Love Like Crazy (Crazy Love Book 1)

by Carmen DeSousa

  The phone vibrated on the side table … that must have been what had woken me. Fear surged through me. Who would call at four in the morning? Kayla? Maybe she was just anxious. She got up this early sometimes.

  I looked at the number and froze.

  “Kayla?” I answered hesitantly, but there was no response. Without warning, tears poured from my eyes. The last time I cried was when I thought I’d lost her.

  “Kayla?” I tried again. “Please talk to me.” Nothing but sobs throbbed through the line. “You’re killing me, Kayla, what happened? Good God, please say something!”

  “Dad’s … hurt … he’s … in the hospital. I’m heading… there … now.”

  “What happened? You can barely talk, how are you going to drive?”

  “An accident. His car … flipped. The police… They… They were just here.” Each word she spoke came out strangled and pain-filled. I wanted to climb through the phone and hold her, but I couldn’t … because, like an idiot, I was six hundred miles away from my wife. “Jesse…” she cried. “He … he might not … make it.”

  I started to grab my things, throwing them in my backpack, then headed for my truck. “I’m on my way, Kayla. Call a taxi to take you to the hospital, please. You can’t drive like this. Promise me, please. I can’t lose you.”

  “I … promise,” she sputtered.

  “Call for a taxi now, please. I’ll call Gram, then be on the road in five minutes. I’ll be there before noon. I’ll be praying the entire way; you do the same. I’ll call you back as soon as I get on the road. Okay?”

  “K,” she gasped.

  I should have been there for her. On our first date I’d told her I’d never be late again. I’d failed. She needed me, and I wasn’t there for her. “Stay strong, okay? For your father … for me.”

  She choked on another sob. “I … will. Please hurry, Jesse. I’ll call a taxi now.”

  “Okay. I love you, Kayla. I promise I’ll be there before noon.”

  “K.”

  The line clicked, so I called Gram. I hurt tremendously, but relief from my first thought — that something had happened to Kayla — drowned out the pain. I’d never leave her like this again.

  I relayed all that I knew so far. Gram was devastated, but remained calm.

  “I’m on my way now, Gram.”

  “Jess?” Gram said, her voice rising a notch in question, but hesitant, as if she wasn’t sure how to continue with her query. “Maybe Kayla’s uncle and aunt should go?”

  Taken aback, I started to argue, then I remembered: the family didn’t know. To them, I was just Kayla’s eighteen-year-old fiancé. We hadn’t told anyone that we had already gotten married. Far as the family knew, we were getting married in December. No one knew that we had a house and that John had already hired me to take over the business, so I really shouldn’t be upset by her assumption, but I was. Kayla was my responsibility now. “Gram, we —”

  “You’re a smart young man, Jess,” she said before I could continue. “And I know you love Kayla. It’s just … Kayla will need a relative who can handle all of the paperwork and such. She’ll need —”

  “Gram,” I interrupted her in a soft whisper, “Kayla is my wife. We got married on her birthday. John knows all about it. I’ll explain everything later, but right now I have to concentrate on the road — on getting to Kayla. She’s expecting me to call.” I’d changed in the last few months. I was no longer the boy everyone knew. I was a husband and a son-in-law, and I needed to help my wife.

  “Oh!” she gasped. “That changes everything, doesn’t it? Why didn’t you tell me? Never mind. Not important. I trust you to take care of my granddaughter. I’ll call the rest of the family so you can concentrate on driving. Call me as soon as you know more about John’s condition, okay?”

  “Of course.” I clicked End. I was already flying down the road. Luckily I had just filled up the gas tank the previous day, knowing I wanted to leave as soon as possible. I clicked the phone icon on the steering wheel, then hit Kayla’s name.

  Kayla answered on the first ring, but as before, said nothing. Only soft sobs filled the line.

  “Did you call a taxi, Kayla?”

  “Yes … on the way.”

  “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m sure your father will be okay. I’m on the road now, and I’ll drive as fast as I can. The traffic shouldn’t be bad. If I thought it’d be faster, I’d go to the airport. But by the time I got there and found a flight, and with taking off and landing, I could almost be there. So hang in there for me, okay?”

