I watch him walk away, wishing I didn’t have to go back and sort out what just happened in the restaurant. I’ll make him see everything, I will. But I turn and walk back to the restaurant; Kip and his parents are still inside, eating dessert like nothing happened.
“I asked them to take yours back and bring out a new one.” Kip says, sliding his chair back for me to squeeze through and sit down.
“It’s not going to happen.” I slide the ring off my finger and hold it in a fist, “I don't care about the girl on the phone, Kip. I’ve been in love with Deacon since before I can remember, and there’s no one in this world who can eclipse that. I’m sorry I cheated, and that you found out this way, but we were never going to make it. I don't want to see you again.”
I put the ring on the table, watching his mouth open so violently, it clicks. I turn and walk away, and he says nothing.
I take the quickest route to Deacon’s house, along a lane with no street lights and barely enough room to squeeze my little car down it; I don't know what I’ll do if a car approaches in the opposite direction. The family doesn't take this route; it’s the route Dominic took the night he died, and I slow right down, battling the urge to speed to get to Deacon quicker. I know he’ll go home, it’s his haven; the place he ran to when his dad died, the place he kept himself hidden from the attention in Folquay. The place he ran to after I thought he’d been beaten around by a trait girl. I know he’ll be there.
But when I get to the house, the truck is missing and I’m left disappointed; we’ve waited to be free to be together for too long and I need to tell him how I. It can't be too late, can it?
I sit in the car for a while, parked up outside his house, but remembering he never locks his door, I climb out and let myself in. I settle on the sofa and try to watch a film, but I find myself looking at my watch every five minutes, wondering where else he could have gone. I feel uncomfortable in my dinner outfit, a vibrant pink dress I picked out because I felt so happy about the journey my evening should have taken. I give up on the TV, put the kettle on to make coffee, check my phone and climb the stairs when I notice there’s radio silence from everyone. I rummage through Deacon’s drawers when I get to his bedroom and dress in a pair of his boxers and an old t-shirt of his. I lay on the bed, letting my eyes close for five minutes, wishing away the time until he returns home. A place I’m hoping to call home after tonight; I’m not going anywhere after the conversation I’m eager to have with him.
I wake up to the sun bursting in the windows of Deacon’s bedroom and the sounds of the birds in the trees outside. I’m instantly paranoid that he didn’t come home. Deacon’s way of dealing with emotional turmoil is to go and get laid – a ritual I’m all too familiar with, although I favour baking after the reputation I got myself in my last year of uni. I climb off the bed, straightening the duvet and pad downstairs to put the kettle on and continue what I started last night. The house is cold and I’m achingly aware of Deacon’s absence, and I notice my blanket folded over the back of the sofa; I wrap it around my shoulders and tap my fingers on the counter, waiting for the switch of the kettle – I’m still not brave enough to use the coffee machine; especially without Deacon to come to the rescue if I set it on fire. Where is he?
I take my coffee and go out into the garden, eclipsed in shadows by the house, and sit at the picnic table. I take my first sip of coffee and try to distract myself from the urge to check my phone. One night away is enough to have people calling after me to see if I’ve ran away again, and plenty of time for Kip to think I’ve had enough time to regret my decision. I don't want to think of anything but Deacon. Even if he has text me I’m not going to look. He’ll be home soon enough, and I’ll be waiting here, ready to make everything right. I spot the little gym set-up out of the corner of my eye, and curiosity, boredom and impatience have my mind catching up with my feet on the way to the tree. I stand under the branch, remembering the way Deacon looked when he was exercising, every pull and release of his body, his muscles straining under the pressure. The way he pounded the punch bag swinging in the breeze, before shoving me against the tree and taking me the way I’ve always wanted to be taken. I run my hand down the trunk, and look up at the branch again. Raising my arms I try to reach it, but after three attempts of jumping as high as I can to grab hold of it, I give up, settling for measly punches on the bag. Anything to keep the memories of the journey Deacon and I have taken over the last few weeks. Even Emma letting herself into the house he created and catching us in an uncompromising position, is a sweet memory of our whirlwind time together.
