by Diana Gardin
I’ll never see again. I’ll never fly another fighter jet. My career in the Air Force is finished. I’ll never ride a motorcycle again. Hell, I won’t even ever drive a car again.
What the fuck kind of man am I going to be if I can’t do the things I was born to do?
I let go, allowing the darkness I’ve been fighting since I woke to grab me and pull me under.
“There’s rehabilitation, Flash. Your life isn’t over.” Axel pushes the tray of food in front of me until it’s over my lap.
Rage burns and boils inside me, overflowing at his words. “That’s really fucking easy for you to say, Ax!”
My arm flies out, hitting the tray. The satisfying sound of shit hitting the floor pulls my lips into a sneer. “You’re here for a week, right? Then you get to go back. You get to fly again. Your life goes on. Mine? Mine’s over.”
“Bullshit.” Axel’s voice is flat, unforgiving. “If you think I’m going to let you give up and retreat, you don’t know me very well, brother. I’ll find a way to help you with this, you know I will. You’re never going to be alone.”
I bark out a harsh laugh. “Yeah. Speaking of alone, where’s Poppy?”
She should be here, but the fact that she isn’t tells me something important. I don’t let myself go there; I just wait for Axel’s answer.
“She’s around.” I can picture him shoving an angry hand through his short hair.
Like she’s been summoned, the hospital door opens, and the scent of Poppy’s sweet perfume precedes her into the room.
I swallow thickly, a painful lump forming in my throat. “Poppy.”
Her footsteps, marked by the click of her signature stilettos, approach the bed. Her cold hand finds mine and I hear Axel move away to make room for her.
“Flash,” she whispers.
I’m craving her closeness in a way I never have before. Right now, all I need is for her to curl up beside me and hold me. Tell me it’s all going to be okay. Let me know that whatever hell I’m about to walk through, she’s going to be walking right beside me.
She doesn’t come close enough. She holds my hand, but her grip is weak, almost limp. “Is it true? You can’t see me?”
My eyes burn with wetness, and I shake my head. “No. I can’t see you, Pops.” My voice cracks. “I can’t see anything.”
She sucks in a breath. “Is it…is it”—her voice trembles—“permanent?”
My jaw tightens as I drop my head back further into the pillows. God, this feeling in my chest…it hurts so fucking bad. The way she sounds…the way she’s probably looking at me right now. It’s different, I can feel it.
It’s funny how I never thought of my relationship with Poppy as shallow before. To me, we were just like any other couple. Right now, all I want to do is pour out the poison threatening to overtake me and let her give me comfort. But I can’t.
And I know she wouldn’t.
That’s not what Poppy wants. She wants me strong; she wants me capable. What’s going to happen if I can’t give her that?
“He’s gonna recover, Poppy. Stop looking at him like that.” Axel’s voice drops into an angry growl.
Her voice drips with incredulousness when she responds. “Recover? He’s blind. How can he possibly recover from that?”
My voice scratches from my throat. “Pops…”
She drops my hand, and I can hear it when she steps away. “No, I need…time. I’ll be…waiting…for you when you get home. Okay?”
She doesn’t wait for me to respond, turning around and walking out of the room, the door closing behind her seconds later.
“Bitch,” murmurs Axel.
For once, I don’t fight him on it. Because even though Poppy said she’d be there when I leave the hospital, somehow I know…
She won’t.
1
Arden
August 14, 2017
“Welcome back, sugar.”
The voice, attached to a smiling, cheerful, matronly face is unrecognizable. I blink once, twice, trying to bring her into focus. She swims in front of my vision, but eventually she becomes one solid figure, standing above me.
“Jesus, honey…so many people have been prayin’ for your safe recovery.”
My eyes dart this way and that, around what is clearly a white, sterile, hospital room. Why am I in a hospital room? I struggle, wracking my brain to remember why I’m here or what happened to me.
Nothing comes. When I try to remember, it’s like slamming against a solid brick wall.
The door to my room bursts open, and a familiar face shoves the nurse aside and looms above me. Her bright red hair flies around her head in dramatic, messy waves, and her big brown eyes blink back tears as she stares down at me.
“Oh, my God! Arden…you’re awake! Oh, thank God.”
I open my mouth, try to say my best friend’s name, and fail. It feels like someone poured raw gasoline down my throat. Twice.
I point to my throat, noticing the many wires attached to the IV in my hand as I move.
“She needs water!” Brantley snaps at the nurse, who doesn’t even seem phased by the fact that Brantley has pushed her aside and is now bossing her around.
The nurse busies herself checking my vitals. She shoves a thermometer in my mouth and sticks one of those clips on my index finger. As soon as she has the readings she’s been looking for, she nods at me with a warm smile before aiming a sideways glare at Brantley.
“Ice chips only. Until we can find out whether your stomach is strong enough for liquids, ice chips it is. The breathing tube we pulled out of your throat when we realized you were on your way back to us is what’s causing the burning sensation, dear. Shouldn’t last much longer.”
I just stare up at her, feeling helpless. But really, my face feels like a stranger’s. It’s stiff and inflexible, like it’s been a long time since I’ve made any expression at all.
