by Celia Loren
"Ah, I see," he replies, and I feel the bed change direction.
"What happened, honey? They said you were lying on the side of the road."
"I don't know," I reply. "I remember I went for a jog…maybe I tripped and hit my head?"
The attendant pushes open a swinging door and wheels me into a bright, quiet room. "Here we are. Bathroom's just over there, and here's some pain medication. You can take two now, and the doctor will be by soon," he says, and leaves.
"Why did you mention Ray?" I ask as I pick up the pills and the small paper cup of water.
"I wanted to get you a private room and maybe some more attention from the doctors," my mom says, alternating between looking chagrined and pleased. "There's a Stratton wing on this hospital," she explains.
"Oh, shit. Pardon my French."
"So you think you tripped while you were running?" she asks, pulling a chair in the corner over to the head of my bed and sitting down.
"I guess so. Hey, this is going to sound weird, but is Carter here?"
My mom's eyes open in alarm. "No…honey, he's in Afghanistan."
"No, I know, that's what I thought, but I thought someone in the ambulance said something about my brother. But actually the ambulance ride is feeling a little foggy, too, so maybe I'm wrong."
"I thought you were really losing it for a second there," my mom answers, looking relieved. "Jack called 911. Maybe he said step-brother, and it got lost in translation."
"Jack called?"
"Yeah, he's the one who found you," my mom explains. "Luckily, he went out for a jog around the same time."
"Oh," I reply, feeling sad. He found me, but didn't ride with me to the hospital, nor is he here now.
"Here you are," Ray says as he pushes open the door. I look at him in surprise. I'm so used to seeing him as a stern businessman that it's odd to see him show up in my hospital room. "I spoke to your doctor on my way in, and he said they're going to keep you overnight for observation and also do an MRI, but that you should be able to go home tomorrow morning."
"I have to stay overnight?"
"They're not sure how long you were unconscious for, so it's important. Do you remember what happened?" he asks, crossing behind my mom and putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"No," I say again. "I think I must have tripped."
"Jack said on the phone there was a rock on the ground behind you and it looked like you might have hit your head on it," Ray confirms, "but that it was sort of off the road, in some low bushes."
"Maybe I saw something shiny and went to look at it? I really have no idea," I reply, beginning to feel anxious.
"That's OK, honey. You just relax."
"You guys don't have to stay," I tell them. "I'm fine, really."
"Bree. You really think I'm going to let you stay here alone? Besides, you're not supposed to fall asleep."
"We could watch TV, play a board game, or cards…" Ray suggests.
"You have cards?" I ask, fighting a yawn. Now that my mom mentioned that I'm not supposed to fall asleep, that's all I want to do.
"I can have someone bring them."
"No, no, TV is fine," I say.
"They have satellite channels in the private rooms here," Ray says as he picks up the remote.
"Oh, cool," I reply, surprised that he would know, but maybe he's a very hands-on benefactor.
A few hours later, my mom convinces Ray to go home and get some sleep, but he insists on coming back in the morning. I have an MRI, and a nurse tells me it's OK to fall asleep, but she's going to wake me up every two hours to check on me. After the third time she wakes me up, I can't go back to sleep, even though the painkillers are making me drowsy. I have a view of the sun rising through the windows, and it softly illuminates my mom's figure, curled up sleeping in the chair. The TV is still playing quietly, so I watch the early morning news for the first time in a long time.
The door opens, and I'm surprised to see the EMT from last night walk in. She waves, then sees my mom sleeping in the corner, and tiptoes over to my bedside.
"Hey, I just finished my shift and wanted to see how you were doing."
"I'm good, though I don't remember much of the ambulance ride, to be honest."
"Well, I'm Valerie," she reminds me.
"Right. Valerie. You were nice, I remember."
She looks around the room and then to the bathroom. "I, um, I'm a big Bucs fan, and I was sort of hoping…" she trails off, and I notice a photo of Jack in her hands.
"He's not here."
