“I was talking to Traci a few weeks back about having her home in time for Thanksgiving and—”
“Whoa, you did what?” He folds his arms over his chest as he stares at me.
“It was just a conversation, I wanted to know what a place would need for her to be able to come home from the hospital.” I square my shoulders. “I want her to come and live here with me when she’s able to.”
He scoffs and shakes his head. “Absolutely not, she’s my daughter, she’ll be coming home with me.”
He starts to walk out of the room, dismissing my plan without hearing me out. “If you’d just listen to me, I’ve researched everything I need to.” He stops in his tracks, his hand braced on the doorframe. “My home is on one floor, no steps at all apart from up to the roof, and I already have plans to put in a stair lift. I have the space to give her her own therapy room and a pool so she can receive hydrotherapy. I’ve been looking into it and they say hydrotherapy is an incredible way for people with back injuries to heal.”
He spins around. “And I suppose we’re just supposed to stand back and let you take over?”
“That’s not what I’m trying to do at all. You know I love Amelia and would do anything for her, and seeing her in the hospital is killing me as much as it is you. I want her out of there to bring her back to somewhere she can have more independence.” He doesn’t answer, storming back to the garage. “I have the means to pay for everything myself and this house is big enough for her to maneuver around in her wheelchair without feeling like she’s constantly being babysat.”
He stops once again, hand on the door handle of Amelia’s SUV. “You think you can throw around your money and make us look bad?”
I take a visible step back as I run a hand through my hair. “This isn’t about money, I’m just trying to do what’s best for Amelia.”
“Then you’ll let her come home with her family,” he grinds out before jumping in the SUV and driving out of the garage without me.
“And then she said we shouldn’t be bringing food onto the ward!” Mom scoffs as her hands wave about in the air. “We don’t have that condition in our hospital, it’s ludacris. If a child having chemotherapy wants a burger and fries, then give them a burger and fries!”
“Yeah,” I say, not agreeing or disagreeing but feeling like I need to say something rather than keeping silent.
The door to my room is flung open and I twist my head, watching as Dad stomps inside, his face a mask of anger before he schools his features.
“Dad?” I ask, seeing his hands opening and closing at his sides.
“Carl?” Mom stands up, walking over to him. “What’s going on?”
Footsteps near and then Nate walks into the room, his eyes meeting my dad’s for a beat before he searches me out and smiles gently.
The atmosphere is stifling, but Dad shrugs Mom off and walks over to me. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”
“I’m okay,” I tell him, a smile pulling at the corner of my lips. “Therapy was good. Traci took me to the pool—”
“The pool?” His voice is gruff and I frown at his tone.
“Yeah, hydrotherapy—”
He scoffs under his breath before he realizes what he did and says, “That sounds great.”
I turn my gaze to Mom before looking at Nate, trying to work out what’s going on, but when I catch sight of what Nate is holding in his hands, my stomach fills with butterflies.
He walks over and places the box on the table at the end of my bed before lifting something off the top and holding it up.
“My record player,” I gasp, sitting up straighter.
“Thought you could use a bit of music.” His gaze flashes over to my dad before moving back to me. “I only brought a few records for now but I can bring more if you get bored with these ones.”
He lifts the box and brings it closer to me and my greedy hands riffle through what he’s brought. My fingers cease when I see the red case, my eyes reading over the Ray Charles title. “This one,” I say, my voice low. “I want to listen to this one.”
I hand it over, watching as Nate slides it out of the casing gently and opens the lid of my record player, placing it on the turntable and then holding up the cord while searching for somewhere to plug it in.
“There’s a socket there,” Mom supplies, pointing down at the unit next to me. He lifts the entire thing, walking closer to me and placing it onto the unit, plugging it in and then setting the needle on the record.
My eyes close as the same words I listened to on the morning Nate taught me how to surf fill the room. I’m transported back to a time not so long ago where everything seemed to be perfect—where the small things felt huge but in reality were little blips on a map.
Leaning back, I soak it all in—the tone of his voice, the instruments in the background and the telltale crackle that accompanies vinyl records. It sounds like… home.
The bed dips as someone sits next to me, and when I open my eyes, my gaze clashes with Nate’s at what feels like a hundred miles per hour. My mind spins at the same speed the record next to me moves at, my body leaning closer toward him on instinct as his broad smile twinkles at me.
“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” he whispers, his voice hoarse and raw, the emotion taking him over.
He lifts his hand, cupping the side of my face as the instrumental part plays around us, creating a whirlwind of only him and me. “You want to live in memories of lonesome times?” I ask as the lyrics swirl around us.
His lip quirks at the corner, a sparkle in his eyes that hasn’t been there in months as he watches me. “I can’t stop loving you,” he sings along before lowering his voice and bringing his face closer to mine. “I’ll never stop loving you, Lia. No matter how long you need to start letting me in again.”
I swallow against the emotion building in my throat as the song ends, plunging us in silence. I desperately want to say those words back to him, but something stops me. I’m not quite sure why I can’t physically form the words, but I know I still feel it.
