by Chelle Sloan
“She… well… she hasn’t been here,” my mom says, trying to break the news to me gently. “We called her, but she didn’t sound… well, she sounded like she didn’t care. I assumed I just caught her at a bad time.”
I can tell my mom wanted to say more, and I don’t need her to. I know Annika hasn’t been here. Why would she? We barely care about each other when we are healthy.
So much for those in sickness and in health vows.
“It’s fine, Mom. I’m sure she’s just busy.” Mark gives me a look like he’s calling me on my bullshit, but I ignore him. “You guys though… go. I’m fine for tonight. Come back tomorrow if you want. Tonight, I just want to process all this and get some sleep.”
The two share a look before resigning themselves to my request.
“Call us if you need anything,” Mark says.
“I will. And thank you. Thank you both.”
My mom leans down and places a kiss on my forehead, much like she did when I was sick as a kid.
“Absolutely. We are family. This is what we do.”
As they both leave my room, I think about those words and the ones Jesse gave me earlier. I could have died this week. My life could have been over. Instead of my mother placing a kiss on my forehead, she could have been crying over my casket. Mark could have been holding Makenna as they said goodbye to me, confusion written over her sweet face about why Uncle Garrett couldn’t come over and play anymore.
My wife would have likely skipped the funeral and went straight to the bank to get her diamond-clad fingers on all of the money.
All of those thoughts play on an endless loop through my head that night, making it nearly impossible to sleep.
You’re one of the lucky ones.
Out of all the events of the day, Jesse’s words are the ones that stick with me the most. And though I know I am, I just can’t help but wonder one thing.
Why me? Why am I the lucky one? Because I’ve done nothing in this life to deserve a second chance.
Chapter Nine
Paige
Holidays around a hospital are a funny thing. When a visitor walks into the lobby, they are immediately greeted with a dazzling assortment of lights, decorations, and a Christmas tree that could be featured on an HGTV holiday special.
But once you get past the lobby, the Christmas cheer you were greeted with slowly melts away like snow in the spring. Yes, the patient floors are decorated with small trees and a few appropriately placed miniature Santa Claus figurines. Yes, everyone is trying to put on a brave face in an attempt to keep spirits up. The reality is, you’re in a hospital on Christmas.
And there’s only one way to put it—it flipping sucks.
If I let myself, I could mentally go down the road that my life is much like this hospital right now. All bright and cheery on the outside, but inside is something not as grand or great. It’s like the best-wrapped Christmas gift under the tree, excitement pouring out of you as you rip off the wrapping paper, only to find a toothbrush.
Luckily, the phone rings at the front desk, which stops all thought of going down that depressing path. It’s one I’ve gone down too many times in my life. One I want to avoid if at all possible.
I always pick up more volunteer hours at the hospital around Christmas. Being on break from school allows me to spend more time here and it allows the other volunteers to spend time with their families. I don’t have a family to spend the holidays with, not one I like to claim anyway, so this allows me to spread Christmas cheer to people who deserve it.
“Do you ever leave here? I swear, this is where I left you yesterday,” says Millie, a lovely older woman who has been volunteering at this hospital longer than I’ve been alive. I look up to see her gray hair coming around the welcome desk, but that’s all I can see as the poinsettia she’s carrying is nearly as big as her head.
“Well, I could say the same thing about you. And who is the poinsettia for?”
“My dear, when you get to be my age, you can call the kettle black if you damn well want to. You’ve earned the right. And I haven’t looked at the card yet. I took it from the nice delivery man outside.”
“You know it’s his job to deliver it to the patient, right?”
She sets down the plant, which now I can tell is fake, before batting my comment away with a flick of her hand. “Well, yes. But that meant I didn’t get to watch him walk away and climb into his truck in those delivery pants. You know how I get around delivery men.”
I laugh at her words, though they don’t surprise me. Millie is spunky for eighty-five years old. She can still drive, tells me her secret to a long life is a glass of whiskey every night, and she’s a shameless flirt with the male nurses. And delivery men. And doctors. But like me, I have a feeling her outside facade is hiding something deeper.
She lost her husband twenty years ago. They never had children, and from the bits and pieces she has told me, it wasn’t for lack of trying. Sometimes when he comes up in conversation, I see the sadness that is still there in her eyes, even twenty years later.
Then she puts on a brave face and makes that sadness seem like a fluke.
I might not have lost a great love, but I know what being alone is like. And I see it more times in Millie’s eyes than she would probably like.
I take a look at the card, seeing that it’s supposed to go to the sixth floor. “I’ll take this up before I take off for the night.”
“Why can’t I?”
“Because, old woman, the last time you went to the sixth floor, you didn’t come back for an hour.”
She sits back in mock defeat. “It’s not my fault nurse Kevin was working and I had heart palpitations.”
I laugh, gathering my purse and coat along with the poinsettia. “Heart palpitations, my foot. You just wanted him to feel you up.”
“A lady never tells. Now, go on, get out of here. Tell Kevin I said hi. Merry Christmas, darling.”