"I'm surprised…he was freaking out when we got there, so I thought he'd be camped out here."
"Really? He was freaking out?"
"Yeah. I thought at first he was hurt because there was so much blood on his shirt, but it was because he was holding you."
"Huh. Well, he hasn't been here," I say processing this new information. "But maybe you could give me this picture, and I could take it home, and then send it to you."
"Really?" she asks, her face breaking out into a grin. "I'm sorry for asking you, we're really not supposed to do this."
"Don't worry about it. I just remembered that you held my hand."
"You'd be surprised how often I get that request," she says. "You don't look much like him," she observes.
"Oh, I'm not his sister," I clarify. "I'm going to be his stepsister. My mom and his dad are getting married."
"Sorry, we were rushing around when we got there, and I heard him say something about being some kind of brother…"
"Can I ask you one favor in exchange for getting this signed?" I ask, holding up the photo.
"Shoot."
"Can you look at the back of my head and make sure they didn't cut my hair when they were stitching me up?"
Chapter Twenty-Five
I wake up in my own bed sometime in the late afternoon, judging by the light. After I got home from the hospital this morning and took more painkillers, I passed out in bed. On my stomach, because I didn't want to put pressure on the back of my head where the cut is. As I sit up, I catch a whiff of myself and make a face. Between my poor hygiene of late and then going for a long run and not being able to clean off afterwards, I smell really terrible.
I get up and head for the bathroom. I take a small mirror from next to the sink and turn around, holding it up so I can see the back of my head. As I part my hair, I see the swollen area crossed with black sutures. Jeez. I feel a little nauseous looking at them, so I turn back around. At least all my hair's still there. I'm not supposed to get my stitches wet for another day and a half, so I carefully tie my greasy strands up in a bun.
I'm still wearing the clothes my mom brought to the hospital for me. Apparently my clothes I went running in were bloody and dirty, so my mom made the executive decision to toss them. I strip off my pants and then unbutton the shirt, impressed with the fact that my mom thought to get me a button up rather than something I'd have to pull off over my head.
I wet a washcloth and then lather it up with some body wash from the shower. As I wipe it over my body, I feel how nice it is to treat myself a little more gently than I have recently. I rinse out the wash cloth and use it to wipe the soap off my skin, then dry myself off, huddling in the luxuriously soft towel for a moment before going back into my bedroom and putting on a pair of cotton pants and a zip-up hoodie.
As I walk downstairs, I can smell delicious things coming from the kitchen and my stomach growls in response. I had a little oatmeal in the hospital this morning, but nothing since.
"Mom, that smells great," I say as I round the corner into the kitchen. "Oh." I stop in surprise. It's not my mom behind the stove, but Jack.
"She's covering your shift at work, so she asked me to make sure you ate something," he says, wooden spoon in hand.
"I'm sure she meant for you to just order something," I say.
"Well…" he replies with a shrug, not meeting my eyes. "There's spaghetti, roast chicken, some squash in the oven…"
> "Wow."
"I wasn't sure what you'd want, so I tried to cover all the food groups."
"OK. Thanks," I reply, perhaps a bit brusquely. I walk to the cabinet to grab a plate, but he stops me.
"I'll do it. You just sit and rest," he says, nodding to the bar chair on the other side of the kitchen island.
"Alright," I reply, and follow his instructions. I rest my forearms on the marble countertop as he turns back around to tend to the steaming pots on the stove. I have so many questions I want to ask him, but I also don't want to be the one to initiate anything between us. I think at this point, that has to come from him or not at all.
He drains the pasta in the sink and then walks around to set silverware in front of me. I feel the heat from his body as he gets close, and a corresponding tingle up my spine, but I remain stone-faced.
"Water or wine?" he asks, hand on the refrigerator door.
"Water. I'm probably not supposed to drink on these painkillers."
He gets a funny expression on his face, almost a wince, and then nods. I frown as he fills up a water glass. Why's he acting so weird around me? If anything, I should be the one who feels awkward. I'm the one who made myself so vulnerable and fell flat on my face.