  “I will.” She let out another ragged sob.

  The crying was better than the one- and two-word answers, but I wasn’t sure what I should say. How normal should I act? Should I talk about her dad, or something else? I wasn’t used to feeling so out of control. Whenever something happened that I didn’t understand, I’d research it, but I was stuck in a truck doing eighty.

  “Did the officers say what happened?”

  “Someone saw … his truck …” A new sob rose in her throat. “He was … in his office. He always stays up late. Why would he leave the house?” She paused to catch her breath in between sobs. “Someone saw his truck … run off the road … at three in the morning. Where could he have been going?”

  “I don’t know —” The doorbell chimed. “Kayla, make sure it’s the taxi driver.”

  The vertical blinds rustled in the background. “Be right there!” Kayla called, her hoarse voice cracking. “It’s the taxi, Jesse. I’ll call you when I get to the hospital.”

  “Okay. Breathe, and pray, and I’ll do the same. Everything’s gonna be all right. I’ll be there soon.”

  Chapter 34 - Jesse

  I veered off Highway 26 onto Highway 77 in Columbia, and headed toward Charlotte. Only an hour to go.

  I’d spoken with Kayla several times during the trip. John was out of surgery, but was still in ICU. She was able to sit beside his bed now, and that helped to settle her down tremendously.

  Kayla’s name popped up on the dash, so I clicked the phone icon. “I’m less than an hour out. Any word?”

  “The doctor just came in and asked if I had any family. I told him you’d be here soon. He said he’d be back to speak to us together.” She huffed loudly. “I’m so tired of being treated like a child, as though I wouldn’t be able to understand medical terminology, but I didn’t feel like arguing with him. I’ve been taking care of my father for years. I’m certainly capable of taking care of some bumps and scrapes.”

  “I’ll be there soon, Kayla.” Inside, my heart tore in two. Kayla’s age, I was pretty sure, wasn’t why the doctor had asked if she had family.

  The hospital was in Pineville, west of our house, so at least it was closer than going home. I’d be there to comfort her soon. If anything happened to John, how would she handle this? How would I? John was already like a father to me. In just a few short months, I’d grown closer to him than I’d ever been with my own father. “I’ll be there in just a little bit, Kayla. Why don’t you try to get something to eat?”

  “Okay …”

  “Kayla,” I said.

  “Yes, Jesse.”

  “I’m sorry I’m not there for you.”

  “But you will be soon. Everything will be okay once you’re here, Jesse.”

  “Yes.” I gulped down a lump in my throat. “Everything will be fine. I love you, Kayla. I’ll be there soon.”

  “I love you too.”

  All too soon, my phone rang again. The long shrill ring I’d chosen so I’d hear the phone over the machinery I used at work sounded harsher than usual, as if even the phone knew it was delivering bad news. I stomped on the gas. This was it. I clicked the phone icon and waited. I didn’t have to ask. Nothing but tortured moans filled the earpiece. I just listened and let Kayla cry as I tried to hold back my own tears.

  She finally squeezed out actual words, “Where are you, Jesse?”

  My heart broke for her. For myself. “I’m
so sorry, baby. I’m almost there.” I glanced at the map on my phone. “Four minutes.”

  Her weeping continued, and I just listened.

  Tears overflowed my eyes and poured down my face. I was at my turn; I had to pull myself together. For Kayla. I had to be strong. “I’m here.” I forced the words through my lips and swiped at my face while I was still behind the dark tinted windows in my truck. “I’ll be right there, Kayla.”

  I had no idea where she was or how to find her, though. After parking in the emergency room parking lot, I burst through the doors. A woman behind the front desk looked at me indifferently, unconcerned that a panic-stricken man had just entered her ER.

  “My father-in-law … John Jordan,” I spurted, out of breath, “I think he just passed. My wife is here, alone. Can you please tell me where I can find them?”

  Without even acknowledging my question, the woman stared down at her keyboard, then took an insufferable amount of time punching numbers into it. After what seemed like forever, I considered hopping the counter and searching for John myself. Before I had a chance to react rashly, Kayla stumbled through a set of double doors and staggered toward me.

