“I should have told you my plans for us to go travelling, my plans to build the house with three bedrooms with enough space to extend to cater for however many children you wanted. I should have told you my plan to spend my entire life in Folquay – as long as you were there it wouldn’t have mattered where I lived. I should have said those things and I didn’t, Jen. Because I was a twenty-one year old coward, and you were this fireball that no one could predict. I didn’t know that by holding back you would run away.”
She says nothing, but I hear her shaky breaths, sharp and ragged.
“I can let you go, now.” I say filling the silence, “Kip makes you happy. And I won't stand in the way.”
“You stupid man.” She whispers through gritted teeth and stands up, finally facing me, “You should have told me everything that night! You were my best friend! There is nothing that could have torn us apart, except what you did. I thought I meant nothing, I thought you were messing with my head because you were a guy and you thought with your dick. Up until this point, right now, I thought I was just another trait girl.”
“Jen,” I reach out for her hand and she steps closer to take it, when she hears me groan in pain, “you’re the trait girl.”
“What?”
“Everything you have. That’s the checklist. I’ve spent the last five and half years looking for your doppelganger. But there will never be two of you, Jen. And I don't want there to be.”
“Oh my god.” She falls into her chair and covers her eyes with her free hand.
“It’s okay,” I stroke my thumb across the back of her hand, “I won't put this pressure on you anymore. I’ll even stand there on your wedding day and tell you how beautiful you look.”
“Ask me, Deac,” What? What am I supposed to ask her?
“Ask you what?”
“Ask me what happened when you walked away. Ask me what I was doing when you were in your car. Ask me to tell you how I feel about you.”
“What were you doing while I was in the car?”
She takes a deep breath and exhales in a rush, “I was at your house in your underwear and your Rolling Stones t-shirt, waiting for you to come home. I was waiting to tell you I ended everything with Kip. I was waiting to tell you I’m sorry, that for the last month and half I’ve been listening to my head instead of my heart. That the minute I saw you when I got back to town I was yours. That I’ve been hopelessly, obsessively, madly in love with you my whole life. You were the one, too. You are the one.”
~
“I need you to be honest with me, Mr. Reid.” Dr. Sharpe says, but all I can focus on are the discharge papers in his hand, “Is there anything that’s worrying you? Anything that doesn’t feel right?”
At that point I see headlights flash in front of my eyes. I’m changing the radio station in my truck; I don't know what I’m searching for but my vision is cut off by lights and they’re heading for me. There’s a car on the same side of the road and I panic. My brain is failing me and I shut my eyes, waiting for the inevitable.
“Mr, Reid?”
“No problems.” I nod, and speak as confidently as I can.
“Then you are cleared for discharge.” He scribbles on his clipboard, too fast to be anything but a well-practised signature, “If you have any problems, I want you to come back and ask for me.”
My mum zips my bag up in the corner of the room and hands me my crutches. She takes the plastic bag of medication from the doctor and I want to take everything from her; seeing her struggle to carry my shit, but the damn crutches don't leave much room to carry anything. These will be hidden the minute I’m home; I’m not relying on a couple of sticks to help me walk. Fuck that.
Apparently I’m very lucky to have escaped the accident with chronic whiplash, a mean concussion that still feels like a killer hang over more than a week later; a broken leg and some muscle strain. It sounds like a list of inconvenient injuries, especially considering my job, but the truth is I’m grateful I’m still alive. I’d be royally pissed if I woke up somewhere in the sky, and left behind so many loose ends. Jenna left last night; either because we still haven’t been able to talk like adults and both admit that we want to make a go of it, or because my hassling her to go home and sleep finally worked. She recoiled inside herself when I didn’t know how to respond to what she’d said. And she spent the next few days reading me the newspaper, or pretending to be asleep. She spent every day and every night with me, and whenever I woke up and looked at her, she was either awake and watching the machines that had to be kept on for ‘precaution’, or sleeping restlessly on a chair that looked like it had been carved from granite. Either way, she went home last night, and I’d never been so relieved to know she wasn’t with me, worrying about me and suffering, or so lonely, because she seemed to take every atom in the air with her.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Mum asks, waving her hand in front of my face and I realise I’ve stopped in the middle of the corridor, “Are you sure you’re ready to go home?”
“I’m sure.” I nod and kick the crutches into gear, wincing every time I put my weight on my right arm; there’s a muscle tear hidden deep in my bicep, “I need to go home, even if I sit and eat nothing but pizza and watch shit TV all day. This place stinks.”
I’ve always had an issue with the smell of hospitals. More so, now that I’ve spent ten days in one.
“Mum, what are you doing?”
She climbs out of the taxi and opens my door before I work out how to move my crutches out of the way and open it myself.
“Let me help you.” She says, taking one crutch off me so I can use the door to pull myself out. This is ridiculous.
“I’m fine, Mum. I’ll bet I can walk on it, too.”
“Doctors orders, Deacon Reid.” She looks at me sternly, “You’ve got metal pins in your leg holding it together. The doctor told you to use crutches, so you will damn well use your crutches.”