He slides the water in front of me and then takes some other pans from the oven. He takes a plate out of the cabinet and begins to put food on it for me.
"Just a little," I caution him. I'm hungry, but I also don't completely trust my stomach right now, and I know how Jack tends to overload his own plate. He turns and puts the plate carefully in front of me, and I feel my heart melt a little. He's placed the food in small, neat quadrants so that nothing's touching, and everything smells delicious. No, Bree. Remember that this is the same guy who told you he was just "fucking" you.
"Bree, I—" Jack begins.
"It smells delicious in here!" my mom says as she breezes in behind me.
Jack clears his throat. "Well, I felt badly that I couldn't be at the hospital. There's plenty for you too, Anne. I don't think Bree has much of an appetite."
"We'll see," I say, my mouth full.
"Here, Silvio had everyone sign a card," my mom says, sliding a brightly covered envelope in front of me.
"Oh, that was nice. Sorry you had to go in today. I can't believe how much trouble I caused everyone," I murmur, shaking my head at myself.
"No trouble at all. Maybe just jog on a track from now on. No rocks," my mom says with a half-joking smile.
Jack quickly excuses himself, though my mom tries to get him to stay. Eventually she sits down next to me and we eat. It's nice to have some time alone with her. Either she's been working at the diner or I have, and the rest of the time she spends with Ray. Not that I don't understand…she's still in a honeymoon phase with him.
My mom cleans up, and then we head into the den, which we both find to be the coziest of the many living rooms, and watch reruns of NCIS. By midway through the second episode, I'm having trouble keeping my eyes open, so I head upstairs to go to bed.
I lie down on my stomach, not even bothering to change clothes, and I'm quickly asleep again.
I don't know what wakes me up, maybe a noise, or just a feeling, but when my eyes open, I freeze. There's someone else in the room.
My gaze darts frantically around, and I locate a large shadow sitting in my desk chair. I flip over in alarm, banging the back of my head on my headboard.
"Fuck!" I swear, caught between fear and pain.
"Bree! Bree! It's OK, it's me," the figure stands up and comes to lean over me. In the scant light of the moon from the window, I can see that it's Jack.
"What the hell, Jack? You scared the shit out of me! Why were you watching me sleep?!" I exclaim. I reach over to flip the bedside lamp on and gingerly touch my fingers to the back of my head to check for any fresh blood.
"I just wanted to make sure you were alright. Let me see," he says. I glare at him but relent, sitting up and turning around. He carefully pulls out my hair elastic and checks the wound. "Looks OK. I mean not OK at all, but it's not bleeding, at least. How many stitches is this?"
"Twelve," I answer turning back around. He sits on the bed by my knees and I frown at him.
"Thought it would be more."
"Sorry to disappoint."
"I just mean, head wounds bleed so much…when I found you, there was so much blood and you were unconscious…I wasn't sure…" he trails off.
"Wasn't sure what?" I press him.
"Wasn't sure if you were going to make it," he finishes, sounding pained.
"Oh."
He bends over, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'm sorry I didn't come to see you in the hospital." I don't say anything, waiting for him to explain. "I don't like hospitals, especially the one they said they were taking you to. That's where my mom went."
"What do you mean? When?"
"When she…she took a mixture of pills and alcohol to kill herself. It didn't work right away. She was in a coma for almost a week before we decided to take her off life support. My dad gave a bunch of money to the hospital afterward. I'm not sure if it was because they took really good care of her, or because he was trying to assuage his guilt."
"I didn't know," I say in a small voice, now feeling like a complete ass for being mad at him for not visiting. Not that I don't have other completely understandable reasons for being mad, but that certainly isn't one of them. "Well, I'm glad you went out for a run when you did."
"Me, too. I really thought I'd lost you."
"Would that matter to you?" I challenge him, bitterness creeping around the edges of my voice.
