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Worth It All

Page 26

by Claudia Connor


  I swallowed the massive lump in my throat. “He’s…alive, then?”

  The officer’s face fell. “Technically, yes. But I believe it’s more for loved ones to get a chance to say their goodbyes.”

  “I see.”

  “Can I offer you a ride to the hospital?”

  My mind swirled. I wanted to collapse onto the rotting boards of the front porch, but I wouldn’t let myself. Colby was alive. He was alive and he was hurt and I had to get to him.

  “I’d appreciate that,” I said. “Just give me one minute to get dressed.”

  I was in a daze as I slipped on some clothes and grabbed my purse. Mercifully, the officer didn’t try to make small talk on the twenty-minute drive to the hospital.

  We were getting married in forty-three days. He’d proposed on Christmas Eve just five months ago. I ran my fingers over the platinum ring on my finger, remembering the shine in his eyes as he’d slid it on.

  He was hurt, but he was alive. Through his job as a high school teacher and coach, he had good health insurance. Colby was a bright light. His glow was magnetic and strong. A glow like that didn’t just disappear. He was a fighter, and he’d fight his way through this.

  “ICU’s on the third floor,” the officer said as he pulled up to the emergency room entrance.

  I thanked him and went inside, looking down as I stepped onto the elevator. I’d put on running shorts, a T-shirt and a pair of worn-out house slippers with a hole in one toe. Not that it mattered.

  When I stepped off the elevator, I approached the nurses’ station.

  “Colby Harrington,” I said. “I’m his—”

  “You must be Drew.”

  “Did he ask for me?” My voice broke and I cleared my throat.

  She shook her head. “His mother said you’d be coming.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “I’ll take you in,” she said, coming around the desk and wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

  She led me through a door and my heart pounded wildly as we walked into the room. I saw Carla first, standing next to the wall of windows with her arms crossed. She clutched a wad of used tissues in one hand.

  I hardly recognized Colby. Bandages covered his head, with only his closed eyes, nose and mouth exposed.

  The nurse still had her arm around me. I turned to her.

  “There’s a tube in his throat connected to a ventilator, and that’s helping him breathe,” she said.

  I nodded. Carla was coming toward me now, her arms outstretched. I stepped away from the nurse and held Carla as she cried. She sobbed for several minutes before pulling away and wiping her face with the tissues in her hand.

  “The doctor’s supposed to be coming in,” she said.

  I squeezed her hand and went to Colby’s side. His long, dark eyelashes rested on his cheeks in an achingly familiar way. I’d woken up to this sight many times.

  A man in a white coat walked in and introduced himself as Dr. Tisdale. The nurse left the room, closing the door behind her, and the doctor sat down in a chair at the foot of Colby’s bed.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said, looking between me and Carla. “His injuries are extensive.”

  Carla went to the other side of Colby’s bed, across from where I was standing, and took his hand.

  “What are our options?” she asked.

  Dr. Tisdale shook his head. “I know this is difficult, but as Dr. Blake told you earlier, there’s nothing we can do.”

  I sucked in a breath, willing myself not to cry.

  “Is he in pain?” I asked.

  “No. With the way the accident was described by the paramedics, I believe he was knocked unconscious immediately. He never woke. I’m very sorry to have to tell you that he never will.”

  “You don’t know that,” Carla said, her voice strained with emotion.

  “His head injuries were extensive,” the doctor said in a soft tone.

  “Well, I want a second opinion,” she fired back.

  “My opinion is second to Dr. Blake’s, and I concur with what she told you. I’m very sorry.”

  “So there’s no chance?” I asked.

  “There’s no chance.”

  Carla’s eyes went wide as she looked between me and the doctor like we were both crazy.

  “If you think I’m pulling the plug on my son, you’ve got another thing coming. I will never give up on him.”

  “Mrs. Harrington—” the doctor started, his tone gentle.

  “No. I won’t listen to this. Get out of this room, the both of you.” She pointed at the door. “Now.”

  I looked at the doctor, who nodded once and stood.

  “We’ll give you some time alone with your son,” he said.

  I followed him to the door and then out into the brightly lit hallway.

  “It’s very tough news to hear,” he said. “Some people need time to absorb it.”

  I nodded silently.

  “Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked, his brown eyes warm.

  I wanted to ask him to turn back time. To put me on that road next to Colby. Or to at least give me a chance to tell him that he’d changed my life. He’d changed me into a person who hoped and dreamed. And all my hopes and dreams involved him.

  I just shook my head, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. The doctor clapped me on the shoulder and walked away.

  I went to the waiting room and sat down. The shock gave way to grief. Colby was gone. In all the ways that mattered, his light had stopped shining on a rainy highway early this morning. And the darkness was almost unbearable.

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