I turn to Brantley, communicating with her through my eyes, the way we’ve done so many times in the past.
Immediately, she squeezes my hand and her eyes fill with tears. She brushes them away, angrily, and I try like hell to figure out what she’s crying about. Squeezing her hand again, I stare up at her with wide eyes.
I’m here, B. I’m right here and I’m gonna be okay. But I can’t remember what…
And oncoming train in the form of my memory plows into me.
My throat scalds as I force the words out before the nurse has even returned with the ice chips. My eyes are wide, wild, and the machine connected to my heart beeps at an alarming speed.
“Accident.”
Brantley’s hand tightens on mine, her grip so taut it hurts, but I don’t care about that. How can I care about pain? My world revolves around the answer to my next question.
Brantley begins speaking before I can ask it. My best friend since sixth grade, she knows me better than anyone else.
“Sweetie, yes…you were in an accident. We weren’t sure if you’d ever wake up. It’s been…nine months. You’ve been in a coma for nine months, Ards, and I’m so damn glad to see your pretty green eyes right now.”
Nine…months? I’ve been laying in this hospital bed for nine months, after a terrible accident? But what about…
The nurse bustles in with ice chips then. She ignores the atmosphere in the room completely, easing up beside Brantley with a cautious expression and moving the back of my bed so it sits up, just a little bit. She situates a tray in front of me and sets a big mug of ice chips on top.
“This should make you more comfortable, dear.” She places a spoon into the mug. “The doctor assigned to your chart is here this morning, and she’ll be in shortly to check you over.” She looks at me then, really looks, and I see it: the flash of sympathy in her eyes.
Trenton. Danté. Accident…
My heart slices open, and my stomach twists, but I slam my mind and my heart shut against the truth that can’t be.
It can’t be.
My hand fal
ls away from Brantley’s, and she takes the opportunity to feed me a few ice chips.
“Let’s give that a second to settle.” The nurse hovers nearby, watching.
I can’t wait anymore. The words—their names—burst from my lips. I wince against the pain and then ignore it. “Where…are…Danté…Trenton?”
It’s swallowing razor blades, each word. But it doesn’t matter.
Brantley doesn’t shy away from my stare. Tears spill over her cheeks and her hand trembles, but still, she doesn’t look away.
Because she’s had nine months to prepare for this.
“Danté and Trenton…they didn’t make it, Ards.” Her voice breaks as she chokes back a sob. “I am so, so…”
“No.” My eyes snap shut as I will her words away. “No, B. No.”
Everything inside me goes numb and quiet, even as my thoughts race around my head.
Have I been lying here, useless in a hospital bed, while my husband and my child fought, and lost, the battle for their lives?
No. No. No.
“That’s not true, B.” My throat protests with every word, but I ignore the pain completely. “Not true.”
She’s sobbing in earnest now, trying her best to hold it together for me, but her entire body shakes with her own despair.
Her sadness, though, is nothing compared to my agony. There’s a fist around my heart, squeezing, squeezing, until I’m gasping for breath, and I’m sure the organ in my chest is nothing but dust.
“What…happened?” I plead, my hand locked around Brantley’s wrist, my eyes begging her for answers.
“We don’t need to talk about that right now, Arden.” Brantley’s voice pleads just like mine does. She doesn’t want to have to tell me, but right now, I need this explanation more than I need air.
The nurse speaks up. “If she needs to know, then you need to be the one to tell her, honey.” Her voice is firm, and Brantley closes her eyes as she takes a deep, shaking breath.
“Trenton went through the windshield. We aren’t sure why he wasn’t wearing his seatbelt. And the impact was too much for little D. He was…” A sob breaks free. “He was killed instantly.” She sniffles, and pulls my hand closer to her chest as she leans into me. “He didn’t suffer, Arden…”
I don’t hear the rest. The hospital room becomes my prison; the IV in my arm, my chains. Brantley’s voice wafts toward me from a long way off, and the nurse is fluttering around me in response to my dropping vitals. I close my eyes and let the blackness swallow me up.
Because what else is there?
The hardest thing about my recovery was gaining the muscle strength back that I’d lost. But my physical therapist, assigned by the hospital, told me he’d seen worse cases than mine, people who’d been bedridden for years, rather than just months. I took his word for it, and as soon as I learned to walk again without the aid of a walker, I was allowed to be released.
“I don’t even know where I’m supposed to go.” I sit on the side of my bed, my muscle-depleted legs dangling bare over the side, in one of the nightgowns Brantley brought me from home. “Do I even have a house anymore?”
A deep sigh comes from the small couch where my parents sit. As soon as I woke, Brantley notified them, and they were in the car making the three-hour drive from their home in Florida. She said they’d been visiting every week since the accident, but neither of my parents are retired. The fact that they’re here now should comfort me, but I don’t even know what that word means anymore.
Comfort. Trenton meant comfort.
“Sweetheart,” my mom begins, “we’ve talked about this.” Her tone is gentle, but she’s using the same voice with me she uses with her difficult student in her job as a math teacher. “You have a home, and it’s in Florida with us.”
