by T. R. Cupak
“Miss Winslow, I will personally call you when the time is right.”
“D, if you can hear me, do as the doctor asks so I can take you home sooner than later,” I whisper by his ear, hoping he can hear me. Leaving him is making me feel sick. My brother shouldn’t be alone. He should have someone he trusts to be with him. But I’m not the doctor, and I have no say.
A male nurse enters the room and preps my brother for transport, and within minutes, he leaves, pushing my brother’s bed out of the room.
I snatch up my bag from the floor and head outside into the cold night for some much-needed fresh air. I find a somewhat private bench set at the edge of fresh-cut grass, between a couple of tall trees and manicured bushes. Digging in my bag, I grab one of the flasks Sydnee snuck into the hospital for me, and I take a big swig. The liquid burns as it makes its way down my tender throat, but I know the flavor of good bourbon when I taste it. I polish off the flask and follow it with one of the bottled waters Sydnee also included in my bag.
Not wanting my dad to hear the distress in my voice, I opt to text him instead of calling. I purposely kept it short, leaving out the drama that unfolded. I let my dad know that they took Deacon to the psych ward, where he’ll be under observation for a couple of days. Of course, he follows up with an inquiry about when he can see his son, and I tell him that Dr. Harrison will contact us as soon as Deacon can have visitors. It doesn’t take a mind-reader to sense the displeasure in my dad’s text, but he also knows I’m just the messenger. He asks about Kade, and I tell him I am heading to his room next, and I will send an update when I have one.
Today did not play out as I had hoped, and now I’m struggling with whether or not I should tell Kade everything, or the same half-truth I said to my father.
Fuck my life.
17
KADE
Waking with no one in my room was a surprise.
My mother returned earlier from my house with my gym bag. I told her about my teeth brushing mishap. It was nice to hear her laugh. Mom has always had a beautifully infectious laugh and a smile that lights up even the darkest room.
Not long after my mom settles in the bedside reclining chair, the night shift nurse comes in with the pain medication dispenser. She gives me a quick rundown on the machine and informs me that the medication will only dispense when the light is green.
While the nurse jots down my recent vitals information in the chart, the light on the machine turns green. She has me press the button to make sure it was working correctly. Within seconds, I feel a warm sensation where the IV is stuck into the side of my wrist. Before leaving my room, she asks both my mother and me if we need anything, and we both respond that we’re fine.
At some point after my third press of the pain medication button, I must have fallen asleep, and that’s when my mom decided to go home for a bit. She had traveled back from Singapore and come straight to the hospital. I’m glad she left to get some sleep.
Grabbing my charged cell phone, I send a text to Britney asking for an update on Deacon. When I hit send, I hear a faint noise coming from the hall, followed by two female voices having a discussion.
The door cracks open, and Britney peeks her head inside. Even in the poorly lit room, I can see she doesn’t look happy, which means that something is wrong with Deacon. Meanwhile, I’m stuck in this fucking bed useless to everyone.
“Hey,” she whispers.
“Hey. Come in.”
She enters my room, closing the door behind her, and places a Louis Vuitton tote bag on the counter by the door. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she exhales as her feet move her in my direction. What the fuck is all over her?
Britney looks like she’s been through the wringer. She approaches my bed cautiously, like she’s afraid I might bite her, but the closer Brit gets, the easier it is to see she has something dark caked on her cheek as well as clumped in the loose tendrils of hair hanging out of her bun. I even notice deep red splotches on her sweatshirt. That’s when it hits me—that’s blood all over her! Something is seriously wrong. I have so many questions I want to fire at her, but I keep them to myself for now. Britney is in a fragile state, and all I want to do is protect her, comfort her—love her.
“Brit, do you want to go wash up?”
“Why do you ask?” My question seems to catch her off guard. Has she not seen herself?
“Do you have another shirt?” This time I ask the question with caution. She looks down at her sweatshirt, and her eyes go wide as she takes in the blood-stained top.
