by Shandi Boyes
“You came back to me.” When her stomach ripples under my hand, she corrects, “You came back to us.”
“Us?” I strangle out, my confusion at an all-time high.
“Yes. Us.” She presses her lips to mine, her kiss innocent yet earth-moving. “You’re going to be a daddy,” she whispers over my mouth.
I yank back, fucking my head up with more dizziness. “You didn’t lose our baby?”
Emily’s brows furl before she shakes her head. "We had a bit of a scare, but everything is okay." As her stunned eyes bounce between mine, her teeth graze her bottom lip. "How do you know about that?"
I shrug, unsure how to explain anything. I’m so fucking confused right now, I’m not yet convinced any of this is happening. I feel like I’m in a trance, which isn’t far from how I’ve felt the past four months.
Like the sun rising over the horizon, it dawns on me that our baby moved in her stomach. Doesn’t that only happen once they’re a few months along? “How far are you?”
My heart skips a beat when Emily smiles. Dream or not, I don’t want to ever leave this room. I want to stay here forever, with her, for eternity.
“Twenty-three weeks.”
My brows jump up my face. “How long does a standard pregnancy last?”
Emily giggles again. It’s just as magical the second time around. “Normally forty weeks.”
“So in a matter of months, I’m going to be a dad?”
My heart races when Emily nods. “In around seventeen weeks—”
“I’ll be a dad—to a baby I created with you in seventeen weeks?!” Fuck yes!
When I scoot across the bed, my stomach launches into my throat. In my excitement, I failed to register my leg is being held together by a stupid splint.
“Are you okay?”
I scrub at the worried groove between Emily’s brows with my thumb before nodding. “But I need you to lie down.”
She glances at me with curious eyes before doing as requested. Once she’s flat on her back, a small curve protrudes from her midsection. Ignoring the shake of my hand, panicked she’s about to vanish, I place it on her stomach. It doesn’t take long to feel the tiny flutters.
“He’s showing off for his daddy.”
My eyes rocket to Emily’s. “It’s a boy?”
She shakes her head. “Not officially. I’m just guessing.”
My lips quirk. “Hmm, we’ll see.”
I don’t know why, but the image of a little girl with dark curly hair and light brown eyes flashed before my eyes when I put my hand on Emily’s stomach.
I stop tracking my thumb over the little person wiggling in Emily’s stomach when a female voice shrills into my room. “He’s finally awake.”
Turning my gaze, I see a blonde lady with a medium build who appears to be in her late twenties. I recognize her voice, but I can’t place her face.
“I knew you’d eventually come back.”
The mirth in her tone is usual, but the snarky way she delivers her sassiness has me more than curious. I swear we’ve bickered numerous times the past few months, but if that’s true, why does she look so different than the image in my head?
It can’t be her, can it?
Too confused to hold back, I stammer, “Dr. Miller?”
She smiles a full-toothed grin before winking. “Bingo.”
Emily takes in a sharp breath as she scoots up the bed. The more her eyes bounce between Dr. Miller and me, the lower her jaw hangs.
“I told you the cochlear nerve was the last to go,” Dr. Miller advises Emily as she paces to my bedside. “How are you feeling? Any cramps, muscle spasms, pain, etc.?”
When I shake my head, too shocked to form a verbal reply, Emily’s eyes narrow. I hate hospitals, so I'll lie through my teeth if it will have me discharged.
Refusing to disappoint Emily any more than I already have, I murmur, “I’m a little achy.”
“That’s expected. You’ve been in a coma for three months. It will take extensive physical therapy to get your body back to its original condition, but I have no doubt you will make a full recovery. You’re a fighter.”
I stare into Dr. Miller’s hazel eyes, dazed and confused. She did just say I’ve been in a coma for three months, didn’t she? How can that be right? I just completed three months of rehabilitation with her, didn’t I?
My bewilderment is heard in my tone when I ask, “Sorry, but who are you—exactly?”
