Second Chance Hero

by Rebecca Sherwin

  The dam bursts and I cry like I never have before and fall to my knees, taking Emma with me; it’s years of pent up tears and they fall at the idea that Deacon might feel this love the same way I do; world shifting, life altering love that you would sacrifice anything to materialise and bottle to keep for life. If Deacon even feels a fraction of the love I feel for him, it will be enough for me to live a long a happy life. Nothing is certain in life; people can be taken without warning, without reason. The only thing that is certain is that what I feel for this man, who has brushed death and is not yet out of the woods, is enough to make every precious day we get together feel like a lifetime in itself.

  “He has to wake up.” I cry, my sobs uncontrollable, “He has to!”

  Emma pulls away from me, her hands on my shoulders and rubbing the tops of my arms.

  “I need to go and shower and have some coffee.” She takes a deep breath, “Talk to him. Tell him everything. If he can hear you, it’ll bring him back. I know it.”

  I nod and we resume sitting in our usual seats, waiting for the doctor to return with the results before Emma leaves.

  “The results from the test are promising.” The doctor I now know as Doctor Sharpe has pulled up a chair at the end of the bed, “We’re happy to start withdrawing the medication that is keeping Deacon sedated. We think what happened was caused by serious whiplash, which moved his brain against his skull and caused what we call a diffused closed head injury. There may be some nerve damage, which we won't know until he is awake and we can do some more checks. The coma was just to give his brain a rest from the trauma of the crash, let him recover a little and take some pressure off his brain.”

  This is so painful to hear, knowing whatever happened to Deacon before he lost consciousness must have hurt him; but Dr. Sharpe continues and it’s almost a relief to hear some of the science behind the necessary slumber.

  “What we’ll do, starting this afternoon, is gradually decrease the dosage of the medication used to keep him asleep. We’ll keep checking his brain activity with the EEG, and providing no anomalies show up, we will continue the decrease until we’re not administering it. Then it will just be a matter of waiting until Deacon is ready to wake up.”

  We thank the doctor and both grab hold of one of Deacon’s hands as the doctor stands.

  “Doctor Sharpe?” I call as he begins to shut the door, “Would it be okay to give him a wash? Is it okay to touch him?”

  “Sure,” he smiles, “I’m sure he’d like a wash.”

  Emma leaves shortly after the first decrease of Deacon’s medication, and it feels weird to be alone with him. I talk to people who can't respond all the time; I have brilliant one-way conversations with Dom when I’m baking or thinking about Deacon. But this feels weird, talking to him knowing he won't answer, and I don't like the idea that if he can hear me, he’s trying to say things back that I just won't hear.

  So I settle for borrowing a bowl from reception, calling from the door of the room, not wanting Deacon to be out of my sight. A nurse brings me a bowl that’s big enough to do the washing up in, and I fill it with luke-warm water, putting one of the flannels in the bowl and watching it sink to the bottom. I take a sip of my chocolate milk which is, surprisingly still a nerve settler, and wring the flannel out, watching the water drip back into the bowl, remembering the bath I had with Deacon on Friday. Everything I do reminds me of him, and at this moment in time, reminders are all I have.

  “There’s no soap. It doesn’t smell as good as your bath oils,” I say wiping the flannel across his forehead, the tears threatening to surge as I remember there might be something wrong in there, “but you’re covered in dirt from the rescue. You smell like a mechanic.”

  The nurse had given him a wash when he came in, but bits of oil from the car and dust from the airbags still linger on his hair line, in his eye brows and on the light smattering of hair that is growing on his jaw. I wipe it all off slowly.

  “The doctor says you can wake up soon, and when you do be prepared for me to tell you a hundred times that I love you. I should have told you weeks, no, years ago. I hope that I’m not too late this time. We have our whole lives ahead of us, Deac. I want to spend every day of it with you. I want to watch you sleeping when the sun bursts in your window in the morning, cook you waffles because I know you love them homemade but can’t make them yourself. I want to wash the dust and dirt off you in the shower when you come home from work and sleep in your bed every night. I want to be every one of your fantasies come true. But I can't do that unless you wake up and get better. It’s just you and me, like Sonny and Cher.”