  Finished with the unhelpful woman behind the desk, I charged toward Kayla and steadied her. No need to ask, the pain was all over her face. I pulled her into a tight embrace. “I’m so sorry, Kayla. I’m so sorry.”

  She said nothing, just held onto me and continued to weep. Her body propped against mine, I led her to a small area away from the main room. There was nothing else to say, so I just held her while she cried. Long tormented wails tugged at my insides. Minutes ticked by and her cries turned to garbled words. “Maybe I… I don’t… Did I … forget?”

  I brushed her hair away from her face as I tried to understand. “What, baby?”

  “Maybe … I ran out of milk,” she choked out. “Maybe something … was wrong. I didn’t notice. I … I … shouldn’t have gone to bed.”

  “No, Kayla…” I swiped at my eyes again. “It wasn’t your fault.” I needed to get her home. “Kayla,” I said her name firmly, waiting until her tear-filled eyes met mine. “I need to find out if I need to do anything, and then take you home. Will you be okay for a second?”

  Her eyebrows knitted together and her breaths increased, but she nodded through her tears. “Ye … es.”

  I scrambled back to the counter. As before, the woman just stared me down. Obviously, she’d seen how distraught Kayla was, but she was cold.

  “Do I need to sign anything, or can I take my wife home?” The woman looked at me skeptically; why, I wasn’t sure. Then I realized how young I looked, even younger than I was. She was too busy questioning my claim of my wife to be concerned with my request. This was going to get old real quick. I was thankful she was a woman; otherwise, I might have leapt the desk and taught her some manners. Instead of getting myself thrown in jail, especially when my wife needed me, I bolted toward the doors that Kayla had come through, but they were locked from the inside. I banged my fist against them as a substitute.

  The squeal of the woman’s chair indicated I’d finally gotten her attention. “Sir! You can’t do that!”

  Oh, now I was sir?

  The door opened and a plump nurse opened it with an angry scowl.

  “My wife’s father just died,” I spoke through clenched teeth. “She’s only eighteen and very upset. Are there papers I need to sign, or can I take her home?”

  The nurse’s expression softened. “I’m sorry, no. Someone will contact you and then you can make the arrangements with the funeral home.”

  “Thank you.” I wanted to say, You should get a new receptionist; I’d fire her if she worked for me, but I didn’t want my tone to upset Kayla any more than she already was.

  I pulled Kayla to my side and led her out the door.

  “We can’t leave him, Jesse. I have to take care of him.”

  She tried to pull away from my embrace, but I held her. “Kayla, there’s nothing you can do. Let me take you home.”

  “He needs me!” she screamed. “I’ve always taken care of him. He needs me …” Her knees buckled, and she nearly collapsed, so I scooped her up and carried her to the truck.

  I opened the passenger door and set her on the seat, then darted around to the driver’s side.

  She’d fallen over on the seat. I slid in, started the truck, and smoothed her hair off her face. I drove home — to our home. I thought it’d be best to be away from the memories, some place where everything she saw wouldn’t remind her of her father.

  My mother didn’t die when I was nine, but she might as well have. I hadn’t heard from her in nine years other than a card on birthdays and holidays. Everything I saw, did, and heard reminded me of her. And the smells … every time I smelled the soap she used, even the foods she used to cook, the memory of her leaving — her betrayal — tore away another piece of my heart.

  I paused in our driveway. The aluminum ladder Kayla had been using was still resting against the front eaves. Shrubs, trees, and flowers lined the front of the house. The American flag was on a pole, reaching out from one of the beams on the front porch. On the porch, a potted flowering shrub sat next to a park-style bench. Bright white and yellow pillows adorned the blue cushion, of course. If you could sit on it, Kayla made sure a pillow or afghan would be waiting for you.

  She’d cried nearly the entire thirty-minute drive and, while she was technically awake, she barely seemed conscious of the world around her. I lifted her from the truck and carried her up the front porch and into the house. Inside, I kept my eyes on her, not on the house, so I wouldn’t see any more of the improvements she’d made until she was able to show me. She’d obviously been working feverishly these last few weeks to establish our home.

