by ANDREA SMITH
“Tristan? Where's Trey? What happened?”
I noticed I was no longer in the ER. I was now in a hospital room. It seemed as if I was always opening my eyes to find myself in a hospital room over the past couple of years.
Tristan was looking down at me. He looked older than when I'd last seen him which had been only a little more than a week ago. Or had it?
“Tristan for the love of God; talk to me. Where's Trey? How long have I been here?”
“It’s okay, Tylar. You're at St. Matthew’s. You were admitted yesterday. You have a concussion and the doctor wanted to keep you over a day or so to run some tests.”
“And Trey?”
Tristan swallowed nervously.
Oh God! This can’t be good.
“Trey's in surgery. He was critically injured when he was hit yesterday.”
“I need to be there. I need to be waiting outside of surgery for when the doctor comes out to tell us that everything went well; that Trey will be fine. Get a wheel chair if you must Tristan, but please get me to the surgery floor.”
I started to get up from my hospital bed. I realized I was attached to various monitors. I started to pull the IV needle out. Tristan’s hand stayed mine.
“Tylar stop!”
He'd taken a very abrupt tone with me. That wasn't Tristan’s style. I looked up quickly and saw the pain that was evident in his eyes. He tried to stay calm for me.
“Tylar, Trey isn't at this hospital. He had to be care-flighted to Vanderbilt University Hospital in Nashville for the surgery. They have one of the top neurosurgeons in the country there. That's what he needs at the moment.”
“Someone has to be with him Tristan; I need to be with him.”
“Mom and Dad are with him. You need to stay right here and make sure that you're okay. That's what Trey would want you to do.”
I sank back against my pillow; the tears flowed as if they had been damned up for years. I recalled the events of yesterday. Someone had tried to run me down. Trey had pushed me away. It should be me at Vanderbilt University Hospital fighting for my life; not my Trey.
“How bad is it, Tristan?”
“It’s bad, honey. I won’t lie. Trey coded twice before getting to Vanderbilt. They wouldn’t even consider the surgery until they saw whether he'd make it through the night. He did. All we can do now is pray.”
“It should've been me.”
“What? What are you saying, Tylar? Don’t think like that.”
“No, Tristan - you don’t understand. It was me the driver was trying to mow down yesterday. It wasn’t Trey. Trey turned to look back at me and saw it. He pushed me out of the way. It should've been me.”
“Now stop talking like that, Tylar; I mean it. You think I wouldn’t have done the same thing? I'd take a bullet for Gina. That’s how men love.”
“If Trey doesn’t pull out of this I'll never stop blaming myself, Tristan. It should've fucking been me!”
“It shouldn’t have been either one of you; that fucking dumb bitch!”
“What dumb bitch?”
“The driver of that SUV was some bitch named Karen Deeny. Your dad seems to know quite a bit about her motives. He's here in Atlanta now. He’s talking to the detectives. There are loose ends to be tied up, I guess.”
“Loose ends?”
“Yeah, thankfully she crashed into the building on the corner when her vehicle careened out of control after hitting Trey. The sorry bitch got her just desserts. She’s dead. Thank God she didn’t take anyone else with her... yet.”
“Stop, Tristan!” I surprised myself with my ability to shout at him. It took him by surprise.
“God, I’m sorry, Tylar. What the hell was I thinking saying that?”
“Trey's not going to die - do you hear me?”
Tristan bent down so that his face was level with mine. I saw the tears well up in his eyes; I saw the pain that he was in now as well.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated softly. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I admonished him. “You need to believe that Trey will be alright. Do you hear me?”
He nodded solemnly; the tears were now running down his cheeks.
“Where's Preston?”
“Gina's with her and Reese. She doesn’t know anything.”
My tears continued their path down my cheeks.
“Your doctor's ordered some tests for this afternoon. Pending the preliminary results, you might be released yet today or tomorrow morning at the latest.”
“Tristan - I need to talk to my father as soon as possible.”
“Of course; he's been here. He'll be here just as soon as he's finished downtown.”
I felt relieved. My father would know what to do. My father would fix everything. I counted on that.
I looked at Tristan and my heart was heavy for the pain he was feeling right now. It was nothing compared to my pain and along with guilt I carried over what'd happened.
Trey was going to pull through. He simply had to for us. Our love was strong enough to withstand this horrific incident. It had to be. I couldn’t - no strike that - I wouldn’t live in a world without Trey.
Tristan stayed with me until early afternoon. He received a phone call from Susan; Trey was out of surgery. They'd been forced to drill holes through his skull to relieve the pressure of the blood that'd built up as a result of brain hemorrhaging. His fractured skull was to the frontal area; the blood had drained to the area toward the back.