“I’m the specialist your record label brought in to assist you with your comatose state—”
“So you’re not a therapist for people with anger and alcohol issues?”
Her smile enlarges before she shakes her head. “No, I’m not that type of therapist.”
My eyes drift to Jacob, who has his shoulder propped against the doorframe of my room. If anyone will help me see sense through the madness, it will be him.
Regrettably, he appears as confused as me. Everyone in the room is looking at me weirdly, like nothing I’m saying is making any sense. They’re not the only ones reeling. I’d pinch myself to check if I’m alive if I wasn’t panicked it would steal Emily back away from me.
My eyes stray back to Dr. Miller when she places her hand over mine. “Studies have proven the cochlear nerve is the last thing to be affected in patients in a comatose state. That means, while you appear unconscious, your brain still picks up events and conversations happening around you and formulates its own response to them. Although the thoughts in your head may appear real, more times than not, they’re a result of your subconscious activity.”
I stare at her, certain I misheard her explanation. Everything I’ve been through for the past three months, believing I’d lost Emily, her funeral, the band tours, and my time in rehab couldn’t have been a part of my subconscious. It felt so real, and it hurt so much. You don’t dream shit like that. It was a nightmare... a real-life motherfucking nightmare.
Dr. Miller breaks the silence teeming between Emily, Jacob, herself, and me. “Do you want to talk about what happened while you were unconscious?”
“No,” I force out without a second thought.
They’re not memories I want to rehash. They were the worst months of my life, so I’d rather forget they happened than explain them to people I’m not sure aren’t figments of my imagination.
I pull Emily into my chest. Hallucination or not, she’s here, with me. That’s all that matters.
When Emily peers up at me with wide, panicked eyes, I murmur, “I’ll tell you one day, just not today. Okay?”
She nods, acknowledging she heard me before burrowing her face into my chest. I tighten my grip around her torso before closing my eyes to relish having her in my arms again.
“Psst.” I peg a rolled-up tissue at Jacob, snarling when it misses its mark. It floats to the ground instead of smacking him in the chops. I give it a second shot to gain his attention, except this time, I use a pen. “Psst.”
When he grumbles a curse word, unappreciative of the pen smacking him in the nose, I press my finger to my lips. Emily is asleep in my arms, my early morning awakening tiring on her pregnant body. Apparently, her favorite sleeping position didn’t alter while I was in a coma. She just had to wait for the nurses to do their final checks before slipping into my bed. Her favorite side changed, though. With my left leg fucked up, she now snuggles into my right.
Upon spotting my signal, Jacob jerks up his chin before leaning close to my bedside. He’s the same Jacob I remember from the past three months, just not as hazy.
“Can I ask you something?”
When he notches his chin up for the second time, I swivel my tongue around my mouth to loosen it up before speaking words I never want to speak again. “Did Emily die?”
“Huh?” Jacob’s brows furrow. “Emily? As in your Emily?” He sounds as confused as I still feel. Although I ‘woke’ hours ago, I still feel like I’m dreaming.
When I nod, he murmurs, “No. Why would you think that?”
“I stood at your side at Chris’s funeral—”
“This wasn’t Chris’s funeral. It was Emily’s. There were lilies on her casket, and a photo of us on top.”
Jacob urges me to calm down when the heart monitor next to my bed reveals the spike of my pulse. Once it’s settled, he asks, “That photo?”
He points to the window ledge in the far right corner of my room. There’s a photo of Emily and me in a frame next to a large bouquet of white lilies, the same photo from her funeral.
“I brought the photo because I knew it was your favorite. We don’t know who the lilies are from. They’ve been coming in every week for the past three months.”
I lick my dry lips as I try to break through the fog in my head. Now that I’m thinking back, Emily’s funeral was held at the same church Chris’s was. Jacob watched over me that day as he did at Emily’s funeral, there was just one difference: my dad didn’t crash the event.
