"Oh, my God," I gasp as I step into the room with him. I have never seen my father look so helpless in all of his life – the shock of it, of this man dwarfed by wires and tubes and casts and everything around him, it’s enough to make my head spin. Can this really be him? My father?
I sink down to my knees next to the bed, not taking my eyes off him lying in front of me. He doesn’t look real. I keep waiting for him to open his eyes, for him to look at me and smile, but he can’t. He’s out of it. His face is wrapped in bandages and his legs are in casts, his arms too, and I know things must be even worse on the inside than they seem out here.
"How bad is it?" I ask the nurse, speaking softly, as though I might disturb him. I’m not even looking at her as I ask the question. Maybe I don’t want to hear the answer.
"We don’t know yet," she replies, and her voice is gentle, soothing. But it sounds fake, rolls off my shoulders as though she might as well have not bothered in the first place. I can’t handle this. I know that this is terrible. I don’t even know the ins and outs of what happened, but it makes my whole body sag to know that I haven’t been here to help him.
"We’ll have a better idea of how his recovery will go once he’s gotten through the next few days," she explains. "Once we see how his brain activity is switching up, how his healing is going..."
She keeps talking, but I can’t hear a word coming out of her mouth. I reach out to touch his hand, feeling his cool skin against mine. He is here. He is still here. That is all that matters right now. I have not lost him yet and, in this moment, it feels like the only thing that matters.
Todd crouches down beside me, and I can feel him looking at me. I know that he is only trying to help, but it takes everything that I have not to push him away. Everything he does feels so false right now, and I need something sincere.
He puts his hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. I don’t even turn to look at him. I can’t acknowledge him here, not when my father is in front of me, lying there like he has never taken an unassisted breath in his life.
"It’s going to be okay," Todd offers me, but I know that he doesn’t believe it. How can he know that? He can’t. He’s just saying what he thinks I want to hear.
But all I want to hear right now is the sound of my father’s voice.
And I know that it’s going to be a long time before I get to hear it again.
9
Shotgun
Pacing back and forth in my living room, I keep looking to the spot where I had her the night before. My head between her legs, I had made her come, and I knew that she was craving more the moment I pulled back.
So why had she been in such a rush to get out of here this morning? Maybe decided that she couldn’t handle someone like me, after all. The way she barreled out of here the first chance she got seemed to indicate that she’d been having some second thoughts.
But then, there was the way that she let me hold her last night. Let me pull her in close, as though she had always belonged there next to me. I couldn’t read everything into it, but there was something more to it than just the sheer physical attraction between us. Maybe I’m the only one who could feel it. I have no idea.
I could take a shift at the shop today, but honestly, I know that I would be useless right now. Until I hear from her again, I’m going to have to focus my time and energy on keeping myself distracted, so that I don’t go track her down and find out just what it was that scared her away.
Because being with her... it was beyond anything else that I have ever experienced before. She is far from the first woman that I have ever been with in those terms, but something about the way she touched me, about the way she kissed me, makes it impossible to think about anything other than how much I want her. The two of us still have so much to share and I know that I am not going to be able to get over her until I am sure that I have done everything I can to make that happen.
Outside my window, the tulips are in full bloom. Just like the one that I inked onto her arm yesterday. I hope she’s taking care of it, wherever she is. If she had stayed this morning, I could have cleaned it and re-dressed it for her. I wish that she would have given me the chance...
Suddenly, my phone rings, and I snatch it up at once. I need to hear her voice again. And, sure enough, a moment later, I do.
"Hey," she sighs.
"Hi, Spring," I murmur. She sounds exhausted. “What’s going on?" I ask. I can hear her breathing, labored, down the other end of the line. Like she has been crying.
"I’m... I’m in Denver, Shotgun," she explains.
"What are you doing there?" I demand. I can feel the worry moving through me. I don’t get concerned about other people, not really. Most of the Men of Valor can look after themselves, but there is something about the way she sounds right now that is so vulnerable it makes my heart ache for her.
"I’m at the hospital."
"Are you–"
"I’m okay," she assures me. "But... it’s my dad. He flew to Denver last night for a
