by Ashton Cade
“Fine, but I don’t want to hear any whining when I kick your ass again.”
Ryder laughs, pushing the chair opposite him out with his foot. “Deal.”
I sit down, grab the mug that’s meant for me, and take a long drink. Warmth spreads through my body, chasing away the cold, erasing the memory of the snow.
“It’s good,” I tell him, lifting the mug.
He raises his too. We clink, and then he picks up a die.
“Closest to six goes first?” he asks.
I pick up a die too, we roll at the same time—he’s got a four, I’ve got a six.
“Off to a good start,” I tease, scooping up all the dice.
Chapter 13
Jared
I wake up so cold I can’t feel my face. My fingers aren’t much better. The inside of the car is completely dark, snow encasing me completely. I need to clear it off. I need to start the car. Heat.
It’s so hard to make myself move. Everything feels like it’s happening in slow motion, like I’m moving through jell-o. And it’s so quiet. The only sounds are from me. My breath, shallow and short, my heartbeat, way too fast, working overdrive to push blood through veins that are constricted from cold.
Heat.
I have to do it. It’s the only chance I have.
The blanket crinkles before I realize I’m actually moving. The keys jingle, numb fingers colliding with them. It’s hard to do something by touch when you can’t feel, but I once pinched my ulnar nerve and had the feeling that my hand was asleep for a few weeks before a brace helped correct it. I have a little practice with this.
The ignition tries, the battery struggles. I turn the key again, this time the engine turns over, the interior of the car lighting up. I can’t leave it running long; if the exhaust pipe is covered, I’ll just be poisoning myself. I can’t go out there to clear it. Even the little movement I’ve made has left me feeling wiped, ready to sink back into unconsciousness.
If I had to wager, this is no ordinary cold I’ve caught. I never did get a flu shot this year. They were in short supply and we had to prioritize other members of the population. Now I’m paying the price.
Hot air starts to come out the vents, and I put my hands over them, trying to thaw my fingers. Luckily the snow is fluffy enough for the windshield wipers to clear it, and I feel a little less trapped with a view of the outside. The snow looks a few inches deeper. I push my door open just to make sure I still can, pushing snow out of the way before I quickly close it again, shivers rushing through me. I can’t stop shivering. I shiver so hard my back hurts. I shiver so hard that I can’t exhale because everything’s too tight. I close my eyes tight and focus on the sound of the hot air coming out of the vents, the places it’s touching me, warming me.
Maybe if I stop telling myself I’m cold, I’ll stop thinking about it.
I need to think warm thoughts.
Instantly I think of Hunter and how warm I am when I’m with him. I imagine being at his place in front of the fire, cuddled up with him and a cat or two.
How long has the engine been running? I need to cut it off. But that means the heat will go with it. I’m already so cold. Just a little longer. Just a few more minutes with Hunter in my happy place.
When I wake up, I’m hot. I’m so hot, I’m burning up.
Why is it so hot?
Heat.
The car’s running.
Shit. That’s not good.
…Why?
My head hurts, and I’m so hot. I just need to cool off. Then I’ll know why…
Why what?
I don’t remember.
I reach for the door handle, then stop.
No.
It’s snowing. I can’t go out there.
But it would be so much cooler. I’ll just open the door.
My heart jumps at the sight of red and blue lights—help! I rush out of the cruiser, stumbling in the snow, my legs not working to support me. I face plant, but it feels so good on my overheated skin. I don’t even care, because there’s help here.
“I’m over here!” I shout through the snow, using the side of my cruiser for support, pulling myself up to standing. The wind blows hard, snow flying right in my face. I turn away from it and finally see the great joke from the universe.
They’re my lights.
It’s a pretty good joke. Just when I thought it was over, a little sliver of hope. I laugh. Just a little sliver of hope, and then—poof.
Hilarious.
I can’t stop laughing now that I’ve started. I slump against the car, sinking down into the snow. My lungs don’t like the laughing. They don’t like anything that’s happened today and I think they’re finally done. My chest squeezes so tight breathing in feels like I’m trying to suck air through a flattened straw. There’s a gorilla putting all his weight on my sternum, and I’m pretty sure this is it.
That last puff of my inhaler does me no good in the cruiser. That might as well be Africa. I can’t crawl to either one.
Snow drifts down, dusting my coat and pants. Soon I’ll be buried just like everything else.
I can’t just give up though. It seems pretty inevitable at this point, but when they find me frozen, do I want Hunter to think of me sitting here, resigned to my fate, or do I want him to know I crawled every inch I could to get back to him?
It’s a no-brainer.
I’ve never had an asthma attack leave my legs incapacitated, my whole body so miserably weak I can’t even pull myself to my hands and knees. Or is it the flu? It doesn’t matter. I just need to get back in the car. I try to get on my knees, but I fall forward again. Only this time, I’m not so overheated that it feels nice. Now it’s just cold and wet.
Come on, Easton, I hear my RDC shouting at me. You’re not giving up on me now, are you, recruit?
“Sir, no sir,” I mutter, dragging myself through the snow on my elbows. It feels like it takes every ounce of energy in me, and I think I moved three inches.