My punches are weak and my knuckles hurt after a few tries. And it’s too cold to not have my blanket comforting me. I need the comfort more and more as time passes without Deacon’s presence in the house, so I go back in to snuggle on the sofa and continue my torturous wait. But my phone is waiting on the coffee table, where I left it the last time I checked it and when I slide the screen open I notice a hoard of missed calls and a voicemail. I don't know who the missed calls are from; I’m calling my voicemail before I think about it, praying it’s not a stupid message from Kip, but a message from Deac telling me he hasn’t ran away, and he’s on his way home to find me.
“Jenna!” A voice panics as the message flows. It’s my mum, “There’s been an accident. Deacon’s been hurt. Call me.”
Chapter 29
Jenna
I don't call her; she didn’t need to tell me anything more than she did. It’s a chilling reflection of the message I got from her the night I got back to London, telling me Dom had been in an accident. She didn’t know at that point that we would never see him again. Never tell him about the feelings we took for granted.
I don't know what I do, but suddenly I’m running through the entrance of the hospital in a haze of panic and regret and guilt. I remember pulling on a pair of Deacon’s bottoms, and now I’m here, screaming at the receptionist to tell me where he is.
“Do you have permission to see him?” She asks, looking at me over her glasses.
“I'm... he’s... we’re family.”
After a phone call to another department, she looks at me, narrowing her eyes.
“What’s your name?”
“Jenna.” I’m out of breath, hyperventilating and this woman want to know my name?! “My name is Jenna Rivera. Please, you have to let me see him.”
She finishes her conversation quickly and gives me his floor and room number and I’m running to the lift, ignoring the burning in my chest and tears in my eyes that are threatening to consume me. It can't be too late. It can’t be.
“Mum!” I cry, running into my mother’s arms when I reach the waiting room for Deacon’s ward, “What happened?”
~
Three days pass in a blur. I sit by Deacon’s bed, waiting for him to come out of his medically induced coma, with Emma on the opposite side of the bed. We sit in silence for the most part, and I know she blames me for this. And that’s okay because it is my fault. I can accept her anger, because I deserve the punishment. Not Deacon; he doesn’t deserve this, not when all he did was want to be with me, and I had to make things complicated. I never wanted anyone else, so why did I not jump at the chance to live the fairytale life I dreamed of with him? And now he’s in hospital, looking like my Red on the outside, but with the possibility that the inside will be changed forever. There is no way of knowing what damage has been done to him, until the doctors wake him up.
He looks peaceful; there isn’t one scratch on his beautiful skin, and it breaks my heart even more to think of him suffering, alone on the inside, stuck in a comatose state and screaming to get out.
I should have gone with him; we would have gone for a walk, or gone back to my place or back to Emma’s, too desperate to be together to climb in his pick-up truck. If I had done what he asked and gone with him, never looking back, he wouldn’t have driven his truck to get as far away from me as possible. He wouldn’t have been on the road leading to his house, th
e road that leads to his drive from the opposite side to the route I took. He wouldn’t have been on the road with a drink driver. The drink driver wouldn’t have misjudged his speed and positioning on the road. And Deacon wouldn’t have been the victim of a head-on collision that resulted in him being kept asleep in intensive care.
I wipe a single tear and lean over to hold his hand. It’s still warm like I remember, but there’s no reassuring squeeze, and nothing other than the beeping of all the machines connected to him by tubes and wires, to let me know he’s still with us, holding on.