“I don’t. Do you have a t-shirt I can borrow?” Britney’s voice wavers when she speaks. She’s struggling to keep her composure, but I don’t think she’s going to win that battle.
“In the cabinet. My mom dropped off clothes last night.” Britney changes her original direction and heads toward the closet-slash-cabinet instead. Wasting no time, she grabs a shirt and her tote and beelines to the bathroom.
Britney’s in the bathroom for a while. It’s long enough for my pain level to kick up a notch or two. Clicking the button, I dispense my medication. My eyes stay fixed on the bathroom door, waiting for her to emerge. The water has been running the entire time she’s been in the bathroom. I can only assume to hide the sound of her crying. Come on, Brit. Let me hold you and make you feel safe.
The bathroom door opens, and Britney steps out with wet hair and one of my humorous Blue Line t-shirts. This one says “Proud Pig” and sports a black and white American flag in the shape of a pig, with the thin blue line displayed through the middle. If things weren’t so fucked up right now, I would chuckle at the way she looks. I do have to admit, though, I also experience a feeling I wasn’t expecting: desire. She looks damn good in my shirt.
“Here,” I tell her as I pull back the covers, silently asking her to lay with me instead of sitting in the reclining chair. She nods her understanding of the not-so-subtle request and climbs onto the bed beside me. Then I pull the covers over her and wait for her to start talking. When she doesn’t, I break the silence. “Was that your phone chiming outside my door?”
“Yeah. I didn’t want to disturb you if you were sleeping, and I was trying to get an update on your condition when you texted. The nurse was kind enough to let me see you when I showed her it was you texting.”
Now that she’s close, I can smell minty toothpaste and booze on her breath. Where in the hell did she get the alcohol? But, instead of questioning her alcohol consumption and how she got it, I quickly conclude that Sydnee must have brought it to her, thinking her best friend could use a drink or two.
Britney settles in beside me, and seconds later, the door opens, and in walks the night nurse with her cart.
“Since you’re up, it’s that time again.” She smiles. “You’re fine where you’re at, doll.” She motions toward Britney, who was shuffling to get out of my bed. She informs me that Aaron will remove my catheter in the morning, and once that is complete, the physical therapist will be in to get me out of bed and moving around. It will feel good to get up instead of being confined to this damn bed; my lower back is killing me. A couple of questions later, the nurse leaves my room and closes the door.
“Well, I don’t need to ask how you’re doing since you just told the nurse.” Britney rolls onto her left side, so she’s facing me. Her eyes are bloodshot from whatever she had to drink and puffy from crying. There’s nothing in this world I want more than to secure Britney in my arms and comfort her from all the pain she’s going through, but I can’t. At least not right now. If I try to roll to my side, a world of hurt will follow, and if that happens, I will have to dispense more pain medication, which would knock me out. So, I choose to be awake for Britney over some semblance of comfort.
“Brit, what’s going on? Was that blood all over you?”
She closes her eyes as tears begin to slide over the bridge of her nose, and the droplets land on my pillow. Britney sniffles and she has yet to reopen her eyes.
�
��You’re scaring me, Brit.” Her lack of words has my mind spinning in all different directions, but the most dreadful thought I have is wondering if Deacon tried to kill himself. Come on, B, talk to me.
“Deacon was awake but unresponsive, for the most part. I got two words out of him after I took a quick shower. My dad and I finally convinced my mom to go home, eat, and rest. I promised I wouldn’t leave Deacon, and I would keep them updated.” Britney stops talking, and her tears are flowing steadily. I try to reach over to wipe them away, but the small movement shoots another sharp pain through the left side of my chest and lung. Cringing, I make no sound of my discomfort. I need Britney to keep talking and not worry about me.