Millie waves me off with a smile and I set to make my delivery. When I first started, I used to come up to the patient floors on a regular basis, doing everything from stocking the bathrooms with toilet paper to visiting with patients. Now, most of my shifts are at the front desk. Between directing traffic and deliveries, it gives me the flexibility to work on other projects I have going on when it’s a slow night.
I double-check the number on the card, making my way to room 623. It says the arrangement is for a man named Boomer in bed B, which I really hope for his sake is a nickname.
The room is quiet, so I do my best to stay silent as I make my way to the far bed. When I approach, I see a man sleeping and a woman about his age sitting next to him, reading, as the man I’m guessing is Boomer gets his rest. I place the poinsettia on the windowsill alongside numerous other artificial plants, get well cards, and an elaborate balloon bouquet. Whoever this Boomer guy is, he’s apparently very popular. And not eighty years old like his name suggests.
I smile at the woman and give her a small wave as I turn to exit the room, but suddenly stop when I notice the man in the other bed. The one I didn’t even look at when I walked in.
He’s the last man I ever expected to see here.
Garrett Dixon, lying on his back, sleeping with IVs and wires coming out of his arm and from underneath his hospital gown. The steady beep of the monitor signaling that everything is OK, despite the image before me.
He looks frail, and that’s never a word I thought I’d use to describe him. I mean, I don’t know him all that well, just from that night at Cullen’s music program. But just from the brief interaction we had, he seemed strong. Confident. Like nothing could knock him down.
And oh yeah, sexy as all get out.
It’s that last thought that has me shaking my head, trying to erase the thought from my mind. For weeks after that night, I thought I might have imagined how attractive he was. And then I’d lose sleep for the guilt taking over me for having those thoughts. I shouldn’t be fantasizing about a married man, no mat
ter how good looking he was. And I met him for five seconds. Who honestly does that?
As I watch him, even sleeping in a hospital bed with a heart monitor beeping, I know I didn’t imagine anything.
Great, there’s another night of guilt-ridden sleep.
He stirs, and I’m frozen in place. I don’t want him to think I’m watching him sleep like some sort of creeper—even though I totally am—but part of me doesn’t want to move, either.
It’s then I notice that there are no flowers around his bed. I see one drawing on his tray table and I recognize Cullen’s coloring skills. I let out a sigh of relief, knowing that at the very least, Mark, Charlie, and the kids have been around to visit. Being Christmas Eve, it makes sense that they are at their house, getting ready for Santa’s big arrival.
Where is his wife? Shouldn’t she be here? Visiting hours aren’t over for another few hours. And it’s flipping Christmas Eve, for goodness’ sake! No one should be alone tonight, especially in a hospital.
I might not know about marriage, or even what a healthy relationship looks like, but I’d have to think that if my husband was in a hospital on Christmas Eve, you bet your butt I’d be there until they kicked me out. And even then I’d probably try to bribe the staff with cookies to stay a bit longer.
He stirs again, and I take that as my cue to get out of here. But as soon as I turn for the door, a raspy, deep voice nearly sends me out of my skin.
“Well, hello, Angel. I didn’t realize that I’d died and gone to Heaven.”
Chapter Ten
Garrett
My words visibly startle Paige and I have to stifle a laugh.
“Oh my God, you scared the life out of me!” she says, her hand over her heart as she tries to catch her breath.
“You’re scared? You weren’t the one who opened an eye to see someone staring at you.”
“I was not. Staring at you, that is,” she says, though the blush on her face immediately gives her away. I know Charlie would beat my ass for thinking this, but it’s absolutely adorable.
And not just her reaction. She’s adorable. That’s probably not the right word to describe a beautiful woman. Maybe it’s the pain meds I’m on. That’s the only word I can think of.
She’s the kind of beauty where I can’t tell if she’s twenty-five or thirty-five. Her skin is flawless, a perfect porcelain that leaves no doubt when she’s blushing, but I would never consider her skin tone as pale. Her hair is the most interesting shade of blonde that I’ve ever seen. There are so many different tones that there is no way she could have had that professionally done. No, that’s all Paige.
And her eyes? Now that they are back on me, I’m mesmerized by them. When I first met her at Cullen’s school program, I swore they were blue. Now? Now they seem almost gray.
And they are looking at me like I’m supposed to say something.
Shit… what were we talking about? Oh. Right. She’s an adorable creeper.
“You were,” I say, hoping the silence didn’t last too long. “And I’m not mad. I’ve definitely woken up to much worse.”
“Do I even want to know?”
“I was in a fraternity in college. That’s all you need to know.”
She smiles and takes a step toward me, away from the door she was about to exit.
“Is that where you learned that bad pickup line? Because, honestly? Angel? Heaven? I wouldn’t have pegged you as a bad-pickup-line kind of guy.”
I push myself up, glad that she has decided to stay, even if she’s trying to give me shit. “Who said that was bad? I think that was pretty clever. And timely. You should always give bonus points for timeliness.”
She lets out a soft laugh. “Well, I do believe you are married, which means that bad pickup lines need to be tucked away. Besides that, you don’t think it was a bad one? Because if you think that was good, then I’d love to hear a bad one. You know. For comparison.”
“Just because I’m married doesn’t mean I can’t compliment a beautiful woman.”
