by Amy Miles
“Well,” Draven smiles, ignoring Timothy’s challenge, “I’d best be heading out. My mom and Kevin are planning some big party, and I’m expected to be there.”
“Which means you won’t be.” Hannah smiles. The past few weeks working side by side with Draven has taught her one very important thing about him: he doesn’t like to feel pressured into anything. She actually admires his unwillingness to conform. A part of her wishes that she could be more like him in that aspect, and yet she wonders about the darkness in him that peeks out from time to time.
It is nothing major, nothing alarming; it does give her reason to worry, though. Sometimes it is just this far off look that pulls him away from her, or a brief moment when something she says makes his expression pinch as if he felt actual pain from her words. Whatever it is that Draven is running from will eventually catch up to him, but it’s not her place to mention that to him.
She likes Draven, enjoys his company. She’s seen the way he looks at her when he doesn’t think she’s looking. He watches her intently, as if trying to solve some great mystery. He has this cute way of pursing his lips when he thinks. She tries not to let him know that she’s aware of his looks, but sometimes it’s hard.
“Of course I’m not going.” He grins, resting his hand on her shoulder. “I’ve got better things to do with my time than to hang out with a bunch of stuffy old people.”
“Yes, it must be awful to spend time with your family on Thanksgiving,” Timothy mutters under his breath, but Draven shows no hint of having heard him.
“You really do look beautiful.” He dips low and draws Hannah’s hand up to his lips. “I’ll see you Monday?”
“So long?” She can hear the wistful tone in her voice, and notices Timothy’s frown at her words but the thought of being alone all weekend makes the thrill of Timothy’s surprise diminish.
“Rules are rules. Everyone needs a break now and again.”
“Of course,” Hannah lowers her gaze, feeling her ears begin to warm with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to—“
Draven places a finger over her lips and her eyes widen in surprise. He has never touched her like that before. “If you’d like for me to come visit you I will.”
Hannah risks a glance at Timothy and finds him staring intently at the floor tiles. An odd tightening in her stomach makes her shake her head. “No. It’s alright. I’ll look forward to seeing you Monday.”
He hesitates for a moment, appearing to wait for a moment longer in case she changes her mind but finally he shrugs and heads toward the elevator.
“I wish he’d offer to come visit me this weekend.”
Hannah glances over her shoulder to see Mary leaning out of the doorway to her room. “Who? Draven?”
“Duh,” she laughs and pushes past Hannah’s wheelchair. “Who else would I be talking about?”
She walks past Timothy and heads toward her station. Sue Ellen follows after, both glancing toward the elevator where Draven was only a moment ago. Hannah frowns but senses Timothy’s nearness. She looks up to find him standing beside her, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He looks uncomfortable.
“Are you alright?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Hannah considers his question. Although they have never really spoken about her friendship with Draven, she has noticed Timothy’s smooth ability to focus on heard the details of her therapy and not the one assisting her with it. “You don’t like Draven very much, do you?”
Timothy opens his mouth to speak and then closes it again. He shakes his head. “I’ve known guys like him in the past. They’re bad news.”
Hannah scoffs. “There is nothing wrong with him.”
“That’s what he wants you to think. Trust me…I know his type. He’s not volunteering at this hospital for the food, I can tell you that.”
Her eyes widen in surprise. “You’re jealous!”
“What?” He shifts his weight away from her. “Jealous? Of Draven Young? What’s there to be jealous of beyond his playboy charm, flashy bank account, and sports car? Nah. That’s not my style.”
Hannah isn’t fooled. He can play it off as no big deal but she knows better. The fact that he is jealous makes her feel confused, exhilarated, and then right back to confused again. Does Timothy care about me? Of course he does. He feels responsible for me, for my accident, but could there possibly be more between us? Do I want there to be?
Reaching out her hand, she clasps his arm and waits for him to meet her gaze. She tries to soften her words as best she can but knows that she has to be honest with him. “I like Draven. He’s been very kind to me these past few weeks. I can’t stop speaking to him just because you have a feeling that he has an ulterior motive, which I whole heartedly disagree with, by the way.”
“That’s because you don’t know how amazing you are,” he mutters, so low she’s not sure if she heard him correctly. When he speaks again it’s loud enough to easily hear each word. “Just be careful around him, ok?”
“Cross my heart.” She mimics the childish symbol of a promise, and that brings a small smile back to Timothy’s face. “So…about this surprise.”
The tension in his shoulders fades away and his easy going smile returns. “I’d almost forgotten.”
He walks around behind her and takes control of her wheel chair. “Not another rooftop picnic, is it?”
“I’m afraid it’s a bit too blustery for that. I had to improvise this time.”
Hannah glances in each of the rooms as she passes, realizing how selfish she has been. Many of these patients won’t be with their families today either. A special meal has been prepared by the hospital chefs in celebration of this holiday and will be served soon, but it hardly makes up for the fact that some of their families will not come.
This thought makes her sad as Timothy wheels her toward the elevator. They wait in silence for the door to ding and then wait for it to open. She catches the floor Timothy selects from the corner of her eye and begins systematically sorting through the rooms that she knows are housed on the lower floor.
