THAT RING

by Dodd, Jillian

  “No. He was probably too busy having sex and doing cocaine for that,” I say, throwing my arm up in the air.

  “You have every right to be mad at him,” Danny says softly. “You don’t deserve to be put through this.”

  “How is it that you know exactly what I’m feeling?”

  “Because I’m mad at him, too. His behavior is affecting our lives. It’s causing you stress. And that hurts me because I care so much about you.”

  I break down again. “I’m sorry I’m crying. It’s just that I’ve been trying to be brave and listen to and understand the situation. When I first got here, I just wanted to get in Troy’s face and scream at him. I don’t understand how someone so incredibly talented and smart could do this to himself. But then I saw him lying there, helpless and alone. He doesn’t have any family. Most of the people he partied with were paid. And, today, when I told Jason what happened, thinking I’d get a little support from him, he quit. Said he’d had enough. So, I’m really all Troy has.”

  “You’re a good person, Jennifer, and you’re doing the right thing. As far as if you should let them continue to revive him, you have to go with your gut. With your heart.”

  “They told me something else, Danny. An overdose injures the brain and can leave the patient in a vegetative state. Would anyone want to live like that?”

  “Probably not. Are you ready to tell them?”

  I sigh. “For some reason, no, I’m not.”

  “I know this is different, but when Jadyn had her accident, she lost a lot of blood and flatlined. But they kept working on her. They didn’t give up, but they didn’t know if there would be adverse brain issues because of it. We were lucky there weren’t.”

  “She told me about her experiences during that time. Do you think Troy is going through something like that?”

  “I don’t know. But if he survives and wakes up, maybe it will give him a new outlook on life.”

  “Wouldn’t that be something? Which leads me back to my dilemma.”

  “Yes, it does. Seriously, you have a good intuition when you listen to it, Jennifer.”

  “I’ve been listening to it very much since you came back into my life.”

  “I want you to know that anytime, day or night, even in the middle of one of my games, if you need me, you call me. I’ll have someone holding my phone during the game. If I need to, I’ll fake an injury, go in the medical tent, and call you. I promise.”

  “You’re seriously amazing. I love you.”

  “I love you, too. Have you remembered to eat anything?”

  “Uh, not yet. But I’ll get something out of the backpack Jadyn sent with me. You go back to sleep.”

  “All right. Good night, baby. I love you.”

  I hang up the phone, feeling refreshed and ready to face the ICU again.

  December 24th

  Jennifer

  It’s been a day. Or a week. I’m not even sure how long I’ve been here or for how long I’ve been awake.

  The clock doesn’t really matter in the ICU; it’s all just time layered between significant medical events.

  Seizure.

  Stroke.

  Flatline.

  Revive.

  Collapsed lungs.

  Erratic heart rate.

  Kidney failure.

  Heart attack.

  Flatline.

  Revive.

  Assess. React. Revive.

  Assess. React. Revive.

  “Miss Edwards,” the doctor says to me, “Troy’s had a rough go of it, and we need to stop the seizures. We’d like to put him into a medically induced coma.”

  “How does that work?” I ask. “Like, how do you make it happen?”

  “We’ll administer a drug until we see a specific pattern in the electroencephalogram—EEG for short.”

  “That’s the thing that monitors his brain waves, right?”

  “Exactly. Our goal in doing this is to protect the brain. As you know, we think Troy might have woken up for a brief time today.”

  “Right, he came out of the coma. And, now you’re saying that you want to put him back in one?”

  “Yes, because we think it will stop the seizures.”

  “And how long will he have to be in one? Like, how long can you keep him in one?”

  “It varies by patient, but I think, in his case, it could be as long as a month. The body is powerful. It wants to survive, to heal itself. We want to do everything in our power to help with that. The seizures will continue to stress both his body and his brain.”

  “That makes sense. Okay, questions: do you think he can hear me? Do you think he knows that I’m here?”

  “I believe he does know.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But that doesn’t mean you need to be here every second.”

  “I can’t leave yet.”

  “And I can’t imagine what it must be like for you to have to make medical decisions for someone who must have hurt you. You have a good soul, Jennifer.”

  Devaney

  Damon and I are about to get dropped off at home from celebrating Christmas with our mom and Richard. And although we actually had a surprisingly good time, I’m ready to go home.

  Jennifer has group-texted us a few little updates. Most of them trying to convince us that she’s okay.

  But as we walk in the house, Damon and I both look around in shock.

  There are piles of beautifully wrapped presents under and around the tree. There are domed cake stands on the island, filled with Christmas treats. I go into the kitchen and open the fridge.

  “Look at all this food she made for us,” I say to my brother.

  “It was supposed to be our first Christmas together,” he says, shaking his head. “Stupid Troy.”

  “Yeah. Let’s take our stuff up to our rooms and then go over to the Mackenzies’ house,” I suggest, but when we get to the stairs, I can see the dining room. “Look at that.”

  We drop our bags and peer into the room.

  Damon goes, “Whoa. That’s so Jennifer.”

  “It is,” I agree, taking it all in.