  Chapter 30

  Deacon

  I think I’ve opened my eyes but I see nothing but darkness. I feel like I’ve been sleeping for days, but just haven’t had enough. I don't remember going to bed last night, and don't know why I’m awake, and can't see anything.

  “It was crazy. Everything about it was crazy and stupid and I should have just done what I knew was right.”

  It’s Jenna. She’s in my dream as usual, but she sounds different. Something isn’t right.

  “People do crazy things, Jen,” Mum? “and most people can have an adult conversation and resolve it. Most people aren’t faced with death before saying what needs to be said.”

  Death? Why are my mum and Jenna in my black dream, talking about death?

  “I think I’ll survive if he’s too angry to forgive me. But what if he’s never the same? What if he’s forgotten? Suddenly we go from everything to nothing.”

  “Who died?” I croak, my mouth desert dry.

  “Deac?!” Jenna screeches and my hand is suddenly cocooned in the warmth of hers. This isn’t a dream.

  “I can't open my eyes,” I say, hearing sobs from a bit further away.

  “I’ll get a doctor.” Mum says and I hear her panicking.

  “No, wait.” Why does Jenna sound so weird? I’m so confused, “Deac, this might sting.”

  “What might - Ah!” Something is ripped from my eyelids and my eyes spring open.

  I squeeze them shut as the light bursts in, intense and painful. But not before I notice I’m laying down in a white room, with what looks like Mum and Jenna leaning over me. Everything feels uncomfortable and stiff. And I’ve got a mean hangover.

  “Where the fuck did this come from?” I pull at the bit of plastic under my nose, tugging something on the back of one hand and the thumb on the other, “What’s going on?”

  “How do you feel?” Jenna asks, stroking my forehead. I can't see straight, but I know it’s her because she smells of a weird mix of the two of us. I love that smell when it’s on my sheets.

  “Like I’ve been hit by a freight train.”

  She laughs and then whimpers. Mum mentions getting a doctor again and I hear the sound of her walking and a door opening and shutting.

  “Baby, I’m so sorry.” She holds my hand again and I squeeze tightly, checking if whatever this is, is really happening.

  I can see her now; I've blinked enough times to bring her into focus and she’s crying. Her cheeks are stained with tears, black smudges under her eyes and her hair is in a killer tangle. She looks a mess.

  “Jen.”

  “Mr. Reid!” A loud voice booms with too much excitement for a man.

  “Who the hell are you?” I ask, trying to sit up but he thrusts an arm out across my chest to still me and that’s when I see all the wires, “What’s going on?”

  “You’ve been asleep, Deacon.” He says and I see ‘Dr. Peter Sharpe’ on a white and blue badge on his white jacket, “I need you to stay still. Let me just check you out.”

  Check me out? What is he talking about? He stretches an eyelid up with a finger and flashes a little light in my eye before doing the same with the other. Then there's a strap around the top of my arm and it’s squeezing hard, the sounds of whirring and beeping in the background doing my head in. It’s pounding as it is, but the beeping and whirring and Dr. Sharpe talki
ng to himself sends shooting pains through the back of it, and I reach around with the hand that isn’t having all the blood squeezed from it and feel the wires stuck to my head. Wait, he’s a doctor. What?

  “What happened?” I ask, realising now why I'm in this room, with my mum and Jenna looking...off, and a white-coated man checking my vitals, “What happened to me?”

  “What’s the last thing you remember?” Dr Sharpe asks, ripping the strap off me and pushing buttons on a machine that sends an ear-splitting sound through my head. I shudder.

  Mum unscrews a bottle of water and holds it to my mouth. I grab the plastic, swatting her hand away and drink so fast, the bottle compresses and screws up in my hand.

  “I can't think straight,” I struggle to sit up again, but refrain when I realise everything hurts, “can you turn down the god damn noise?”