A gift shop. A floral shop for those people who failed to remember to bring flowers of their own. A small chapel. The cafeteria. The registration desk with a kiosk for locating patients during off hours. Several waiting rooms for those receiving outpatient services. A pharmacy. The ER located in the rear of the building and the main break room for the nursing staff.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” She can hear the hint of excitement in his voice as the doors open before her and he wheels her out into a nearly deserted lobby. The shops are closed up for the day. The waiting room is empty. Only a few people hover near the kiosk, and Hannah finds herself dearly hoping that one of them is going to visit a patient on her floor.
The wheels of her chair move silently across the glossed tile. Timothy leads her around corners with confidence. “You’re either lost or you’re trying to trick me,” she says as they pass the gift shop for the third time.
“Neither.”
“Alright then you’re stalling.”
Although she can’t see him, she senses his smile. “Maybe.”
“Ha. I knew it! What do you have up your sleeve, Timothy Lewis?”
“Just an old man with a healthy appetite,” a voice calls from behind her. Hannah gasps as Timothy slowly wheels her around. Tears trail down her cheeks as she sees her uncle Andrew limping toward her. His gait is halting and his teeth are obviously gritted at the effort that it takes to be mobile, but he stands tall and proud as he approaches.
“Oh my gosh! You look amazing,” she says as Timothy helps to close the gap between them. “You shouldn’t be out of bed, though. The doctors said you need to take it easy.”
“I couldn’t let my favorite girl spend Thanksgiving alone, now could I?”
“Second favorite,” Claire calls as she slips out of a set of double doors a short way down the hall.
Andrew grins and s
hrugs. “What can I say?”
“I don’t mind being second in line.” Hannah’s tears moisten her lips. She feels laughter bubble up inside her as Andrew wraps his arm around her shoulder and hugs her. “I was so worried about you.”
“I know.” His grip tightens around her shoulders. “Now it’s time for both of us to get better, yeah?”
“Absolutely.”
“You know the best way to do that?” Claire calls and exchanges a look with Timothy. He wheels Hannah toward her aunt and just before she gets there, the doors are thrown open to reveal dozens of people inside the cafeteria. Nurses, therapy staff, and even a few of the janitors who drop in to say hi from time to time. All people she has come to love, and every one of them has chosen to spend their holiday here…with her.
Tears fall unheeded down her cheeks as she greets each person. Timothy wheels her slowly through the line, allowing her time to properly thank each one. When words fail her, she resorts to hugs, none of which are refused.
“I had no idea…” she whispers, in utter awe of the outpouring of love in the room.
Timothy dips down beside her. With a softness that contradicts the deep callouses on his hand, he wipes her tears away. “Happy Thanksgiving, Hannah.”
“I’m speechless.”
He grins. “That’s twice today. Seems to me like I’ve got a new record.”
Hannah laughs and breathes deep, savoring all of the delicious scents of food. A buffet of turkey, dressings, steaming vegetables, and sinfully buttered rolls lies spread before her. She glances at the people around her, knowing that there is far too much food here.
“Is something wrong?” His brow dips with concern.
She chews on her lower lip, trying to decide how he will respond to her words. “Will you help me with something?”
Twenty minutes later, Hannah sits in her wheelchair in the hallway that she has called her own for nearly three months. A place of healing and despair, of guilt, remorse, and death, but also life and love and friendship. Tonight the hall is filled with people, patients, family members, and hospital staff alike. The sound of laughter mingled with the hiss of blood pressure monitors and the exhale of breathing machines is like music to Hannah’s ears as plates of food are dished up and passed around.
No one is alone. No one is left out.
“They’re so happy,” she whispers, feeling joy fill her.
“You did this,” Timothy says beside her in awe as he too watches the happiness running the length of the hall.
“No,” she shakes her head and smiles, twining her fingers through his. “We did this.”
SEVENTEEN
Healing Tears
Over the next week, Draven and Hannah spend a lot of time together, both in and out of the therapy room. Neither of them mentions the unspoken challenge and obvious tension between himself and Timothy on Thanksgiving. They simply work as they have always done. He prefers it that way.
The more Draven gets to know Hannah, the deeper he finds himself invested. Not just in her as a person but in her recovery as well. He finds himself spending hours on Google, researching her condition in the hope of being able to bring her some good news. He has even started enjoying his chats with Art about new therapies they can try to help strengthen Hannah’s core muscles so that when she does regain the use of her legs—because he refuses to consider the alternative—she will be prepared for the hard work ahead of her.
Hannah never complains. Never quits. She does exactly as she is supposed to, even when he can tell that the tasks cause her pain or exhaustion. Never before has he met a woman with such great strength, both physically and mentally.
He has come to suspect that her faith is at the root of this strength, though she doesn’t speak of it much. He knows it is something she believes firmly and has respected his wishes to focus on other topics, but somehow it still comes out—in the way she thinks, the way she talks, and the way she greets each of the patients. Her actions speak far louder than most religious people’s words. If he could sum Hannah up in a single word, it would be hope.