"Yes, as it turns out. It would matter a great deal." I stare at him. It feels like my heart is suspended mid-beat in my chest. "I'm sorry that it took you getting hurt for me to realize that. I've been sending you mixed signals this whole time, I can see that now. So it's not surprising that you took it the wrong way, or the right way, or…" He kneads his face with his fingers in frustration. "What I'm trying to say is, if you'll have me, I'd like to try."
"Try?"
"To be in a relationship. With you."
My mouth opens in surprise. I want to be excited, but I feel cautious. "Try? You're either in a relationship or you're not, Jack. No middle ground."
"You're right, I'm sorry," he says, shaking his head. "I've never done this before, and I'm not doing it right." He looks so vulnerable all of a sudden. "I just meant, I don't know if I'll know exactly what to do all the time, how to be a boyfriend, but I want you to only be with me, and I'll only be with you.
A smile starts to tug at my lips but I can't give in yet. "You really hurt me…" I murmur, considering.
"I know, I know. I was acting like a boyfriend, and then denying it. I just…maybe you were right about that stuff with my mom. I don't know. I just felt overwhelmed in that moment, when you told me how you felt about me. I freaked out. I'm not trying to excuse it, I'm just trying to explain. Please…just give me another chance. All I need is one more. I'm going to get it right this time. I can feel it."
"It would be a lie for me to say my feelings have changed in the last two weeks…you're sure about this?"
"Absolutely."
"Really?"
"Really," he says, grinning back at me in relief as he sees my expression. "I mean, it still won't be quite a normal relationship. Do you think we should—"
"Tell our parents?" I ask, finishing his thought. "No. It's already a first for both of us, I don't want to put any more pressure on us."
"Good. That's what I think, too. Can I kiss you now?"
I laugh and nod, feeling absolutely giddy, as he moves to sit closer to me and I pull my leg over to give him room. He leans forward and kisses me ever-so-gently, barely touching my lips with his. I press forward, wanting more. I open my lips, and our tongues meet. I gasp as my body is filled with swelling desire.
"Jack," I murmur, pulling back. "We probably shouldn't, with my head…"
"I know," he whisp
ers. "But I'd like to sleep here, if that's OK."
"I'd love that," I say sincerely.
"Do you need anything? Water or anything like that?"
"No," I say with a smile. "But you're already doing pretty well at this whole boyfriend thing."
He laughs and pulls off his shirt as he crosses to the other side of the bed. "I'm going to set my phone alarm for early so I can sneak out of here before anyone else is up," he says, pulling his cell out of his pants pocket.
"OK," I murmur as he slides in between my sheets and lays back. I turn over onto my stomach and scooch over, resting my head on his shoulder and draping my right arm and leg over his body. "Your muscles are too hard," I say as I try to get comfortable.
"That's what my coaches are always telling me," he says, bringing his hand up to my cheek and gently stroking my skin with his thumb.
"Oh, yeah?" I whisper as I close my eyes. "What else are they telling you?"
I nuzzle into his skin as he talks. The throbbing on the back of my head disappears, and soon I'm asleep.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I carefully run my fingertips along the back of my skull. I can just feel the ridge of skin where the stitches were removed earlier today. It's not tender anymore, but I still can't remember what happened right before or after I fell. Other than that, my concussion symptoms have gone away, and I even drove myself to my checkup appointment this afternoon.
I check my robe to make sure it's fastened securely since I'm not wearing anything underneath, and head out of my bedroom and up to Jack's room. He's slept in my bed every night for the last two weeks, but tonight, I want to go to him. His door opens just as I'm reaching out for the knob.
"Hey, I was just coming to you," he says in surprise.
"Got my stitches out today," I say with a smile.
"Really…" he says with a grin, and holds the door open for me. We've been waiting to have sex again until they were out and I got the go-ahead from my doctor.
"I'm a little nervous," I confess as he closes the door. "I mean, it just feels a little different now that we're actually dating."