  One second the sound is stabbing me in the head and the next everything is silent.

  “What is the last thing you remember?”

  “I heard you the first time.” I groan, “I don't know. I-”

  I remember. I look at Jenna and her eyes instantly leave mine and look down at where she’s still gripping my hand as if I’m going to run away. No chance, I'm not going anywhere. Even if I wanted to, every muscle in my body hurts.

  “I was...” I squeeze my eyes shut, search for something, but I’m not sure what I’m searching for, “I don't remember anything.”

  “When’s your birthday?”

  “November twenty seventh.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Deacon,” I squeeze my eyes shut so hard I see stars, “Deacon Axel Reid.”

  “And where do you live?”

  “What’s with the questions?”

  “Where do you live? And who do you live with?”

  Apparently they’re necessary, “I live by myself, Cliff Point in Folquay.”

  The doctor sets his clipboard somewhere near my feet, which I can't see because I can't sit up. He straightens his back, squares his shoulders and takes a deep, stern expression.

  “I need to sit up.” I might be confused as hell, but I’m well aware he wants to talk and I need to see around me. I feel helpless, useless. Terrible.

  He nods and presses a button; the back of the bed moves and I sit up. The entire room is white, too bright that I have to shut my eyes again. When I hear the tell-tale sound of a light switch I open them again, and the room has darkened, only the light from outside flows in, casting the room in a relaxing hue.

  “It’s okay, darling.” Mum says squeezing my hand, but I’m concentrating on Jenna’s tight grip on the other, the strained sounds coming from her, and the doctor at the end of my bed.

  “There was an accident, Mr. Reid,” he starts, “do you remember it?”

  I shake my head, “Jenna.” I turn to her, but she shakes her head.

  “It was just you.” Her voice breaks, “You were on your own.”

  I don't remember. I look away from her, trying to understand what happened. I haven’t got a clue.

  “What accident?”

  “It’s normal to not remember anything. You’ve been asleep for a few days. You took a hard hit on your head and you’ve broken your leg.”

  “What accident?!”

  “Your car was hit by a DUI.” He says apologetically, “Your truck was hit by another car.”

  “Did I do it?”

  I know I didn’t do it; but I can't breathe. I feel the panic setting in, the pins and needles, the visions of my dad seeing his life flash before his eyes as he went over the bank. How frightened he must have been. I don't remember seeing that. I don't remember anything. The last thing I remember is... Jenna. I look at her, and she knows I remember. Kip. Kip’s parents. Jenna having dinner with Kip’s parents. The look in her eyes before I walked away.

  My chest is tight, my head hurts, I can't keep my eyes on anything, and they just fly around the room.

  “You need to rest, Mr. Reid. We will have all the answers for you when you’ve had some sleep.”

  “What day is it?”

  “It’s Friday.”

  I feel the sleep coming, the exhaustion seeping through me like poison. I don't want to sleep; Jenna might not be here the next time I wake up.

  “Jen,” I don't know what to say to keep her here, “Jenna.”

  “Sleep, baby. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

  She takes my hand in hers again – she had jerked it away when she realised the last thing I remembered was the argument we had. It’s warm and comforting and feels like home. I close my eyes as I hear a chair scrape along the floor, and then I feel Jenna’s lips on my cheek, her feather light kisses on my skin, and her hand stroking through my hair as I fall asleep again.

  “Jenna!” I sit up, gasping for breath, ignoring the searing pain through my leg and head. Everywhere. She’s still here, gripping the sheet that covers me with both hands, her head resting on the mattress and a pained expression on her face as she sleeps.

  “She thinks it’s her fault.” I turn my head and notice my mum sitting on the other side of me, her elbows resting on her knees, her chin on her hands.

  “Mum, I don't know what happened.” I remember what happened with Jenna, but I’m praying my mum doesn’t know.

  “You argued. You left. You got in your car. And someone who had more than three times the legal limit of alcohol in their system sent you off the road. And now you’re here.”

  “That’s not Jenna’s fault.”