  She’s got the table already set, and it’s adorable. There’s a red-and-white-striped tablecloth, and layered on top of it are red metallic chargers, red-and-white-polka-dot dinner plates, and Santa salad plates. Little red mittens with pom-pom trim hold the silverware, and the napkins are green-and-white check. There are centerpieces made from candy canes and red silk flowers. Hanging from the new chandelier is a crazy explosion of ribbons, bows, ornaments, and white boas. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. And you can be sure, no designer helped her with this.

  It’s crazy, over the top, and perfectly us.

  “She’s going to be stuck in LA on Christmas, all alone,” Damon says.

  I glance at my watch. “And we have just enough time to do something about it.”

  We race over to the Mackenzies’ and tell Auntie Jay our idea.

  “I like it,” she says, “but I’m not even sure if our pilots are willing to leave home on Christmas Eve.”

  Chase sticks up for me by saying, “Mom, if I recall, Mr. Larry’s kids are going to be with their mother this year. And Mr. Mitchell and his family already had their Festival of Lights celebration for Hanukkah earlier this week. Maybe you could sweeten the deal by putting them up at a really nice hotel on the beach.”

  “My dad would gladly pay for that,” I agree.

  Auntie Jay raises an eyebrow at me. “Your dad doesn’t know anything about this wild plan.”

  “You’re going to have to come see this then,” I say, grabbing her by the arm and leading her out the door with Chase and Damon following.

  “Oh my,” Auntie Jay says, tears filling her eyes. “She went all out, didn’t she?” She takes out her phone. “All right. I’ll see what I can do.”

  A few moments later, she hangs up, and I already know based on what I overheard and how she upped the ante that it’s on.

  “
When Jennifer and I were shopping the other day, she bought new plastic totes to store all of this decor in after the holiday. Dani, go find them and then pack up all this dining room decor. Damon, go get the big Yeti cooler out of the garage, put some ice in the bottom, and then fill it with all the food she made, and be sure to get what’s in the freezer. For the treats that don’t need refrigeration, put them in the reusable shopping bags from the grocery store. Chase, find something you can put all the tree decor in. Pack up the gifts. We’re taking it all. Set everything by the front door when you’re finished. I’ll round the other kids up and get our stuff packed, and we’ll plan on leaving”—she glances at her phone—“in two hours. If we time it right, we can meet the team plane at the airport. Your dad can hop off it, onto ours, and we’ll take off.”

  “Oh crap,” I say. “Can we even get in?”

  “Jennifer’s been letting me stay at her house when I travel there for work. You’re lucky because I have a key.”

  I throw my arms around Auntie Jay and hug her. “I’m glad you didn’t think it was a crazy idea.”

  “Oh, I still think it’s a crazy idea,” she says, kissing the top of my head. “But, sometimes, crazy is good. Although I think you and Damon should be the ones to spring this news on your dad.”

  “I will call him right after his game. He’ll be happy, won’t he?” I have a moment of self-doubt.

  “Yeah, sweetie, he definitely will.”

  “Oh my gosh, I just remembered. What about the ring? Dad was going to propose on Christmas morning!”

  “I think, with everything that’s going on, he might want to postpone that. Do you know where he hid the ring?” she asks.

  “It’s in my room.”

  “Zip it somewhere safe in your backpack and bring it with.”

  Jennifer

  “Miss Edwards, there’s a very persistent man outside who would like to speak to you. He said his name is Jason.”

  The doctor, who is standing near Troy’s bed, reading through all the reports and assessing Troy’s condition, nods at me, letting me know that I can go. “Your chair will still be there when you get back.”

  “Can I bring him in here?” I ask.

  “If you’d like. Is he family?”

  “No. But he’s all the family Troy’s got.”

  I go out to the waiting room to find Jason. He looks distraught.

  “I’m sorry for all that I said. I’m sure my unloading on you was the last thing you needed at that moment.”

  “It’s okay. I completely understand. I felt the same way after Amsterdam and the suicide attempt.”

  “He’s manipulated us both,” Jason admits. “We probably need to announce something in the press. There’s a lot of speculation going on right now.”

  “I feel like I’ve barely had a moment to breathe since I arrived here, whenever that was. It’s been one scary moment after the next. Would you like to go inside? He responded to his name earlier today, but they are going to be putting him into a medically induced coma here at some point. I’ll warn you though; he’s a mess. Lots of tubes, ventilator to help him breathe, and he’s been having seizures.”

  “Yeah, I would.”

  I walk Jason into the ICU. There’s only one chair, and we have to leave a lot of space around the bed for the doctors and nurses to maneuver, which has been often, so I let him spend some time alone with Troy.

  What he said was true. I should make some kind of statement. Or maybe just a simple social media post. I think about what I want to say. Part of me wants to do a transformation shot. Troy onstage, lights around him, bigger than life, and on top of his game and then what he looks like now. His grayish skin. The tubes and wires. I want to show people what happens when you’re reckless with your life.

  Reckless.