Brad comes to visit with Jonas during morning visiting hours and they bring breakfast. Emma and I share the only little eye-contact we’ve had since I got here Monday when we both pick at what we’ve been given. When the boys have said their piece to Deacon, telling him he’s missing Wimbledon, and that the maternity ward has fallen down without him, they leave with one look at us as we stare back, pretending for a few long seconds that we’re okay and not falling apart from the inside out. They leave and I stand, knowing Emma is going to feel as sick as I at the sight of food, and hold my hand out for her container of pancakes and bacon. She holds it out to me, keeping her eyes on her youngest son’s resting form, and I throw both tubs in the bin, not bothering to scrape the food out and keep the boxes. They’re replaceable. Deacon Reid isn’t. Not to Emma, not to the rest of the family who always rely on his sporting stories, or conquest stories, or any of the other things that bring so much light to our lives when Deacon is in the room. And not to me; there will never be another man who I grew up with, who knows everything about me, right down to the blood cells pumping round my body. There will never be another man who knows all my faults, and accepts me anyway.
A doctor comes in for the morning checks on Deacon and eyes us warily. I know he wonders if we’ve left, which we haven’t, but knows better than to question two emotional women who are just about keeping the dam in place.
“We want to give Mr. Reid one last CT scan before we bring him out of his sleep.” The doctor says, looking between the clipboard in his hand and the computer screens that show Deacon fighting, as always.
“Why do you need another one?” Emma asks, reaching up her sleeve for a tissue.
“The EEG patterns are looking good, Mrs. Reid. We’re almost happy to retract the intravenous keeping Deacon asleep. We just want to make sure that there are no hidden injuries before we do so.”
Emma nods, as satisfied as one can be in this situation. I can't imagine what she must be going through; she did this once before and the result was the worst that could be expected. But to go through it again, with the boy she gave birth to. I hope I have a hundred of Deacon’s babies and never have to go through a fraction of her turmoil.
“So he’s going to wake up?” I ask, ignoring the daggers from Emma.
“He’s a strong, healthy young man. We have every reason to believe he will wake up.” The doctor says confidently, “But we won't know for sure until we have performed the scan and withdrawn the medication.”
My turn to nod, as my lip trembles and I know if Deacon was awake he would fight with everything he had, not to be wheeled through the hospital for everyone to see, looking anything but his strong, powerful best. The doctor leaves us, telling us we should get some fresh air, which we both decline, and promises us he’ll be back within the hour to take Deacon to have the scan.
The doctor keeps his word and returns with an assistant to take Deacon to wherever he has to go to have his brain checked. I’m filled with hope, knowing they’re contemplating waking him up. That must be a good sign, and for the first time in three horrendous days, there is a flicker of light at the end of this tunnel.
The doctor and assistant wheel the bed out of the room Emma insisted on paying for out of her inheritance from Dom, and it’s just us in the room, slumped lethargically in the wooden chairs, a vast gulf where Deacon had been between us. He’s taken all the energy from the room with him and it feels like the oxygen has followed. It’s the first time since I got here after the accident that I’ve been away from him, apart from a few minutes sleep at a time with my head resting on his bed, or the rushed toilet breaks to the adjoining bathroom. Emma breaks down, keening into her hands, her shoulders shaking violently. I close the space between us quickly and wrap my arms around her slim frame, fighting against her as she tries to push me away, until she relents and hugs my waist, crying freely into my chest. I sit on her lap, the lack of food and adequate drink making my legs weak and allow myself to cry too, quietly so she doesn’t hear me. No matter how angry she is with me, I have to be strong and comfort her. My phone vibrates from the counter next to the bed but I ignore it, holding Emma’s head in my hand and stroking my hand through the blond locks her son inherited.
“Your fiancé’s ringing.” She pushes me from her lap and stands up, looking out of the window at the ward outside.
“He’s not my fiancé.” I reach out and turn my phone off, cutting off Kip’s call.
“Since when? He was your fiancé when my son got in his car Sunday night.”
“Deac and I had a fight.” I confess, “I made him go away so I could get rid of Kip for good.”
I swipe my arm across my eyes.