The more time he spends with her, the more he loathes when their therapy together is done. Sometimes he goes to hang out with her in her room afterward under the ruse of wanting to make sure she arrives safely. They play card games like War or Go Fish, mostly just because they are her favorites, and he loves to hear her laugh when she thinks she has the upper hand. Sometimes they just sit and look out the window, creating their own running commentary on the nursing staff taking a smoke break at the rear of the building that they spy on from her window.
Hannah is unlike any girl he has ever known before, and saying that is a huge compliment. Draven has begun to realize that the women he was attracted to before held no interest for him beyond their bra’s cup size. With Hannah, it’s different. He actually wants to hear her opinion, to see the world through her eyes. Optimistic people used to drive him mad, but her cheerful nature feels different, more genuine somehow.
But there is a downside to being with Hannah. She doesn’t seem to see him as anything more than a friend. At first, this really bothered him far more than he’d ever admit to a living soul. Not because her lack of interest hurt his pride, although it certainly did a good job of that, but because he has come to actually care about her in a way that he has never experienced before. Being with her is no longer about him.
“Try again. I know you can do it,” he encourages.
Hannah bites her lower lip, her brow deeply furrowed as she focuses all of her might on her left big toe. Wiggling a toe should be a simple task, one that he would hardly give any thought to, but for Hannah it would be a life changing moment. She has spent the past few months working on this one task and to date has failed each time.
He began to feel hopeful about two weeks back when some of the feeling in her legs began to return. First, it began with sharp stabs of pain that would snatch her breath away, but she was thankful to have any feeling at all and gladly accepted this new development. Then the numbness began to recede further down into her thigh, allowing her to feel pressure against her hip region.
Each day they work together, hoping that this will be the day of her big breakthrough, but each day he goes home feeling defeated and useless. When he returns the next morning, Hannah is all smiles and excitement to give it another shot. Even after all this time, he still can’t say that he has her figured out, but he’s grateful for her upbeat attitude. Without it, he may have been forced to give up a long time ago.
“I’m sorry,” she finally says and leans back against the wall. She brushes thick strands of hair out of her face and blows out a weighted breath. “I really thought today might be my time to shine. I hate wasting your time.”
He leans forward and grasps her hand. “Hey, it’s not a waste. Each time we meet, you are getting stronger, and one of these days you’re going to amaze yourself.”
Her gaze shifts and he gets the distinct feeling that his praise embarrasses her. He likes that about Hannah. She is humble, unlike most of the girls he knows.
“We’ve been at this for so long. I’m trying to stay positive, but some days are harder than others,” she admits, giving him a rare glimpse into her inner world. Normally she seems as if nothing can faze her. It’s actually nice to see that she’s not immune to despair. That he can relate to.
He thinks for a moment, pondering ways that he can encourage her, and a slow smile spreads along his lips. “Let’s take a break.”
“A break? But I’ve only been here an hour.”
“Your mind has been here a lot longer than that. I think it’s time I spring you out of this joint.
“A prison break?” Hannah laughs, casting a furtive glance toward Art. His back is toward them as he dips low to speak with one of the other therapists who works alongside several of the more advanced patients. Betty’s progression with the cane has come so far Draven knows the woman won’t have to return for therapy any more. Although Hannah will be happy to
know Betty can care for herself again, she will no doubt be sad to see her go, and he’s already trying to think of ways to cheer her up.
Draven bends down, lifts her effortlessly into his arm, and then positions her into her chair. “Don’t you want to get out of here for a bit?”
“Sure, but it’s against hospital policy. You know patients like me have to be monitored.”
He grins and tucks a blanket over her lap before giving her his jacket as well. The beginning of December may not bring snow to the Outer Banks, but it does bring blustery winds and biting cold. “I’ve got connections. Just leave this to me.”
And true to his word, he manages to wheel right past the nursing station, the ER, and the information desk on the first floor without anyone stopping him. He frowns. That was too easy. Anyone could grab a patient and take them out of here. I’ll have to mention that to Kevin after he gets done yelling at me later over this little stunt.
Yes, Kevin will yell, and yes, he will probably rant and threaten and God only knows what else, but all of it will be worth it just to see Hannah smile. A real smile not weighted down by the trials of her life.
The wheelchair bumps in his hands as he leaves the path and heads for the parking lot. When Hannah doesn’t make any exclamation of delight when she sees his Viper sitting in the lot, he is not surprised. Hannah has never struck him as someone who cares about fancy things, physical appearances, or anything status related, for that matter.
He opens the door and helps her inside, careful not to go too far and buckle her belt for her. He knows that Hannah likes to be independent in the things that she is able to do on her own. It’s important to her.
Leaving the wheelchair near the handicapped space, not far from the side entrance of the hospital, Draven jogs back to the car and drops inside. He cranks up the heater the instant the engine roars to life and rubs his fingers together, wishing he’d worn something warmer than a thin sweater and undershirt.
“So,” he turns in his seat, “where to?”