I can’t hear you, RDC Irving’s voice says. Seems Easton’s had enough. Have you had enough, recruit?
“Sir, no sir,” I grunt again, another heave that moves my body forward an inch or two.
I’m never going to make it. But I’m not going to stop now either.
The next attempt to move stalls. I slip and fall back down, all that energy spent for nothing.
“Come on,” I tell myself. “Do it!”
This time I can’t even get up to my elbows. There’s no strength left in me.
I turn my head, watching the snow come down, trees lit up red and blue, flashing like a Christmas display.
That makes me smile. I bet Hunter gets all kind of excited about Christmas.
Too bad we won’t get to spend this one together. I screwed up.
The lights are pretty, though. It’s a small consolation. They’re bright too. I don’t normally pay attention to it from this side, but it seems like an awful lot of light to come from one car. No wonder people complain about us blinding them. I always thought they were exaggerating.
“Over here!” someone shouts.
My heart stops, throat tightening so much it’s sealed shut.
Did I imagine that? Is this how it ends? Me hallucinating a rescue as I fade away?
It’s so cold, so dark.
Where did the lights go?
“He’s over here!”
There it is again…
I should have stayed in the car. I should have stayed in bed with Hunter. I should have done a lot of things, but now it’s too late.
Now, it’s time to sleep.
Chapter 14
Hunter
“You know, no one would think less of you if you went home for a couple hours,” Ryder says, dropping the duffel bag I requested next to my feet. Yesterday he took it away full of dirty clothes, today it’s back with clean ones. I haven’t left the hospital in I don’t know how many days. Four? Five? I can’t keep track in this place.
“How’s e
verything at the farm?” I ask. “You managing looking after everyone?”
“Yeah, that’s not what I’m—”
“Then I’m staying right here.”
He rolls his eyes. “When’s the last time you had a shower?”
I frown. “They took him for an x-ray… yesterday? The day before?”
“Hunter…”
“I don’t want him to wake up alone.”
“What am I? Invisible?”
“No, you’re—”
“I’m here. Go take a shower. You don’t want to look homeless when your boyfriend wakes up.”
The stubborn set of his jaw tells me he’s not budging.
I must look pretty bad.
There’s a mirror in the bathroom, but I haven’t really paid any attention to it. Every time I’ve used the bathroom in Jared’s hospital room, it’s been with the door cracked and my ear straining to hear if he makes a move.
He’s almost woken up a couple times. He’s opened his eyes, murmured some things, but he hasn’t been lucid or coherent since they brought him in here with pneumonia and a half-collapsed lung.
I didn’t even realize he was sick. What kind of partner doesn’t pick up on something like that?
I should’ve seen the signs. I should’ve kept him home. None of this would have happened if I’d been paying attention.
“Fine,” I mumble, dragging the duffel bag to the bathroom with me. “Come get me the second he wakes up.”
“I will,” Ryder says in that tone that says he’s just humoring me.
I’ll take a super fast shower just to be safe.
I actually close the bathroom door for the first time, and when I turn, I’m forced to confront the face in the mirror.
I do look homeless. I’m shaggy, unshaven, dark circles under my eyes. Guess that’s what happens when you spend a week keeping vigil at your lover’s hospital bed.
I make the water as hot as I can, which isn’t terribly hot in this hospital. The water pressure isn’t great either, but it’s a hospital, not a hotel. There’s an emergency cord I’m paranoid about bumping, and handrails at several heights. It’s impossible to forget where I am, and that this is partially my fault.
I knew there was an empty prescription bottle. I should have asked him about it. I should have made sure he had the pills he needed.
I rake my fingers through my hair, scrubbing my scalp. My stomach flips. As much as I really really want Jared to wake up, I’m also kind of dreading the conversations we’ll have when he does. Like the conversation about his toe.
It wasn’t just pneumonia and a partially collapsed lung and all the horror that comes with the surgery that put tubes in his lungs to drain fluid. He was also nearly hypothermic, had mild carbon monoxide poisoning, and one of his toes was frostbitten enough they had to amputate it.
He’s lucky he’s not dead.
So, so lucky.
And I’m so glad Ryder convinced me to radio in. Makes it hard to be annoyed at him when he’s giving me a hard time about never leaving this place.
I just can’t. I feel too responsible. As long as Jared’s stuck here, I’m going to be at his side.
Though I’ll never admit it to my brother, I do feel better after the shower. More human. There’s something about hospitals that just drains the life force out of me. I feel like I’ve washed off a layer of whatever that is, and I feel a lot better, though now I’m even more tired than before.
I haven’t really slept much while I’ve been here either.
When I come out of the bathroom, there’s a nurse tending to Jared’s tubes, making sure they’re all still draining and nothing’s clogged or infected or… whatever it is the nurse does. I’m really trying not to look too much at the tubes. Because I feel guilty and it’s terrible to see them disappear under his skin, but also because it’s really gross. There has been so much fluid come out of his lungs. I don’t know where he’s been keeping it all, but it makes a lot of sense why he hasn’t been able to freaking breathe.