“I’m so stupid, Kade. Not even thinking twice about it, I turned on the television, and like a slap in the face, there was an update about Jesus. I tried to turn it off, but D snatched the remote from my hand. When the reporter mentioned Jesus was the one who shot you, my brother leaped off the bed and locked himself in the bathroom. I heard glass break, and everything that happened gets jumbled from there. The blood was from a huge gash on Deacon’s head. By the look of the mirror, he’d slammed his head into it.” Britney’s words cut straight to the core of my being. My brother from a different mother is mentally spiraling, and there’s not a fucking thing any of us can do to bring him back. At least not right now, there isn’t.
“Where is he now?”
“The psychiatrist finally arrived and had him transferred upstairs to his ward. We can’t see or talk to him until the doctor gives us the all-clear, which could be days. My brother is broken, and I don’t know how to piece him back together. This kind of mental instability is uncharted territory for my parents and me.”
Fuck me. I’m trying to wrap my head around the fact that my best friend is locked away in the psych ward, but I just can’t.
“Let me try to see if I can talk to him. Maybe they will allow me to see him since I was there and a big part of why he’s feeling guilty.” As the words leave my mouth, I already feel like I’m setting myself up to fail Britney. But we won’t know if I don’t try.
“Don’t hold your breath,” is her only response.
“Why don’t you go home and try to get some rest?” Regret washes over me. I don’t want her to leave. I need her to stay here with me, but I also know she can’t live here the entire time her brother and I are stuck here.
“If you want me to go, I’ll leave and let you get some rest.” The sadness in her voice guts me. She doesn’t want to leave, which makes me happy, but she thinks I want her to go.
“Brit, that is so far from what I want. Stay with me, please.”
Britney contemplates my request before nodding her head. She looks exhausted, but I know that even if she falls asleep, she won’t get a good night’s sleep.
“You can push your button now. I know you’re in pain and didn’t want to fall asleep in the middle of talking to me. Thank you.” Her eyes flutter before closing, and her shallow breathing indicates she’s already asleep. Britney still has the worried crease between her perfectly shaped eyebrows, meaning that even though she is sleeping, her stress hasn’t eased up.
“Anything for you, Britney,” I whisper in her direction, knowing she doesn’t hear me.
“RISE AND SHINE, SLEEPYHEADS,” Nurse Aaron sings out in a tone that’s too-chipper. He waltzes over to the window and cracks open the blinds, allowing the early morning sun to shine through. “We gotta get that catheter out, and get you on your feet,” he says, reminding me of what the other nurse said last night.
“What time is it?” I need to know if I need to kill him for waking me up too fucking early.
“It’s seven-fifteen. Now, let’s wake up sleeping beauty.”
Looking over at Britney, who hasn’t budged since Aaron came into the room, I notice her worry line has vanished. She’s still facing me, lying on her left side, but she has her arms wrapped around my bicep, and her right leg is resting on top of mine.
“Can you give us twenty minutes? She hasn’t been sleeping well since the shooting.” I’m trying to appeal to his sympathetic side, but I also understand that if he says ‘no,’ it’s because he has a schedule to keep.
“Normally, I would, but we need to get you up and moving around. So, I’m going to get my cart and your morning medication, and when I return, we’ll get started.”
Aaron doesn’t wait for a response from me before he leaves the room. When he goes, I push the button for my pain medication. One dose shouldn’t affect me or prevent me from getting out of this bed when the time comes.
As I waver between waking Britney now or letting her sleep until the very last second, she begins to stir on her own. First, her left eye opens, followed by her right one. She smiles up at me, but when she fully wakes and notices she’s snuggled into me, she scrambles to get out of the bed, damn near rolling off the edge.
“I’m so sorry. You probably didn’t get any sleep.” Her apology is unnecessary. I actually slept the best I ever have. I’m one-hundred percent sure the meds helped, but I can’t dismiss the fact that Britney’s presence helped ease my mind.
“Stop. I had a good night’s sleep because you were here.” My words sink in as the crease vanishes from between her eyebrows.
“Can I use your bathroom to freshen up?”
“I don’t know. Can you?”