“If you think that was a compliment, then maybe I need to bring you a dictionary. Help you pass the time here.”
I smile, liking her playful tone, despite her mention of my marital status. She’s right though. I am married, and a good married man shouldn’t be tossing out cheesy pickup lines to his nephew’s kindergarten teacher. Then again, a good marriage would probably have the wife at the hospital with her husband who nearly died.
Annika hasn’t been here once. No calls. No texts. Nothing. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if she was watching me at night, wondering if there was a plug she could pull or something she could inject into an IV that would go unnoticed.
If there is one good thing to come out of this hospital stay, it’s that I’ve realized just how much of a heartless woman Annika is. And I don’t care how much it costs, how messy it is, or how long it will take, I’m leaving Annika the second I get out of here.
“I do have time, but I don’t need to look up the definition, Miss Blackstone. Because I have the pickup line to end all pickup lines at my disposal. The question is, are you ready for it?”
She pulls up a seat next to my bed before sitting down. “Lay it on me.”
I sit up a little straighter and lean forward, closing the distance between us. And mentally patting myself on the back for not having some sort of semi-perverted response for her saying “lay it on me.” I’m pretty sure in my current condition, I couldn’t lay anything on anyone at the moment. I pick up the scent of something floral from her, and I don’t know if it’s because I’ve been in the hospital for six days, but it’s the best thing I’ve ever smelled.
I clear my throat, hoping it sounds like I’m preparing for the line, not pushing away thoughts of flowery perfume on a woman who is completely off-limits.
“Paige?”
“Yes, Garrett?”
“On a scale of one to America, how free are you tonight?”
She holds back a laugh, but after a few seconds, she can’t contain it. It comes out loud and full and it’s contagious. I’m pretty sure she woke up my roommate, and from the sounds of it, his wife is getting a good chuckle out of my terrible line. I don’t care if we woke up the whole floor, because Paige’s laugh is one of the best sounds I’ve ever heard in my life.
“My God, that was horrible.”
“And if by horrible you mean amazing, then you are correct.”
Her laugh is now taking over her petite frame, which only makes me laugh harder. That is until I’m reminded why I’m here.
I begin coughing, which shoots Paige from her seat. By the time I catch my breath, she is next to me, holding my hand.
“It’s fine. Just… hurts a little.”
“I’m so sorry,” she says. “This is all my fault. And how horrible am I? I haven’t even asked you if you’re OK? Or why you are here? God, I’m a horrible person. Who talks about pickup lines in a hospital room!”
I turn my hand over, giving her comforting hand a squeeze. “Don’t you dare apologize. This is the first time I’ve smiled, or laughed, since I’ve been in here. And I had a pulmonary embolism. It was sudden and I got lucky. But please, my family is worried enough. I don’t need you worrying about me too.”
My words aren’t a lie. This night has been the best since my near-death experience on the beach. Mom and Mark, along with Charlie and the kids, have come by each day. Annika, being MIA, has been good and bad. Good, because I really don’t want to see her. Bad, because I’m running out of ways to explain to my mom about why my wife hasn’t been here without saying the words “bitch” and “divorce.” In all reality, she’s probably off finding her next husband.
I got a roommate yesterday, and he seems like a good-enough guy, even though we haven’t talked much. Even if I wanted to, it would be hard. The guy always has visitors. And when no one is randomly stopping by with well wishes, his wife is making sure he’s taken care of.
Which makes me think…
“N
ot that I’m sad about the company, but can I ask, why are you here?”
Paige sits back down, satisfied that I’m not about to have another coughing fit. “I volunteer here. At the hospital. I was dropping off flowers to your roommate and noticed you… well, asleep. Because yes, I was staring at you. But in my defense, seeing you took me by surprise.”
I laugh at her admission, though it’s the first part of her statement that surprises me.
“You volunteer here?”
She nods. “For a few years now.”
“How have I never seen you here?”
“Why would you? Are you… I mean, does this happen a lot?”
Her questions are genuine, and I realize that she doesn’t know anything about me other than I’m Cullen’s uncle.
“No. This is the first time I’ve been here as a patient. I’m an orthopedic surgeon.”
“Oh, I’m usually downstairs at reception,” she says. “And I’m usually only here on weekends. Today is special because of the holiday. I don’t get up to patient floors that much anymore. That’s probably why we haven’t run into each other.”
Her response catches me off guard. Not that there’s anything wrong with what she said. I think the fact that she volunteers is admirable. Doing that on top of her work schedule further proves she’s the saint that Charlie insists she is—or even the angel that I think she is.
No, what has me shaking my head is her lack of reaction when I told her what I do for a living. Usually when I tell a woman what my job is, I can immediately see dollar signs in her eyes. It doesn’t matter if I’m married or not, they hear “doctor” or “surgeon” and they are already plotting ways to get into my pants, and my wallet.
But when I look at Paige, there isn’t a mischievous glint in her eye. No, she’s looking at me like I’m… normal. Like we are just two people having a conversation.
It’s nice. Refreshing.
“So, what has you volunteering on Christmas Eve? I didn’t think anyone who didn’t have to be here tonight would be.”