“I went straight to Deac’s to tell him everything. How sorry I am, how much I love him. I wanted to tell him everything I’ve wanted to tell him for years.” I let the tears fall, knowing Emma isn’t looking at me, “but he didn’t come home. I thought he was angry but he’d come back eventually. I didn’t realise he might leave me and I might never get the chance to tell him I love him. I love him so much.”
“You better hope it’s not too late then.”
She opens the door and steps outside, slamming the door behind her. She stands with her back to the window and stares out at the bustling medical energy. I can't help but think I might have lost Deacon forever, but that I’ve lost my second mother, too. The only other person who understands what I’m going through. He owns me. Completely, irrevocably. He always has. My heart, body and soul belong to this man and I wouldn't have it any other way. I just hope I'm not too late.
My parents arrive at lunchtime and Deacon is still having his scan. Emma is still standing outside and I have taken my seat, praying to God and Dom to get Deac through this. We had our second chance at the precious first love people dream of and I blew it; but I pray for a third, so I can spend the rest of my life making it up to Deacon. I’ll fulfil every fantasy he has, give up everything I have to call him mine, and introduce myself to everyone I ever meet as his. Only his.
“Querida?” Dad comes into the room, while my mum is outside, hugging Emma.
“Hi, dad.”
There’s a silence as he sits in Emma’s seat; and he looks alien being in this room. Anything but Emma in her painful silence, Deacon in his torturous slumber, and me in my autopilot mode, shouldn’t be in here. Dad doesn’t know what to say, I see it written in his eyes. What is there to say that will make this any better? Nothing. There is no sound anyone other than Deacon could make that would cure this ache in every cell of my body. So we sit in silence, Dad staring at me, me staring into the space where Deacon’s face would normally be. It’s routine already; I sit in one spot, drinking as little as possible to avoid needing the toilet, and keeping myself awake by recalling every memory Deac and I ever made together, just to keep myself sane.
“I brought you a change of clothes.” Dad finally says.
“No.” I say, because I’m still wearing what I put on Sunday night, except for the clean underwear I put on every day after a record-breaking quick wash. They still smell of Deac and it helps me remember when his scent was on my skin as he made love to me that I wish lasted forever.
“I went to Deacon’s house to bring you some clothes.” Even someone else other than doctors saying his name feels weird, “I brought dirty and clean ones.”
I almost smile.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Mum packed a f
ew flannels and some chocolate milk.” Dad slides the carton across the floor, seemingly noticing no man’s land. It’s Deacon’s space, “You were so nervous when Deacon had his tonsils out, it’s all you would drink.”
I almost smile again. Dad can do that to people in times of serious trauma. I love him for it, but it’s just not enough right now. I had forgotten about my nerve-settling chocolate milk drinking habit.
“Thanks, Dad.”
The door swings open and Emma and Mum file in, followed by the doctor, the assistant and the love of my life. He looks the same, still sleeping and still as stunning as ever. I don't think I’ve ever told him how beautiful he is. It’s something else I will tell him when he wakes up.
“Everything went well with the scan.” The doctor says as the nurse leaves the room, “We should have the results back with you in an hour or so.”
“Thank you.” Emma says, gripping onto my mother for the support I’m desperate to give her.
“Some families find that when in situations like this, it helps to talk to the patient.” The doctor nods towards Deac who is positioned back where he belongs. For now, “It can be comforting for the family and there is the theory that the patients can hear you.”
We thank him again, and he turns to leave, shutting the door softly behind him.
I stand with my hands behind my back and stare at the blanket covering Deacon’s feet, suddenly feeling like I’m an intruder. My body jerks in surprise when Emma cocoons me in her arms, squeezing me tightly and I open my eyes to realise my parents have disappeared.
“He loves you so much, Jen.” She whispers, kissing the top of my head, “If he’s fighting to come back to us, it’ll be because of you.”
Second Chance Hero Page 31