Trey was listed in ‘guarded’ condition. The next twenty-four to forty-eight hours were crucial. Tristan explained Trey’s other non-life threatening injuries but I was in a fog. All I could think about was getting to Trey’s side.
My father stopped by my hospital room later that afternoon. He'd spent some time with the authorities tying up whatever loose ends Tristan had mentioned. He was fully prepared to detail them out to me when I held my hand up for him to stop.
“Dad, please - not right now. I know I need to know everything that you've found out at some point, but for now, I just can’t handle it. I’m on emotional overload.”
“Of course, darling - what was I thinking? The most important thing is for you to get better and get out of here.”
“No, Dad. The most important thing is for me to be with my husband.”
“Sweetheart, Tristan has given you the updates. Trey's out of surgery and in recovery. He's in ‘guarded’ condition but stable. For what he's gone through, that's optimistic.”
“I need to hear that from a doctor, Dad. No disrespect, but please, think about how I feel. No one has told me that other than people that love me. I need to hear that from someone who'll give me an honest, objective opinion.”
“Tylar - at this point it's too early to tell anything specific. He's in intensive post-op; he can’t even have visitors until such time as he's moved to a step-down unit.”
“Provided my test results show no blood clots or swelling in the brain, I'll be released tomorrow afternoon. Will you please charter a plane so that I can get to Nashville?”
He gave me a heavy sigh - he knew I wouldn't relent until I was with my husband.
“What about Preston?” he asked.
“She'll stay with Gina for now. I need to assess the situation with Trey. She isn’t old enough to comprehend the condition her father's in. To be honest, I’m worried as to whether I can handle it. But that's neither here nor there. I'll be at his side.”
“Very well, Tylar. I'll make the arrangements. Please try and calm yourself down and rest, okay?”
“I will, Dad.”
CHAPTER 25
I was released from the hospital the following afternoon. I was diagnosed with a slight concussion; facial bruising and a mild case of whiplash. The doctors indicated I'd be back to normal in a matter of four or five weeks. Until then, I had no restrictions other than to avoid any physical activities which would serve to aggravate my head or neck.
As promised, my father was there
with a suitcase that Gina had packed for me and drove me to the private air field where the commissioned private plane and pilot waited to take me to Nashville. Tristan had left the previous evening for Nashville; Susan and Clive had headed back to Atlanta to stay with Reese and Preston so that Gina could handle the club in Tristan’s absence. As always, this family pulled together in times of tragedy and strife.
“I wish you were coming with me, Dad. I’m frightened of what I might find when I get there.”
“That’s understandable, darling. I would accompany you if I could but I have an appeal hearing that requires my immediate return to Baton Rouge. I'll get up this weekend for sure. You'll be fine. You're stronger than you think, Tylar. There'll be a limo to take you to the hospital; I’ve also reserved an apartment for you at a nearby Marriott. Please call me this evening to check in.”
“I will, Dad,” I replied, hugging him tightly as I headed out the door to the tarmac. He stayed at the door watching until the small jet had safely taken off.
I texted Tristan from the plane giving him my ETA at the hospital. He said to text him when I came in through the hospital lobby and he'd come down to meet me.
Once there, I did as instructed and Tristan appeared within moments coming off of the elevator and heading down the hallway to greet me.
“How is he?” I asked guardedly.
“He's pretty much the same, Tylar. But for now, that's the best we can hope for. His vitals remain strong. He's in a coma which is to be expected. The doctors say that comas are the body’s way of shutting down overactive brain activity to allow the patient to heal.”
“Do they know when he'll come out of it?”
“No honey, it's different with everyone. We just have to be patient and vigilant.”
I totally intended to be vigilant. I wasn't going to leave Trey’s side until he woke up.
Tristan held the door to the elevator open while I got in ahead of him. He followed behind. It was strange to see him so solemn. I could tell he was trying to be as optimistic as possible for me.
Tristan guided me into Trey’s hospital room, his hand on my elbow. The first thing that caught my attention was how gloomy the room was; there was no sunlight filtering in from the outside. The mini blinds were closed shut. This wouldn't do!
I immediately left Tristan’s side and went over to the window and twisted the wand so that the blinds opened allowing the golden sunlight to filter into Trey’s room.
There. That was much better. It wouldn’t do for Trey to wake up to a dark and gloomy tomb.
I turned and lowered my eyes to the hospital bed where Trey slept in his deep coma. I studied his beautiful face. It was swollen on one side near the top of his cheekbone. Most of his face was black and blue. Several lacerations that had been stitched with black thread were around his hairline and temples.
He had a white gauze bandage wrapped several times around his head that was about 5” wide. The hair to the left side towards the back of his head had been shaved for the surgery. There was an additional pad cushioning the area where the neurosurgeon had drilled through Trey’s skull in order to relieve the pressure of the bleeding.