“Fine.” I throw my hands in the air, forgetting I’ve got metal walk-aids stuck to them, “Just let me sort myself out.”
The taxi waits on the drive for her, and Mum stands with her hands on her hips, my bag hanging from one hand and my pill bag from the other.
“It was so close, Deac.” She says as we walk towards the door and she pulls my keys out of my bag.
“What do you mean?”
Mum busies herself once she steps inside, making up the sofa for me to lie on. She’s been here, or she’s here; I feel it. The smell of Jenna is everywhere and I rush inside, as best as I can while handicapped, but can't see her.
“Mum, what are you talking about?” I ask, realising Jenna’s presence must be lingering from when she was last here.
“I nearly lost you.” She’s holding it together, barely.
“How close?” Why hasn’t she said this before?
“Close.”
It’s all she says as she fluffs the cushion and then goes about setting the pots of tablets on the coffee table, a collection of water bottles under it, and a few packs of crisps and sweets next to the water.
“I can use the crutches to go in the kitchen.”
“I don't want to leave you.” She paces towards me, almost reluctantly, and smoothes down the shirt she put on earlier. I want to sit in an old surf club t-shirt or one of my dad’s old football shirts, but I can't lift my arms above my head to put anything else on; and it sucks.
“I need you to leave me, Mum.” I reach out and hold her elbows, unable to reach up to her shoulders, “I’m fine. It’ll take some getting used to but I’ll be fine.”
She hesitates, but leaves me to it. When I see her climb in the taxi, I struggle to the bottom of the stairs. I know she’s here.
“Jen!”
Chapter 31
Jenna
I stand by the window, watching as the cab pulls up onto the drive and Emma helps Deacon out. I knew he was coming home today; Emma gave me the idea to surprise him, thought it would be a good idea. I did too, un
til now.
“Jen!”
Of course he knows I’m here; we’re that attuned to each other, I should have known he’d call me out. He always does. I climb off the side of the bed I’ve been occupying since last night, only getting up to shower and use the bathroom, and walk towards the landing, feeling stupid, but anticipating his reaction.
“You called?” I say bravely, stepping out into view, leaning against the door frame and crossing one ankle over the other.
Since there are no more fetes, and the summer means more money is being taken in the shops in London, and the fact that I still haven’t organised anything for the refurb, I figured I could play nurse to Deacon for while. Even went and bought an outfit suitable for the temporary job role.
“What the hell?” He chokes, wobbling on his crutches, “Jesus, Jenna.”
“You like it?”
The outfit is a simple snap-shut white dress, which stops just below where it would be considered acceptable to be called a hem. My hair is left wild and unruly to hang over my shoulders, with a hat perched on the top, purely for aesthetics because it will fall off with one touch. And I’ve chosen to go bare foot; the polish on my toe nails matches the red trim on my dress and hat.
“Did I tell you they said I’m at risk of a heart attack?”
“Jesus!” I pull the hem of the dress down and run down the stairs full pelt, almost prepared to launch myself at him, but remind myself that he’s not up for being pummelled right now, “Are you okay?”
“It got you down the stairs,” he smirks, “I wasn’t up for coaxing you down.”
“You idiot.” I sigh, feeling my body relax and I sit down on the bottom step, “You frightened the life out of me.”
I look up at him, and his thoughts are written all over his face.
“Mum said it was bad.” He looks down, and I know it scares him that he doesn’t remember what happened to him. It’s probably for the better.
“Do you want me to tell you about it?”
He nods and turns around, hobbling to the sofas and I follow. There’s nothing sexier than a man who is king of the castle, ruler of his world, independent and powerful enough to protect himself and everyone around him. But there’s nothing that breaks my heart with love and pain more, than seeing Deacon vulnerable and in need of help. It’s why I chose my own nurse’s role; although in hind sight I should have pre-warned him I was dressed up. I feel stupid as I sit on the sofa opposite him and tug at the bottom of my dress.
“Where do you want me to start?”
“I want to know what happened after the crash.”
He says it so matter-of-factly, like he’s prepared for the answer, but I can't convince myself that he is. I ask him with my expression if he really wants to know, and he answers with that helpless nod of a school boy who wonders what he’s missing.
“I was here, so I don't know everything firsthand. I didn’t find out until I got my mum’s message on Monday.” I confess, so if there are any questions I can't answer, he knows why, “You needed surgery to fix your leg. You needed an emergency scan to look at your head injury, and they kept you in a coma because your brain was showing signs of swelling. They told us to prepare for the worst; they couldn't tell what damage had been done until you woke up. If-”
I can't finish the sentence, because it’s too hard to remember it. The feeling that I’d lost him, even if not in body but in mind, is too raw. Knowing he could have left me for good, not knowing I love him, was the worst part of the entire five days he was asleep. It took them two days to wake him up – because of the size of him, they had to use such a high dosage of medication to keep him asleep and comfortable.
“I’m sorry.” He says struggling to reach a bottle of water under the coffee table. I lean over and grab it, undo the lid and hand it to him. I watch his mouth as he glugs the water, and then his throat as he swallows. It’s been too long since we had our hands on each other.