I hate that I can’t even really be mad at him because he’s still fighting for his life. He tried to muscle his way through pneumonia as an asthmatic. Does he have a death wish? Does he really think he’s that invincible? Part of me wants to be furious about it, but how can I be? He’s laying there helpless, machines beeping, feeding him medicine and oxygen and monitoring every aspect of his recovery.
“How’s it looking?” I ask the nurse, standing on the other side of the curtain. It’s pushed back most of the way, but I really don’t need to watch this.
“The tube should be able to come out soon,” he says. “He hasn’t had a fever in a couple days, so I’d say he’s on the mend,” the nurse adds gently. I’m sure I should know his name. They’ve all introduced themselves at some point, but his badge is flipped around so I can’t cheat. How many times has he been in here?
Enough to be giving me that pitying look, trying to reassure me hope isn’t lost.
Oddly, it has the opposite effect.
“Do you need anything else?” Ryder asks, standing from his seat, flipping the TV off. “A ride home, maybe?”
I roll my eyes. “I’m good, thanks. Give Angel some attention for me, will you?”
Ryder grins. “Oh, I’ve taught him some really fun new words, don’t worry.”
I grumble under my breath, but it’s hard to muster anything more than that. Who cares if my bird says dirty words? I just want Jared to be okay.
A few hours later, my mind is totally numb. Three back-to-back episodes of Judge Judy will do that to you. The case that’s coming up next seems so scripted I can’t believe it’s real. The defendant is like cartoon villain levels of malicious, and the plaintiff seems like a convenient idiot. I refuse to believe anyone is as stupid as he seems though. I can’t watch it anymore.
I really don’t watch much TV usually, but that’s all there is to do here. I tried reading, I tried crosswords and sudoku, but anything that requires brain power is too much right now. All I can manage is staring blankly at the screen, half-absorbing whatever it projects at me.
I flip through the channels—there aren’t many here; the hospital doesn’t seem to care about having an extensive cable package—stopping on the weather channel, a blue line across the map freezing my finger.
“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” I mutter. We wound up with nearly forty inches from that last storm, all told. Looks like we’re about to get another ten to twenty over the next week.
Beautiful.
I don’t know why I care. I’m not going anywhere for the foreseeable future.
“Can you believe we’re getting more snow?” I ask. I’ve gotten in the habit of just talking to Jared even if I’m not sure he can hear me. Being the crazy guy talking to myself is an acceptable risk for the possible payoff of him hearing me and knowing I’m here.
I look back, the same way I always do, my heart a ball of lead in my chest because I know what I’m going to find.
This time, Jared’s squinting at me.
My heart jumps, lead shell shed, helium innards released.
“Jared?” I ask, tentative. I’ve gotten my hopes up before when he wasn’t really awake.
“Unh,” he answers, a breathy rasp.
I get him a glass of water, helping him drink. I can’t imagine how dry his mouth must be after all this time.
He’s doing it, though. He’s drinking, and his eyes are focusing. He’s awake.
He’s back.
A tsunami of relief rushes through me, more than I ever would have expected. He’s been making steady progress, every employee here has been encouraging, every visitor assuring me he’s too tough to let something like this get him. Still, there was a part of me that couldn’t loosen the grip on fear. No amount of ‘Get Well’ cards, balloons, or teddy bears crowding into the room helped me feel better about the situation.
But one look into his eyes, and it’s all better.
He’s back.
I
take his hand, careful to avoid the IV, lacing my fingers with his.
“You’re in the hospital, baby,” I say. “You’re going to be okay, but you scared the shit out of me,” I admit, tears threatening to spill over suddenly. I was not expecting this level of relief, and it’s overwhelming. I bring his hand up to my lips, kissing his knuckles. “It’s going to be okay,” I promise him again. Once or twice isn’t enough, though. I need to hear it again for myself. “It’s going to be okay.”
He squeezes my hand back, and it’s everything I needed to hear.
Chapter 15
Jared
“Looks like she’s here,” Hunter says, from the window, excited like a puppy for someone to come visit. I don’t know what he’s looking forward to. The only person keeping him cooped up here is himself.
Me on the other hand…
I’m basically a prisoner here. After two weeks in the hospital, I’m finally back at Hunter’s place. I’ve been here a few days now, and he’s not letting me do anything by myself. He’s hovering and fussing and generally being a pain in my ass, but I can’t be mad at him.
I nearly died. That’s not me being dramatic, that’s a fact. I don’t remember why I got out of the car. I know better, but I also know better than to gas myself with carbon monoxide. I underestimated the severity of my pneumonia and it nearly cost me my life. If I hadn’t been found when I was, I would’ve frozen in a couple hours.
I understand why he’s paranoid about keeping me safe, but that doesn’t make it less frustrating. It just makes it so I can’t express that frustration without feeling guilty.
“Come on, you don’t have to look so grumpy,” he says. “She’ll think you don’t want her here.”
“I don’t,” I answer plainly, crossing my arms gingerly over my chest, careful to avoid my bandages. Yes, it makes me look like a child, but I’m being treated like one anyway, so what does it matter?
