, not this,” he says, motioning to his leg.
“You met me two minutes ago,” I say, smiling.
“It’s been a meaningful two minutes, wouldn’t you say?” he asks with a laugh.
“The thing is, I’m angry at him. Hurt and so many other emotions, and I don’t want to lose it.”
He shrugs. “Lose it? From what Rhett’s told me, he deserves for you to yell at him. Would you have yelled at him before the accident?”
“Yeah. I might have kneed him in the balls.”
“Maybe don’t do that,” he chuckles. “But treat him the same way. He’s the same man.”
“I know that,” I say. “But does he know that? That he’s the same man.”
“I think he’s getting there,” Jay says.
He places his hand back on the door. After I take a deep breath, he pushes it open, and my eyes immediately land on Rhett sitting on a table in a t-shirt and athletic shorts while a young man stretches out his legs. Rhett’s tan and still has the same muscular build. I’d almost forgotten how handsome he is. And he looks so good—strong. Sitting there, no one would ever know he doesn’t have use of his legs.
Rhett looks up, his pale blue eyes shooting right at me. I can tell his instinct is to leap off the table and come to me, but he can’t. I’ll have to go to him, but my legs aren’t working, either.
Before I know it, Sadie’s running at me, jumping up, her tail moving at lightning speed. She’s grayer around the face than she was last time I saw her. I guess this has been rough on her, too. I pat her, but my focus is on her owner.
“A. Rose?” His voice catches. “I didn’t think you’d really come. Especially not the next day.”
“I told you I was on my way,” I say in a whisper then take a few steps toward him, not trusting the kindness in his face.
The last time I saw him, he was so cold, cruel, and angry. But this is the face of my Rhett. This is the man I know. All the hurt, anger, and sadness get pushed aside, replaced with thankfulness. He holds open his arms, and I fly to him, tears flowing down my cheeks, burying my head in his neck.
“You look so much better,” I cry. “Like you.”
Rhett runs his fingers through my hair as Jay and the therapist excuse themselves. I’m not sure how long we stay like that, but I don’t care. I haven’t hugged him in so long, and neither one of us seems able to let go. The muscles of his back feel so familiar to me, the way he smells, everything about him. It’s like no time has passed at all. Every part of me remembers him.
My phone interrupts our moment, forcing us to release each other. I look down, seeing it’s Brody and hit decline. I don’t return to my place in his arms.
“Brody,” I say.
“Some things never change,” Rhett says, taking my hand and stroking my knuckles gently.
He’s right, but I slip my hand away. “Some things do,” I say.
Using his arms, he pushes himself up and over into his wheelchair. It surprises me how easy it looks for him now. “How about I show you around?”
Nodding, I move toward the back of his chair. He pushes the wheels before I can get my hands on the bars, his subtle hint that I don’t need to help him.
I spend the next hour getting a tour of the facility, with Sadie following along. He moves around in his wheelchair without any assistance from me. I find myself forgetting he’s even in the chair at all unless I’m looking directly at him. Everything about his demeanor is exactly the way it was before the accident—happy and fun.
The place isn’t at all what I expected. Even though it’s for rehabilitation, there’s nothing “hospital-like” about it. It looks more like a luxury apartment complex, just with very specialized amenities. He shows me the basketball court, tennis court, the various therapy rooms, and counseling centers. Everywhere we go, someone greets me by name. It’s as if everyone knows who I am. It’s a little unnerving.
Most importantly, Rhett seems happy, adjusted. It’s great to see him back to his old self. Still, I wonder why he called in the first place. What am I doing here? Why did he finally want to see me? It can’t be to give me a tour.
“The indoor pool’s through there,” Rhett says, pointing toward some double doors. “I haven’t been able to go in there yet.”
“I haven’t been able to go swimming since, either,” I say. “How about we go in there together?”
He gives me a little nod, and I open the door, holding it for him. He slowly rolls in, Sadie beside him. I watch him staring at the water and know he’s replaying those fateful seconds in his mind. God knows, I’ve replayed those hours he was in surgery over and over in mine.
Tears start down my face. “I’m sorry,” I manage to say. “You didn’t want to go that night. I made you.”
He grabs my wrist, gently pulling me to him. “Is that what you think?”
I cling to his shirt, sobbing, unable to catch my breath. “If I . . .” My chest starts to heave, and I can’t get out any words.
He takes my face in his hands and whispers, “Stop.”
“But . . .”
“Ainsley, stop this right now. This is not your fault. I was drunk and did something stupid.”
“It’s my fault,” I sob.
“Jesus Christ, all this time, that’s what you’ve thought?” he asks, stroking my hair. I nod. “No, baby. We were partying and having a good time.
This isn’t your fault.”
“I thought maybe that’s why you didn’t want me anymore.”
“I promise you,” he says, his eyes tender, taking both my hands in his. “You are the reason I lived.”
His words make the shattered pieces of my heart break even more. “But after you heard you wouldn’t walk again, you refused to see me. I loved you so much, and you just blocked me out.”
“I was so angry at the world. I wanted you to have a life. A chance at a normal life with a man who could give you the world, not be a nurse to me.”
“I just wanted you, Rhett.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, his words so honest. Gently, he wipes my tears with his fingers. “I thought I was doing the right thing, letting you go.”
If only he could wipe away the hurt as easily as he wipes away my tears. “I loved you,” I cry. “I loved you so much.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
SEVEN MONTHS AGO
AINSLEY
I waited six months, one week, and two days—until what was supposed to be our wedding day. I came to see him every day, sitting in the hospital waiting room, or on his parents’ front porch after he was discharged and came to stay with them. Sometimes, like tonight, I sit on the porch swing of his parents’ house—other times, on the front steps. The white railings of the porch have been my prison while I wait. Unlike inmates, I have no idea how long my sentence will last, and I don’t get any Sunday visits from the love of my life. He’s in a prison himself, a self-imposed solitary confinement.
I’ve been waiting so long the seasons have changed. I’ve watched the trees and bushes die, the cold wind replacing the Charleston heat that invades most of the year. Even in the rain, I waited.
Every day, I sat and hoped he’d want me.
It’s nearly midnight on what should be the happiest day of my life. In five minutes, I’ll keep the promise I made to myself. If he doesn’t see me, I won’t come back. I won’t call or write anymore. I’ll give him what he wants—a life without me.
Taking out my sewing needle, I place the last fabric rose on the bottom of the dress. This has been my saving grace, my hope—making my wedding dress, the modern version of my mother’s dress. Rhett’s mother, Diane, has seen me sewing it every day. She comes out to sit with me most days. Many months ago I stopped hoping she was coming to tell me that Rhett was asking for me.
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