“My dad was there.”
“Here?” Jacob corrects, assuming I worded my statement wrong.
I didn’t.
“No, he was at Emily’s funeral.”
He gives me a look, one that reveals he’s worried about my mental well-being. I understand his worry. I’m feeling a little unhinged right now. “Your dad was granted parole the day of your accident. He’s been floating in and out of your hospital room the past three months.”
“Okay.” I’m not convinced, but who am I to argue? I think one thing happened, when everyone around me believes another.
As a timeline of the past few months roll through my head, my hand darts up to my neck. I'm still wearing the guitar pendant Jacob gave me the day after Emily's funeral.
Before I can ask Jacob about it, he confesses, “Ryan found a shard of your guitar in the wreckage. With Jenni’s help, I had it placed onto the pendant for you. I knew how much your guitar meant to you; I’m just sorry I couldn’t get the whole inscription.”
“You’ve said that to me before, haven’t you?”
Jacob peers at me in utter shock. “Yes. The day I put it around your neck in the very bed you’re sitting in.” Moisture glistens in his eyes. “You heard what I said that day?”
“No... not exactly. I don’t know what the fuck I heard or didn’t hear. I’m so confused.”
When I lean back to run a shaky hand over my head, Emily murmurs in her sleep. My panic switches from soothing me to comforting her. I run my hand up and down her arm until the rapid movements of her eyes settle. Comforting her eases the turmoil in my gut. I can feel her, smell her, and touch her, but I’m afraid I’m seconds from waking up to discover I’m once again dreaming. That’s why I can’t sleep. I don’t want to risk losing her again.
Jacob aims to settle my confusion. “What else happened in that head of yours while you were asleep? By the sounds of it, none of it was pleasant.”
While Emily rests, I go through every event I believe occurred the prior three months. My attempt to end my life, the band's tour, my run-in with the paparazzi, and my months in rehab. For every event I recall, Jacob offsets my claims with an activity my muddled brain may have misconstrued.
The words Jacob yelled at me after my suicide attempt were the words he screamed when I tried to end my life after Chris took his. The band did owe two million dollars for failing to fulfill our contract, but instead of going on tour, Nick’s older brother Isaac loaned us the money. I didn’t beat a member of the paparazzi; Jacob did after he snuck into my room to get an exclusive picture of me on my death bed, and although my months of rehab were true, they weren’t as I remember them.
Dr. Miller specializes in rehabilitating patients in comas. Our twice-daily conversations occurred without fail, but they were as one-sided as I wish they had been when I experienced them.
Jacob even has plausible explanations for the most minute things, such as Emily traveling to me so we could get married. He said they were discussing it in my room. He even mentioned the suit he left hanging on my closet door. His description matched the suit I thought I wore to Emily’s funeral.
An uneasy grin stretches across Jacob’s face as he scratches his brow. “How long did you think it was before you went on the road?”
Although unsure where he’s going, I reply, “Six days.”
His grin enlarges. “And you performed, right?”
“Yeah. Why?”
Air whistles between his teeth as he shakes his head in disbelief. “Day six of your coma was the first day we registered movement from you. You tapped your fingers on the bedsheets.” He sinks into his chair, his hand shooting up to scrub the messy beard on his chin. “It was to the beat of ‘Hollow.’”
I stare at him in bewilderment, shocked beyond words. Over the past thirty minutes, he has proved without doubt that every event I thought occurred the past three months was based on things I overheard while in a coma. My fucked-up brain just didn’t register them as good snippets of information. It flipped them on their head, making what should have been pleasant dreams terrifying nightmares.
"This type of thing isn't unusual, Noah." Jacob scoots closer to my bed, ensuring I can hear his whispered words over Emily's faint snores. "From the research Rachel showed me, nightmares occur more often in comatose patients than people realize. Some patients take longer recovering mentally from their injuries than physically when they wake — especially ones with circumstances like yours. Emily was with you before Ryan pulled her away. With your history, it's understandable that you got a little muddled up."