“I…” I search his eyes before pulling away slightly, breaking the connection with an inch of space that may as well be a mile. His eyes cloud over at the action and I search for something to do or say to appease him—something I’ve not done in a long time. “How did moving the stuff go?”
He clears his throat and moves to the chair beside my bed. “Fine. Everything’s at my place for when you’re discharged.”
“You’ve got some nerve,” my dad thunders, scaring me as he steps closer to me on the other side of the bed.
“All I was saying was it’s there for when she needs it,” Nate grinds out.
My head whirls back and forth, taking in Dad’s red face before turning to Nate who seems to be getting agitated. I had a feeling when Dad walked in that something had happened, but now they’re both here, I can see something definitely has.
Dad lifts his hand, pointing at Nate as he stands up to match my dad’s height. “You weren’t. You know damn well what you’re trying to do. I told you, I goddamn told you it’s not happening, but yet here you are, trying to take over.”
“Carl—”
“No, Jan.” Dad turns toward Mom, still pointing his finger at Nate. “He’s trying to drop hints to her and she’s going to fall for it.”
“You’re making a big deal out of nothing. I’m not trying to do anything.”
“The hell you aren’t!” Dad shouts, planting his hands on the side of my bed and leaning forward. “She’s my daughter and I’m the one who’ll be looking after her as she recovers.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
I’m ignored as Dad continues. “I don’t trust you with her.”
“Carl!” Mom walks forward, grabbing ahold of his arm. “What are you doing?”
“I’m telling this no—”
“I’m sorry you feel like I’m trying to take over, but I love your daughter,” Nate interrupts, his chest he
aving with each stuttering breath. “If I can offer her the best treatment money can buy then I’ll damn well do it.” He looks at me briefly before his gaze falls back on my dad’s. “And as for trusting me with her…” His chest rises and falls before he shakes his head. “Whether she chooses to come home with me or not is her choice. Not yours. Not mine. Hers. I wasn’t saying it was a definite thing, I was giving an option.”
Dad throws his hands up. “There you go, throwing your money about again.”
“This is not about money!” Nate’s voice rises. “This is about the best care for Amelia.”
“And what? We can’t provide that for her?” Dad’s hands clench into fists at his sides as he widens his stance, his mouth in a grim line.
“I’m not saying you can’t, like I said: it’s an option. I’ve researched everything she’ll need and looked into it all extensively. My house is all on one floor with enough space for her to maneuver around herself.” He pauses for effect. “Can you honestly say you have all that if she were to come home with you? And I’m not asking that to be an asshole, Carl. I–”
“Unbelievable,” I murmur.
“You are being an asshole.”
“No, I’m not,” Nate counters.
“You’re literally talking about me like I’m not even here,” I say, louder this time.
“You’re being a disrespectful di—”
“Stop!” I shout, banging my hands down on my bed. “Stop it, stop it. Stop. It!”
My nostrils flare as they both finally stop talking, my breaths leaving my body in gasps at my frustration.
“You’re talking like I’m not even here. Just because I can’t feel my legs, doesn’t mean I can’t use my brain!”
“I was never going to keep this from you, but I wanted to ask your dad—”
“No,” I grind out, turning my face toward Nate. “I’m a grown-ass woman; you don’t need to go to my dad for permission. I’ve been living on my own since I was eighteen. Instead of discussing my life with him like it’s not my decision, ask me.”
My dad makes a noise in the back of his throat. “I knew you wouldn’t want to stay here—”
“And you!” I whirl my head around. “I’m not six years old, I’m twenty-four, you don’t get to make my decisions for me.” I grit my teeth before turning back to Nate, staring him dead in the eyes and waiting for him to say something.
He straightens his back, flicking his gaze to Dad and then Mom before looking back at me. “This isn’t the way I wanted to do this.” He sighs and sits on the edge of my bed. “About four weeks ago I asked Traci if it was possible to have you home in time for Thanksgiving. She didn’t seem positive until I started talking about how I could have some changes made to my place.”
“Your place? You’d do that for me?” I ask, my anger and frustration waning as I listen to what he’s saying—what he’s suggesting.
“I know these last few months haven’t been easy for you, but seeing you go through this without being able to do anything has made me feel useless.” He pauses for a breath before adding, “But this is something I can do, obviously only if you want me to because I’d do anything for you. Especially if it meant you could live with some more independence instead of being stuck in a bed here.”
“This could have all been a lot simpler if you would have said those six words, you know.” I smirk as he frowns at me, confusion evident on his face.
“I can’t believe this sh—”
I flick my gaze to my dad and then Mom, shaking my head at the look in her eyes and her hands clasped over her heart before she reprimands. “Carl? Keep your mouth shut and leave them alone.”
Nate’s gaze doesn’t leave mine as he asks, “What six words?”
“The one’s you asked me in the pool house all those weeks ago.” He frowns, still not getting what I’m saying. “Will. You. Move. In. With. Me.” I pause, tilting my head to the side and shrug. “Six words you could’ve asked that would’ve prevented all of…” I wave my hand between Nate and Dad. “This.”
The expression on Nate’s face turns from confusion to joy as he clasps my hand in his, forgetting anyone else is in the room with us. “Lia, will you do me the honor of moving in with me and putting up with my needy ass?”