“So you came over to play nurse?” He nods towards my outfit and his eyes travel to the cleavage pouring out of the top.
“No.” I shake my head and see the disappointment on his face, “I’ve moved in.”
“What?”
“Did the concussion affect your hearing?” I ask, but he frowns, considering the possibility, “I said I moved in.”
“You did?”
“I told you I’m not running. You can't get rid of me now. You built this house for us, so I’m taking up my tenancy.”
“In the spare room?”
What? This is not going the way I planned; nothing ever seems to go according to what I plan for. Why does he assume I want to sleep in the spare room? Why, after everything we’ve been through, everything I said to him in the hospital, would he think I’d want to be anywhere but right next to him?
“Do you want me to sleep in the spare room?” I ask, edging away from him, afraid of the rejection I convinced myself wasn’t coming.
“Are you moving in here because you don't trust me not to bring anyone else here?”
“Don't answer my question with a question.”
I know he’s got to be tired, and uncomfortable, and mad as hell that he’s not as active as usual. But that’s no reason to question me, when this is supposed to be a happy occasion. I thought he’d be happy that I moved in. Maybe his silence in the hospital spoke for his feelings. Maybe he felt all those things back when he was twenty-one, but not now. Not now I’m a cheat.
“That’s not why I wanted to move in.” Is all I can answer, because it’s the truth.
“Then, no. I want you in my bed.” He says, shuffling to get comfortable and I want to help him, but I can't shake off the urge to take this further.
“Why did you ask me that?”
“Because I want to make sure you’re doing this for us. Not because you don't trust me, or because you feel sorry for me.”
“Is it the same you I’m moving in with, Deac?”
He frowns, “what are you talking about?”
“It feels like you’re different.” I take a deep breath, “Is it because of the accident, or because I moved in here without asking you? My room at home is still mine, I can go back there. I didn’t mean to barge in, I shouldn’t have taken things upon myself, thinking you’d want me.”
“Shut up, Jen.”
“I thought I was going to lose you,” I’m panicking now; this is it, where he tells me we should be friends, or I find out this Deacon looks like my Red and sounds like my Red, but has woken up a stranger, “I didn’t want a day to go by when I couldn't tell you I love you, just because we’re in the same room and I need to tell you. I wanted to be there when you wake up in the morning, when you come home from work, when you go to bed. Shit, I’m so sorry.”
“Shut up!”
I clamp my mouth shut, and slap my hand over my mouth in fear. This isn’t the same Deacon. Oh my god.
“You remember what I said about you being unpredictable?” He asks and I nod, “You moving in is another thing I wasn’t expecting.”
“I’m sorry.”
I stand to leave, keeping my knees bent and dress pulled down as low as possible, because now I feel sleazy and dirty. Deac throws himself across the sofa and I scream as he tackles me to the other sofa, the one I was sitting on before.
“Ah!” He jumps back, keeping me in place with one hand on my stomach, while the other grips his leg, “Fuck!”
“Deac, I’m sorry.”
“Stop it, just stop it. This isn’t you. Don't ask me if I’ve changed when you’re the one tiptoeing around me. If you want me come and get me. Don't hold back because you think I’ve changed. I’m tired, I’m in pain and I’m pissed that I can't forget the fact that I had a head on collision, by burying myself inside you.”
“Your mum told you more about the crash?” He leans up, letting go and of me and struggling to his feet, launching his crutches across the room as he limps to the kitchen. She didn’t tell him.
“You remember?�
�� I ask, following after him, and beating him to the kettle, so he can sit down.
“Apparently.” He shrugs, “I want to forget it Jen. All of what I remember, I want gone.”
“Can I help?” I ask, popping tea bags in the cups I set out on the counter earlier.
When he doesn’t answer I turn around, leaning against the counter and gasp when I see the blue fire in his eyes.
“Turn around.” He orders. My stomach clenches, but I do as he asks, turning around, “Bend over.”
I take a deep breath, wondering if he’s doing this because he’s gone into auto sex machine mode, his coping mechanism, or because he misses us being together as much as I do. But I step back from the counter and bend over.
“Lift your dress up.”
I feel the warmth spread to my core as I slide the material up what little leg it covers, and over my underwear.
“Take them off.” He commands, and I know what he’s talking about.
I put the dress back in place and turn around to face him, sliding up onto the counter top.
“Tell me before I do, that this is you talking, and not the guy who switches everything off.”
“What?” He raises one eyebrow.
“You know what.” I slide back and part my legs, just enough to guarantee a reaction; the reaction I desperately need, so I can find out which Deacon I’m dealing with – the man I love with all my heart, or the emotionless sexual robot he becomes when he needs to block the world out, “If you don't want to be with me then fine, but don't use me to deal with whatever it is you do feel.”
He sinks his head onto the table, his arms wrapped across the top of his hair. I have no idea what the look in his eyes is, no idea which part of my body he looked at before he hid himself from me. And I have no idea what’s going through his head.
Second Chance Hero Page 33