“So I’m not dreaming? Emily is here? Alive and well?” I hate that my voice cracks, but when it’s a choice between crack or sob, I’d rather it be the former.
Jacob stands from his chair to mess my hair before pulling my head into his chest. I don’t feel like such a soft-cock when I hear how hard his heart is raging. He’s struggling too, his reasons are just different than mine.
“Yes, Noah. She’s here. With you. Alive and well. She’s not going anywhere. I promise you that.”
Chapter 58
Noah
To say the past month has been a fun, exciting time would be a major fucking understatement. The grueling twice-daily sessions I had with Dr. Miller the past three months still occur, except we no longer sit around and chat. She rides my ass with painful physical therapy sessions and a workout routine not designed for a man who spent the last three months in a coma.
Dr. Kirkpatrick, the doctor who refused to give up on me when I went into cardiac arrest the night my head thought I was in a car accident, denied my request to discharge myself from the hospital against medical advice. When Jacob threatened to pin me to my bed until I abided by his terms, I glared at him. He returned my stare, but his was brimming with confusion, unsure why I grumbled my frustration about him using his size against me.
That was the first but, unfortunately, not the last time I’ve fucked up when striving to separate fact from fiction the past month.
Adjusting back to the reality of life is hard, but as the days roll on, I have more understanding on how events that transpired during my coma played havoc with my subconscious.
Just the fact Ryan was the one who dragged Emily away from me at the accident scene made me believe she was dead. He told me about my brother dying, so when I meshed those days with the morning of my accident, the worst nightmare of my life commenced.
Thank god Emily’s death was nothing more than the inner workings of a fucked-up, disturbed mind.
Although the past month has been grueling, there’s also been many wonderful moments. The most gratifying was seeing my baby kicking inside Emily’s stomach. Dr. Kirkpatrick arranged for Emily to have an ultrasound at the hospital clinic so I could be wheeled down to attend. They have the coolest 3D ultrasound machine. We saw our baby’s ten little fingers and ten little toes in crys
tal clear detail. It was so defined, I’m convinced our baby will have Emily’s little turned-up nose.
When they asked if we wanted to find out the baby’s gender, Emily’s gaze turned to mine, wordlessly seeking permission. I shook my head. After everything we have been through, I wanted it to be a surprise. I thought Emily would be upset because she seemed so excited when the ultrasound technician asked, but her smile didn’t falter. It was as blistering as it was the day I woke and the thirty-seven days that have followed.
Emily hasn’t left my side. I use her for motivation. Her standing at the end of the walking bars is all the incentive I need to get to the other end. Her smile inches higher on her face with every step I take toward her. Her smile is nearly as large as her belly has grown the past month. She can still get away without looking pregnant if she wears a loose shirt, but if it's fitted, she can’t hide her little bump. I’m glad, because I can’t wait to share the news of our baby with our fans.
They’ve been so dedicated the past five months, our album continues to hold its number one spot. It’s the longest number one selling album Destiny Records has ever produced, and its royalties meant the debt the band had with Isaac was repaid in full within the first week I came out of the coma.
I’ll be honest, I was surprised Isaac could lend us that much money. His dance club is very popular, but I didn’t think he had millions of dollars in the bank to borrow on a whim. However, I’m beyond grateful he eased the pressure placed on Emily’s shoulders when she found out I was being sued.
At Emily’s request, the two million dollars the acoustic version of “Surrender Me” has raised was donated to a brain injury research fund. I’m incredibly grateful I didn’t sustain any permanent damage from my accident, but others aren’t as lucky as me. I survived, but the driver of my taxi did not. Part of the profits from our current album will go to the driver’s family. I know firsthand what they’re going through, so I want to lessen their grief in any way possible. Money won’t do that, but it will give them time to grieve.