  That word makes me think of Danny. From the note on the crazy Halloween bouquet he sent me to our toasts and the way I decorated the dining room before I came here. We really haven’t been reckless; it just feels that way because we’re finally happy and in love. And maybe that’s why Troy was reckless. Maybe he kept looking for something he couldn’t find at any cost.

  No. No Before and After photo. No trying to teach anyone a lesson.

  Just a simple post.

  I pull my phone out and study a photo of Troy from a few years ago. He looked healthier back then, and I realize that he was declining before my eyes. It makes me feel guilty.

  But I can’t change the past. Even though I wish I could. And if I could, we all know where I would go back to.

  That night on the beach. But part of me wonders, if I did, if I would appreciate Danny and our love as much as I do now.

  I close my eyes for a moment and then twitch, realizing I almost just fell asleep. Standing.

  Maybe I should go sit down.

  I post the photo and try to figure out what to say.

  As you have probably heard, my former love, Troy Malone, is currently in the ICU, fighting for his life. I’m here with him. And it’s been really tough. Hard to see a man who seemed larger than life reduced to this.

  For the most part, Troy hid his addiction to alcohol pretty well. When he added drugs into the mix, our relationship was forever changed because of it.

  I was at this very hospital about thirty days ago because Troy wrote a suicide note and took some drugs. I flew to LA because I believed it to be a dire situation. What I found when I arrived was him sitting up in his bed, laughing. And I was so mad. I told him that he was in charge of his life now and that I hoped he would do something good with it.

  After that hospital stay, he checked himself into rehab for thirty days. He recently got out and I was told that he was doing well. Feeling in control of his life for the first time.

  I don’t know what he was thinking. I’m not sure I ever did. But I do know that his situation is critical, and all we really can do now is pray.

  Jason comes out of the ICU, red-eyed and looking shell-shocked. “Do you feel incredibly guilty?”

  “Yes. I’ve asked myself over and over what I could have done to help him more. I also sort of saw you as the bad guy, pushing him.”

  He shakes his head. “I thought the same about you. Troy pitted us against each other on purpose to shift blame from himself. He didn’t want to take responsibility for his actions with either one of us. Much easier to tell you I was pushing him and he was doing the best he could. It made you feel sympathetic toward him. At least, that worked with me. I was so happy he was going to rehab. I wanted so badly for him to perform in Vegas. I wanted that gig for him. For you. Sure, I’d have earned money from it, but it’s not why. I could have booked a multi-city Euro tour and earned the same. I thought it would give him a more stable life while still allowing him to feel the glory of the spotlight.”

  He breaks down, throwing his arms around me. “I thought I could help him. I really did.”

  “This isn’t our fault, Jason.”

  Once he composes himself, I show him the post I saved.

  “I like it. It’s heartfelt.”

  “Thank you. I’ll post it now,” I say, hitting the button to do so. “I also really appreciate you coming here.”

  “I was driving my wife nuts,” he admits. “She sent me out for eggnog even though we have two gallons in the fridge. She knew I needed to come here.”

  “And, now, you can go home to your family and be even more grateful for them.”

  “You’re right.” He starts to leave but then turns back around, handing me a book. “I almost forgot. I stopped by the house. Found this notebook by his bed. He had it with him that day we had lunch. He said he wrote letters and songs and lyrics in it while he was in rehab. Thought you might like it.”

  “Thanks, Jason,” I say. “And merry Christmas.”

  I take the notebook and go back into the ICU room where I curl up in the hard leather chair and open the book.

  Two hours later, and I’m crying. There were notes to me—some begging for forgiv
eness, others saying he hated the sight of my face. There are emotional lyrics showcasing a variety of feelings ranging from the deepest love to the lowest in self-loathing. His words are tragic and beautiful. They touch places in the core of my being. They are pieces of a tortured life of lavish wonder.

  But it’s the end that upsets me the most.

  Maybe because I know they might be the last words I ever hear from him.

  Fuck this shit. I’m going out and having some fun. Live or die, what difference does it make?

  I’ve lost the only girl who made a difference.

  And, regardless of what I’ve told her, I know deep down that’s all on me.

  I feel my phone buzzing on my lap.

  “How’s he doing?” Danny asks when I answer.

  “Sort of better, sort of worse. They put him in a medically induced coma because he was having so many seizures, which is good because it has stopped the seizures. The bad news is, they don’t know if he will ever come out of it or if his brain will even function properly. I don’t want to talk about it. Tell me about your game today.”

  “We won. Last-second field goal. Have you gotten any sleep?”

  “Uh, a little.”

  “Why don’t you go home and sleep in your own bed? Even if it’s just for a few hours. You don’t want to get run-down and sick. There shouldn’t be germs in the ICU.”

  “I don’t know,” I say, worn out from even thinking about it. “I’d have to get a car and—”

  “I have a car and driver sitting outside the hospital right now, waiting to take you home. You know, it’s Christmas Eve. Santa won’t come if you don’t.”

  “I should make a naughty comment about that, but I don’t have the energy,” I say with a little chuckle.

  “That’s exactly why you need to go.”

  I look over at the nurses’ station. “You know what? I think you’re right. Thank you for setting up the car for me. That was very thoughtful.”