  Not knowing what else to do, I stretched out beside her on the bed until she finally cried herself to sleep. I grabbed the afghan off the foot of the bed and laid it over her. I removed her tennis shoes and socks and then kissed her on the forehead.

  In a hurry, hoping she wouldn’t wake up without me next to her, I ran back to the truck to get my stuff, mainly my laptop. I dropped my suitcase and toiletry bag on the living room floor, then carried my backpack to the bedroom. I had to google what to expect when a teenager lost a parent and find out what to expect and what to do; I’d never dealt with death before. Both sets of my grandparents had died when I was very young. I didn’t even remember going to the funeral.

  Hours later, I tried to massage away a headache that was staking residence in my skull. For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel comforted by my research. The sites I’d researched about what to expect when a young person lost a parent broke grievers into three categories. And Kayla fit in the worst category: all of them. Kayla hadn’t only lost one parent, but both, and as a teenager, and she was an only child. I closed my laptop and crawled in beside her. Fearful she’d wake up, though, I didn’t touch her.

  The hours passed, and still she slept. At one point, I heard her sobbing softly, but she didn’t open her eyes, so I just wrapped my arms around her and said nothing.

  Around six, Kayla finally woke up. Her eyes, rimmed with red, bloodshot and swollen, were the saddest I’d ever seen. Matted hair stuck to her face, and she looked pale. I brushed her hair back and continued to stroke the side of her face to soothe her.

  I reached for the bottle of water I’d set on the side table.

  She accepted, but then lay back down, this time curling into my chest. “I can’t believe he’s gone. He was so wonderful. He didn’t deserve to die. What did I do to cause this?”

  “Oh, Kayla,” I whispered, “this isn’t your fault. Accidents happen. Please don’t blame yourself. Nothing you could’ve done would’ve prevented this.”

  She shook her head against my chest, and then her body shook with tears again. “No … I’m being punished. First my mom, then my dad. I just … I want to know why. What did I do?”

  I wanted to tell her that was crazy talk. Ho
w could she possibly be the reason both her parents had died? But after my research, I now knew this was natural. As much as people think they are different from the rest of the world, when it comes to pain and suffering, we all cry in the same language.

  Nothing I could say would appease her. I just had to let her know I was here and let her cry. At least, that’s what all the sites reported. Crying was good.

  When her breaths grew even again, I rolled out of bed, blindly padding my way down the hall. I’d forgotten how dark the country was. I tripped over something hard and almost went face down. Safe against the wall, I fumbled for a light switch, then searched the floor for the invader. I scoffed at my suitcase — at myself.

  “That was smart, Jesse,” I grumbled as I picked up the suitcase and tossed it into the room that Kayla had dubbed our office. “What if Kayla had gotten up before you and tripped over it?”

  Irritated with myself for being careless, something I never would have done at work, I grumbled at myself as I walked to the kitchen. I shouldn’t be thinking about food, either, but I’d unwillingly fasted for more than twenty-four hours and my head was pounding from the lack of sugar in my system. I found something easy: cereal. Not the healthiest choice, but it had plenty of sugar, so it would hold me over until morning.

  Next step was to clean up, but I wanted to check on Kayla first. I walked back into the room, leaving the hall light on. I knelt down in front of her. Her eyes were open, but she was staring into space. Not good.

  “Kayla,” I whispered, keeping my tone calm, “are you okay?” Stupid question! I rebuked myself again. Of course she’s not okay, you moron.

  She blinked once, but stared into space, not really seeing me. She needed help. Would I be able to handle this? Barely an adult, and yet suddenly I was thrust into one of life’s hardest circumstances. I brushed my fingers across her forehead and down her hair, and still, she just stared at nothing.

  “You’re scaring me, Kayla. I’m not sure what to do. Can you talk to me? I’d rather you cry or scream, but please do something.” I pressed my lips to her forehead. Tears streaked noiselessly down her face. I crawled up beside her again and gathered her in my arms. “It’s okay to cry, baby, just don’t zone out on me.”