“It’s too early for you to be a smart ass.” Britney’s morning banter is right on cue. She looks at the wall clock. “Case in point,” she adds, signaling with her thumb toward the clock. “I haven’t even had coffee yet.”
Without another word, she strolls the short distance to the bathroom and closes the door behind her.
“I see our beauty has risen,” Nurse Aaron comments upon his return. “Let’s get the catheter out while your girlfriend is out of the room.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.” I’ll have to admit, saying those words out loud stings a bit. Lord knows I want her to be mine, but I can’t have her. She’s off-limits thanks to my dumb pre-teen pact with her brother. But in the last few seconds, I made up my mind. Life is too short, and I have every intention to change that stupid fucking rule once my body has recovered from surgery, and Deacon’s mental health isn’t dangling by a thread. I’ve waited this long; I can wait until my best friend is back to his normal mental status.
“Could’ve fooled me. You two seem very comfortable together.” Aaron is now at my bedside, recording my vitals in the chart.
“I’ve known her my whole life. She’s my best friend’s younger sister.”
“Ah-ha. Now I understand. But you two want to be together, right?”
What’s with all of these personal questions? Do I answer him? Do I tell him I don’t want to discuss my love life or lack thereof?
“Right now, it’s not possible.”
“Anything is possible if you want it bad enough,” he counters. “And there. You are now free from the catheter.”
What in the hell just happened?
“I find it easier to remove them while the patient is preoccupied in conversation,” he answers the question I didn’t ask out loud. “And no, I cannot read minds. It’s just that I’ve been doing this for a long time. The most common follow-up question to my tactic is always, once I’ve completed the procedure, how did I do it without the patient feeling it.”
“Ten-four.” Aaron’s like a magician. He got my mind focused on one thing while he made the catheter disappear.
“You police guys and your cop jargon.” He laughs. “Your breakfast should be here soon, and then your physical therapist will follow. Do you need to use the restroom once Britney returns?”
“I would like to try to get up to brush my teeth. I don’t want a repeat of yesterday.”
“Once she’s out, press the call button. I’ll come to help you.”
“Ten-four—I mean, okay. Thanks.”
The bathroom door opens, and Britney steps out, looking livelier than she did yesterday. Befor
e I can ask her how she’s doing, my breakfast arrives. I guess I can eat first and brush my teeth after.
“I’m going to grab some coffee and see if I can get an update on Deacon,” she tells me.
“And food.”
“I’m—”
“You need to eat,” I add, cutting her off before she argues with me. “And so I know you actually eat, you need to eat in here.”
“Kade, I’m not a child.”
“Believe me, I know. Humor a man who is recovering from a gunshot wound.”
“That’s a low blow, Beaumont.”
“Hey, whatever will get you to come back and eat.”
“Fine.” The eye roll she gives me is her way of letting me know I’m pushing her buttons, but I don’t give a fuck. I want her to take care of herself. She will be of no use to anyone if she’s irritable, starving, and sleep-deprived. “I’ll come back to eat, and then I’ll check on Deacon.”
“Thank you.”
“Mmhmm.”
Britney’s pissed, but right now, I don’t give a fuck. If the only way to make sure she’s taking care of herself is by laying on a guilt trip, it’s not beneath me to do so. Her well-being is just as important as mine or Deacon’s. She just doesn’t realize it yet.
18
BRITNEY
I grab a venti coffee from the specialty coffee cart outside in the cafeteria courtyard and decide to sit down at a corner table, away from all of the patrons. I’m still pissed, and I swear to God, if Kade hadn’t already been shot, I would shoot him myself. It’s one thing to ask nicely and then accept the answer given, but he had to go and use his gunshot wound to manipulate me into eating. Jackass.
Okay, I wouldn’t shoot him, but I would definitely take a swing at him. There’s nothing I hate worse than a controlling man unless we’re in the bedroom. Too many nights I’ve spent dreaming of Kade taking charge, taking what he wants from me while I submit to every demand.