  “I let her think it was.” Unshed tears make her eyes sparkle and it’s the most heart-breaking thing I’ve ever seen, “I blamed her. At first. If she hadn’t been messing around with you, you wouldn’t have argued.”

  “But that’s got nothing to do with the crash.” I try but fail to reign in the anger I feel that my mother blamed Jenna for something that could happen to anyone at anytime. She should know that better than anyone, “Mum, you blamed Jenna.”

  “At first.” A single tear falls down her cheek and my anger is almost extinguished, “you need to talk with her.”

  Jenna stirs beside me and I stroke my hand through her freshly washed hair, trying to soothe her. I frown.

  “She showers next door. She won't leave.” I ignore her as I concentrate on the feel of Jenna’s silky strands.

  My soothing has the opposite effect and Jenna wakes instantly, rubbing the back of her neck and looking straight at me.

  “You’re awake.” She whispers, as if she wasn’t expecting it.

  I nod, because it’s all I can do. The look on her face breaks my heart and heats my blood at the same time. Her eyes are red, with dark circles under them and she’s never looked so vulnerable, or so beautiful. I remember back to the day she told me what we had, what we did, meant nothing; if there was ever a chance of that being true, she’d have no way of convincing me now. Not a chance.

  “I’m going to go home and shower,” Mum says, standing. I still can't look at her, “make sure Brad hasn’t burnt the house down. I’ll be back later. Do you want me to bring you some food?”

  I shrug, “If you want.”

  “Can you bring in a pizza?” Jenna asks, reaching for her bag, “I’m sure Deac’s dying for some carbs and meat.”

  “Jenna can't pay,” I say, finally looking at Mum, “take money out of my wallet, or there’s some in the safe at home.”

  “I can buy you food.” She ignores the coldness I’m trying to thrust in her face and hugs me, “I’ll see you tonight with a large meaty pizza.”

  I hug her back; I’m angry, but she’s my mother and I’ll bet she’s been through hell. Not enough to warrant her blaming the girl who would be my only thought if I had any choice over whether I survived the crash or not, but enough to comfort her.

  “She has every right to blame me.” Jen says the minute Mum is out of the room.

  “Don't.” I glare at her, and I don't want to argue, but I know what’s coming next.

  “Red.”
She starts, but chokes on her words.

  “Don't you dare, Jenna. This isn’t your fault. I’m fine.”

  “If you were fine you would be at home, watching the tennis, drinking beer with your brother with a beautiful woman on your lap. Don't tell me you’re fine. None of this-” she waves her hand around the room, settling her hand on her throat, “is fine. If I hadn’t come back to town none of this would have happened and you’d be quite happy. The crash itself might not be my fault, but you can't deny that everything else that has happened recently is.”

  “First of all, I don't like tennis. Second, I didn’t see my brother before you came back to town. And the beautiful girl on my lap will only ever be you.”

  “Don't you hear yourself?” She asks, tugging her hand away from me and sitting back, “The concussion must be worse than they thought. Deac, I’m a classic cheater. A whore, a slut, a hussy. Whatever you want to call it. You should be begging to be discharged so you can get as far away from me as possible.”

  “Is that what you want?” It’s the only question I can ask to distract me from the need to rip these wires off and pin her against the wall until she takes back everything she just called herself.

  She looks away, her bottom lip trembling, and covers her mouth with her hand.

  “You know that’s not what I want.” She says, the words muffled behind her hand, “I want what makes you happy. And that’s not me.”

  I’m silent. How can she not see that she’s the only thing that makes happy? I’d been miserable before she exploded back into my life, boyfriend and cupcakes and all. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “I should have told you the truth that night on the beach,” I croak. She hands me a cup of water off the floor but keeps her back turned on me. This conversation is long overdue, and although she doesn’t look at me, I hear her breath catch, “I should have staked my claim on you then for the rest of our lives. The crash might have still happened, but we’d be happy. Together. It might be too late, but I have to tell you. What I should have said that night was everything I was thinking before I even kissed you. The kiss just sealed the deal. You were the one.