Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59120 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59120 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Just me and him.
I can’t move.
I’m paralyzed at the threshold, the whole room spinning as I try to make myself move. Fewer wires, now. His fingers clutching the hospital rail, the skin flushed. His eyes—both open, bloodshot, but so fucking beautiful that it hurts for me to hold them for longer than a second. His messy hair makes him look even more beautiful than I remember, especially now he is awake and looking at me, just staring into my soul.
Mary stands close and I can feel her body heat, the scent of clean cotton. She whispers, “He might be confused. Sometimes things are a little hazy, but I will be right outside if you need me.” She’s probably seen this a hundred times, but her eyes cut sideways to me and soften around the edges.
My hands shake, so bad I have to put them in my pockets or else they’ll betray me. What do I even say? Hey? How’s it going? I’m sorry? I’m not sorry? I came back because I thought you were dying. Or do I just act normal, as if we’re back in the old days, leaning against the hood of his truck, laughing at some secret only the two of us know.
I stare at my shoes.
There’s a glob of something that looks suspiciously like gum on it. I want to wipe it off on the tile but suddenly once again, my body will not move.
Mary nudges me, just a fraction of an inch, but it’s enough to get me unstuck. I walk closer. The machines beep, and I hear the door click behind me. Mary has gone, and now it’s just the two of us, alone in this room. I step to the foot of the bed, frozen, bracing for anything. He scans my face, his eyes saying so much. He opens his mouth and nothing comes out. The room blurs at the edges, like all the oxygen is leaking out through a hole I can’t find.
He tries again. His voice is just not working.
I can’t help it, a sob rips out of my throat, unsuspecting and broken. I move closer, closer, until I’m touching the bed, gripping the metal rail with both hands for balance. I just stare at him, like I need to memorize every single new piece of him. He moves his hand, clenches his fist then winces. Even that is enough to hurt.
I don’t know what to do.
What to say.
I do the only thing that I know how, joke through the pain. "So, this was your genius plan to get me back to town? Next time just drunk text me like a normal ex."
There’s a beat of total silence before he rasps, “That’s what you think?” and even half-awake and drugged out, he still manages to make me feel like I’ve been slapped. Some people are just built to knock you sideways, I guess.
I try to joke again. “Well, yeah. It worked, didn’t it?” My voice is wobbly. He’s staring at my hands, gripping the hospital railing.
When he finally meets my gaze, there is a level of broken in his eyes I have never seen before. It hits me like a punch to the gut. “What the fuck made you think this was a good idea?” he croaks and I can see by the way he grimaces that talking hurts, but it doesn’t stop him. “You think you can just show up, after all this time, and everything will be okay?”
I shake my head, somewhat confused. “You hurt me, Travis. I had no choice but to leave. I was drowning. Surely you understand that. I came because I care about you, because I wanted to see if you were okay...”
He shakes his head slightly, then squeezes his eyes shut, like there’s a headache behind his eyes he can’t quite shake. “If I wasn’t good enough to stay for then, why are you here now?” He drags each word across the surface of the bed between us, making each of them hurt more than the last.
I blink back the burning behind my eyes. “They said you were asking for me,” I manage. My voice is trembling. “I thought—" God, what did I think? That he would be happy to see me? That he would smile and everything would go back to the way it was?
Of course it can’t.
How can it when so much was broken?
He doesn’t answer, his face just remains impassive.
“I can go,” I hear myself say. “If you don’t—if you want—” but the words trip, and I stumble backward so hard my hip slams the metal edge of an IV stand.
He isn’t looking at me now, he’s just staring at his hands, his mouth so tight I can almost hear the rage that wants to spit from those lips. I wait, half-expecting him to change his mind, but the silence is final.