Standing beside the bed, Brantley shifts on her feet. We’ve been together for so long, I’m sure the thought of me moving back to Florida without her isn’t something she wants to consider. As soon as we graduated, we moved to a city we’d always dreamed about—Savannah, Georgia. In our minds, it was going to be romantic and gorgeous, and we’d spend most of our time at the beach.
It was all true. We both think it’s the best decision we’ve ever made.
“This is your home,” whispers Brantley. “But you know I’ll understand if you decide to leave.”
The large, cul-de-sac home I owned with Trenton was all I ever wanted at one point in my life. It was where I felt safe, even when he was out of town. It was a place I lovingly decorated, a place where we raised our son together.
Now I don’t even know if I ever want to see it again.
How can they just be…gone?
It’s still a jumbled mess inside my head…how this could even be possible. One day, I had a family—a son, a husband who I loved more than life itself. And now I have…
Nothing.
I have nothing.
I can’t look at my parents. The one time I did, after they arrived, I wished I’d never seen the brokenness in their eyes. I’m their child, and I’m suffering, and there’s no way for them to help me. They arranged the funerals for my dead husband and son while I slept, along with Brantley’s help. I shouldn’t blame them for that. Hell, I should be grateful.
But grateful isn’t an emotion I’m capable of feeling just now.
The bed sinks down beside me, and Brantley wraps a strong, comforting arm around my shoulder. “You can go home if you want to, Arden. The house is paid for, thanks to Trenton’s life insurance.”
For the past two weeks I’ve been in the hospital, recovering, Brantley has become more comfortable filling me in on the minute details of what happens when everything you love dies. I can barely keep the details straight, but that’s because I have no desire to know them.
I nod, numb.
“But if you don’t want to go home, that’s okay, too. You can come home with me. Or—” She swallows. “Or, you can go back to Florida with your parents. Start over again.” Brantley squeezes me gently.
“I didn’t even get to…” My throat closes up, and I can’t finish the thought. The thought that tears through my nightmares each night, clawing to the surface to torment me with the fact that my family is gone and I never got to say goodbye.
“Oh, sweetie.” The sympathy in Brantley’s voice isn’t the kind that presses me down. It’s the kind that attempts to lift me up.
I’m just too heavy to be lifted at the moment. Maybe I’ll never be lifted again.
“I want to go home.” The words surprise even me, and I know they shock Brantley, based on the look of apprehension on her face.
My dad, who hasn’t said much until this moment, doesn’t say anything now, either. But he looks at me with a mixture of understanding and love, and a kind of pride I can’t quite understand.
“Are you sure?” my mother asks, her voice hesitant and cautious.
“I’m sure.” And suddenly, it’s the only thing I’m sure of in my new life as I know it. “I want to go home.”
I want to feel them again. And that house is the only place I think I can do it.
It’s the last place I knew what life was. And maybe it’ll be the place I find a heartbeat again…even if I’m only half-alive.
2
Flash
August 14, 2017
“Goddammit!” The cereal skitters across the counter, the little flakes hitting the hardwood floor seconds later. The bowl follows, and I hurl the half-gallon jug of milk across the kitchen for good measure.
Down the hall, my ears register the sound of the front door opening and closing. My brother’s heavy footsteps against the wood, mixed with the sound of him tossing his keys up and catching them repeatedly, confirm his arrival.
His footsteps stop, but I don’t turn to face him. I’m still bent over the counter, gripping the granite like I could reduce it to powdered rock with my bare hands. I can feel my blood pressure rising to a dangerous level, and it’s all because of a fucking bowl of cereal.
When did I become this person? The guy who can’t keep his shit together long enough to clean up his own mess?
“Damn, Flash.” My brother’s tone is half-amused, half-disappointed. “How many times have I told you? If you make a miscalculation, you stop what you’re doing and readjust. You don’t have a goddamned temper tantrum.”
I growl in response.
My brother, only younger than me by a year and a half, never sugarcoats with me. It’s the one thing I love about him the most, even though it aggravates me on a daily basis.
“It’s been months, Axel. Months! If I can’t even pour myself a bowl of cereal, when the hell am I going to move on with the rest of my life?” I accent the question with a hard slam of my hand into the countertop. It hurts, but pain is one thing I can understand right now, when everything else in my world feels so foreign.
Axel’s hand lands on my shoulder. “Time, man. It’s gonna take time.”
It’s his mantra, the thing he repeats over and over again, until it sinks into my thick skull.
“I’ve given it time.” My voice is flat, the way it’s been since I lost my eyesight.
“Your eyes needed time to heal, Flash,” he says quietly. “And not just your eyes. Your whole body was pretty fucked up in that motorcycle accident. So it was slow going at first. Mentally—”
I raise a hand, cutting him off. “If I hear one more load of bullshit about my mental state, I swear to God, I’ll punch you in the face.”
I can hear the smirk in his voice. It’s funny; when I lost my vision, suddenly every other sense became stronger. It’s something I fought at first, because all I wanted was my eyesight. But now? Now it’s starting to sink in that just because I’m blind, it doesn’t necessarily mean I have to be helpless.
“You’d have to find my face, first.” Axel chuckles.
“Asshole.”