I try to keep my lips in a straight line, but I lose the battle as they lift into a wide grin. “It depends…” I trail off. “Will you be providing me with home-cooked meals?”
He chuckles. “Every damn day.”
I lean forward as much as I can, getting closer to him than I have in months. “Then it’s a deal.”
His eyes flick between mine, hope flaring in their depths as he leans forward, meeting me halfway. I suck in a breath as his fans over my lips, so close to being a kiss. Questions fly through my head as he waits for me to close the last bit of space between us. When was the last time I felt his lips against mine? Do I want to do this with him right now? Can I stop pushing him away altogether and pull him closer?
One last look in his eyes tells me I can. I’m ready to be Amelia again. The use of my legs hasn’t pushed him away, if anything it’s brought us closer, no matter how much I’ve been battling and shutting him out.
I close my eyes, about to close the space between us, butterflies swarming in my stomach as the door to the room slams shut.
Pulling away, my eyes spring open, searching the room and finding my dad missing. I pull away completely, laying my head on my pillow and blowing out a deep breath.
This is one problem I didn’t have when I wasn’t talking to anyone.
“Give him a bit of time, sweetie. He had his heart set on you coming home with us. You know what your dad is like: he’s in protection mode.”
I open my eyes, staring at my mom, seeing the apology reflected back at me. “My life is here now, Mom.”
“I know,” she says, letting out a long, slow breath. “Your dad is as stubborn as a mule.” She walks over to the door, pulling it open and muttering, “And he says you get it from me.” I chuckle as she turns and grins at me, flicking her attention to Nate. “I trust you with my daughter, Nate. You just make sure you don’t make me regret saying that. Got it?”
“I can promise you your faith in me isn’t misplaced.” When my mom stares him down, he visibly swallows and says, “Got it.”
She nods once and walks out the door, closing it behind her and leaving us in silence.
I lift my gaze to Nate. “So…” I swallow at the way he stares at me. “When do I get to leave this place?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “Unfortunately the additions won’t be ready in time for Thanksgiving, but definitely before Christmas.”
“Okay.” I worry my bottom lip as I mentally work out how far away Christmas is. “Are we talking six weeks?”
“If my guy’s estimations are right then it’s more like four,” he says with a grin.
My heartbeat gets faster at the prospect of being out of this room in four weeks’ time. No more crappy hospital food, no more of the same four walls. Instead, I can sit and watch the sunrise over the lake, or be in front of Nate’s open fire.
“Four weeks is perfect,” I murmur, smiling wide and squeezing Nate’s hand.
The wall I’ve built after the accident is slowly crumbling down. I see the sheer determination in Nate’s eyes, and I realize he’ll dismantle the wall one brick at a time if that’s what it takes.
The question is: Am I ready to let it fall down or do I want to build it higher? I’m not sure which, but as I keep my gaze connected to his, I know he’ll wait as long as I need him to.
“Are you ready for this, Amelia?” Doctor Bale asks as he stands at the end of the bed, his tablet clutched in his hands.
I smile wide from the wheelchair I got into by myself. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
He smiles softly, his white teeth glistening. “Your physiotherapy needs to continue and I’ll need you to come into my office once every two weeks for the first two months and th
en once a month after that.”
“Got it,” I say, bracing my hands on the wheels, ready to get out of this place. My gaze roves over the room, taking in the sparse space. The painting is no longer sitting on the wall, the record player me and Nate have listened to every day is gone off the side unit. Nothing depicts that I was in this room for five months. Five months that felt like an entire lifetime.
The sorrow and despair living inside of these four walls is suffocating, making me feel like I can’t quite catch my breath.
“Traci will be continuing with your treatment at home as per arranged by you and Mr. Cole.” His gaze dips down to the surface of his tablet and back up before he takes a step toward me. “I know you still have a long road ahead of you and a lot of unanswered questions, but I have hope things will work out how they’re meant to.”
I nod, pasting on a smile I know won’t reach my eyes. The only way I can get over still having no feeling in my legs is to not think about it. I’ll do anything and everything my physio tells me to, but I won’t get my hopes up.
It’s like when you’re a kid at Christmas and you’ve asked for one specific toy all year long, but when you run down the stairs in your pajamas and rip all the wrapping paper to shreds, you’re disappointed when you don’t get it.
Instead I’ll keep my hopes so low they’re practically non-existent, that way I can never be disappointed.
“Can I break out of this place now, Doc?”
He clicks on his tablet, handing it over to me with a pen for the screen. “Sign here and you may escape.”
I grip the white pen in my hand, signing my name as Nate walks in the door. Looking over at him as he leans against the wall, his hands pushed into the front pockets of his dark jeans, his white t-shirt stretched across his chest, I know that no matter what happens from now on, everything will be okay.
Handing the doctor his tablet back, I grin as I open my arms wide. “I’m free!”
Nate pushes off the wall and walks toward me. “Damn, I was hoping we were going to have to break you out of here. My plan isn't nearly as cool now you’ve been released consensually.”
Fighting Our Way (Broken Tracks Series Book 2) Page 36