His right arm was in a cast and sling; his left wrist had been broken and was in a splint. He'd suffered three broken ribs as well; one had punctured a lung.
According to Tristan, the doctors were amazed it hadn’t been worse. They attributed his lack of bone breakage to his healthy physique. He'd ‘landed’ well as they put it. There was nothing that could've protected his head though.
The surgeon had succeeded in doing what needed to be done. Now the rest was up to Trey - and to God. Even the doctors had made that comment according to Tristan. He said I would meet his surgeon tomorrow when he checked him again.
Tristan was studying me. I could feel his emerald eyes watching me. What was he expecting? Did he think I would melt? Did he think I would dissolve into a million pieces in front of my husband? If that's what he was thinking he didn’t have a clue as to how I rolled.
I'd read many times that comatose patients retain their hearing to some degree. I'd also read that those who had experienced near death experiences and survived spoke of being caught between two worlds and being somewhat cognizant of what was going on around them. I wasn’t sure which path Trey was currently exploring, but what I did know was that I had some things to say to him and they were going to be said. I turned to Tristan.
“I need some time alone with Trey.”
Tristan’s face was caught between indecision and concern. He finally could find no reason to stay; he turned and left the room, the door closing behind him.
It was just me and Trey now; and the assortment of life preserving equipment that surrounded us. I looked at my husband’s battered body and his beauty remained. Nothing could take that from him; that was just Trey.
I kicked my shoes off and tossed my jacket on to one of the chairs in the corner. I gently climbed up next to him on his sterile bed, careful not to disturb any of the IV’s, his feeding tube or the multiple monitors attached to him.
It was odd for me to be so close to him - close enough to feel his warmth - and yet not have him pulling me closer to him with his strong arms, wrapping himself around me, burying his face into my hair. I gently put one arm over him so that we were touching. I needed to feel his body, his strong and loving body.
I reached my fingers up to touch his chin dimple; he was in need of a shave. His five o’clock shadow was now at 11:00 p.m. I made a mental note that I'd get a shaving kit for him so I could shave his face tomorrow. His skin was warm to my touch. He didn’t seem to feel my touch but then I hadn’t figured he would.
“Trey,” I said quietly, but firmly, “don’t you leave me. Do you hear what I'm saying to you? If you leave me, I'll never forgive you, Trey Michael. We’ve got things to do yet. We’ve got our daughter to raise. She adores you and so do I. What about our unborn children? You're a stickler that Preston not be an ‘only’ child, remember? Well if you leave, she'll be an only child, Trey.”
I stopped to watch his face. I needed to see something.
The twitch of a muscle; the movement of his eyes beneath his eyelids - something! But there was nothing; the machines were doing all of the work for him right now.
“Then there's also the matter of how much I love you. Do you think I arbitrarily give my love to just anyone? You know me, Trey. You know me in some ways better than I know myself. You forced me to deal with my fears and my nightmares. You forced me to face the truth about my past and deal with my demons. I did it Trey; I did it because of you. I thank you for that, baby. Now, I want you to do something for me. I need for you to wake up baby. I need for you to come home to me and Preston, please?”
The tears were flowing down my cheeks now. I laid there on my side next to my comatose husband and I waited.
I waited for his thumb to reach up and brush my tears away. I waited for his lips to find my tear stains and kiss them away. I waited for his lips to claim mine as he possessed them with his. It didn’t happen. All I saw was my Trey beneath his life-saving equipment. His eyelids didn’t flutter; his body didn’t respond to my touch.
“I get that you’re tired, baby. I get that you need to heal. You’ve been through a lot. I'll be here with you every day until you're better and ready to come home. I need to see that you’re trying to get better, sweetheart. I need to make sure that you don’t stop. If you leave me, Trey, I’m just not sure I could go on without you. Oh, I know that pisses you off to hear me say that. You’re hearing it now, and it’s the truth - I don’t want to live if I have to live without you.”
I leaned over and kissed his chin, his nose and his bruised and swollen cheeks.
“I love you Trey, I love you, Trey.”
CHAPTER 26
“I love you, Trey . . . I love you, Trey.”
Now I'm hearing that freaking music! You know the music - the harp music that's played during a television show or movie to let the au
dience know that this part of the show has transitioned into a dream sequence? That's exactly what I'm hearing at the moment - dream sequence music, but beyond that, I'm hearing a familiar voice.
Dear God! Is that Tylar’s voice? Why is there such an echo to it? Why can’t I see her at the moment? Where in the hell am I?
I freaking feel like I’ve stepped through some looking glass into a tunnel – just like that stupid book I had to read in grade school – what the hell was the name of it? Oh yeah – ‘Alice in Wonderland’. Rumor had it the author was tripping on acid when he wrote it. Is that what’s happening to me at the moment?