Chasing After Me

by R. C. Martin

  Giving his hand a squeeze as I ask, “I can come too, right?”

  “Babe,” he grunts with an eye roll. He doesn’t speak another word about it, but tugs me toward his room. When we’re inside, he takes me to the wall that’s covered in photos of his work. I notice right away that it’s been rearranged. As I spot the reason why, I gasp, immediately wrapping my arms around his waist as I stare at the newest photographs.

  He printed out a bunch of the pictures we took last Saturday with him and the kids. They’re now all arranged together in the center of the wall. But there’s one in particular that’s bigger than the rest—the one of him and Sheamus with their shirts off, flexing for the camera. He’s positioned it right in the middle of his collection.

  Resting my head against his chest, my eyes still captivated by what he’s done in my absence, I whisper, “I think I just fell in love with you all over again.”

  He chuckles, lowering his head until his lips are pressed against the top of mine. “It was a good day,” he mutters into my hair. “A day worth remembering.”

  “Yeah.” I hug him closer, still staring at the photos on the wall.

  I may not be sure about a lot of things these days, but I’m certain about this—there’s no one else in the world I’ll ever love the way that I love Coder. He was made to love me, and I’m never going to let him go.

  Coder and I hang out at the shop until it’s time to close up. We then drive to my place, where we drop off my car before we hop on the back of his bike. We’re the last of the crew to arrive at the hospital, all of us there to welcome little Savannah Rockwell to the world. She’s so tiny and adorable, so fresh and new. As she gets passed around from one set of arms to the next, it’s obvious that she’s going to be the most well loved newborn in town.

  We don’t stay too late, knowing that Daphne is beyond exhausted and in serious need of sleep, and we all take our leave together. With promises of seeing each other again on Sunday, we bid each other goodnight before heading our separate ways. Coder takes me back to my place, and when we find the apartment empty, we decide to sleep in my bed tonight.

  “Brooke out of town?” asks Coder as he sits at the foot of my bed to remove his boots.

  “No, not yet. She leaves for Miami with Owen Monday morning.”

  He nods his acknowledgment, kicking his feet free. When he stands to remove his jeans, my stomach tingles in hopeful anticipation. Deciding now would be a good time to ready myself for sleep, I grab a night shirt and excuse myself to the bathroom. After I’ve stripped down to my panties and donned my oversized shirt, I wash my face and brush my teeth before running my fingers through my hair.

  Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I laugh at myself for feeling slightly nervous. I shouldn’t be. Coder and I have had sex twice now, and he seemed to enjoy it very much both times. Furthermore, he’s made it very clear that he intends to enjoy my body a lot more. I was able to start taking the pill as soon as Tuesday morning, so in just a few more days, he’ll be able to enjoy me without a condom. The very fact that I’m thinking about sex without a condom should mean that I’m totally good to walk back into my room, strip down, and offer myself to him—but that’s not my reality.

  I just want to be as good as he remembers.

  Willing myself to be the brave woman who boldly jumped into his arms and took the kiss I wanted when I entered the shop today, I gather my clothes, turn off the bathroom light, and make my way across the hall. Coder is already laying in bed, the sheets laying low across his waist, cluing me into the fact that he’s already completely naked. He’s looking at something on his phone, so he doesn’t say a word as I drop my clothes in my hamper before I go over to turn on the bedside lamp. It isn’t until I turn off the overhead light that he finally speaks.

  “Come ‘ere. You have to see this,” he insists. I obey, crawling onto the bed next to him as he hands me his phone. On display is an image of Caroline holding Savannah, and my heart melts at the sight. “Too fucking cute, right?”

  Giggling, I look over at him and tease, “You’re such a softy.”

  He winks at me, denying not a word before he asks, “You want kids?”

  “Yeah. Someday. What about you?”

  Quirking an eyebrow, he simply grunts, “Babe.”

  I groan before I laugh, setting his phone down on my nightstand. When my hands are free, I stretch out beside him, propping my head up with my fist. “How many?”

  “I don’t know,” he replies with a shrug. “However many I can squeeze into the Bronco.”

  I burst into a fit of laughter, nudging his leg with my knee as I tell him, “You are not still going to be driving that thing when you have kids.”

  “Bet me,” he insists with a grin.

  “You’re crazy.”

  “Bet me, Mack.” He rolls onto his side, pulling me against him.

  “Okay. I’ll take that bet,” I agree, returning his grin with my own. “And what do I get if I win?”

  “Irrelevant. You won’t win. The better question is, what do I get when I win?”

  My heart skips a beat and my breath catches in my throat when his hand finds its way underneath my shirt. Instantly buzzing from the feel of his hand on my bare skin, I almost forget what we’re talking about.

  “What—what would you win?”

  “Sex. In the Bronco. Lots of it.” I’m laughing when he rolls me onto my back and pulls my shirt over my head, leaving me topless as he leans over me and says, “Not kidding, babe.”

  I clamp my lips closed, fighting my amusement as I look up at him. Then it hits me—this is us making plans. Future plans—plans with babies and bets and sex in his Bronco. In this moment, I hear him saying that he’s not going to let me go, either.

  Reaching up to run my fingers through his thick, dark hair, I announce, “If I win—”

  “Sex,” he interrupts, sliding my panties off. “In whatever contraption we squeeze the kids into. Lots of sex.”

  I bend my knees when the last garment of clothing between us hits my calves, allowing it to slink to my ankles before I kick my feet free.

  “I don’t know,” I tell him as he leans over me once more. “Kind of sounds like you win either way.”

  “Clue in, babe,” he murmurs, cupping his hand over my sex as he lowers his lips to graze mine. “So do you. We got ourselves a deal?”

  Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I breathe in his exhale before I nod—sealing my answer with a kiss.

  When I arrive at the children’s hospital Saturday morning, I’m in such a good mood, I’m practically bouncing. My spring break couldn’t have gotten off to a better start, and I’m excited to check in on the kids and see how they’re doing. I even have plans to stop by and say hello to some of the older kids that I met last week. There were a couple that I really hit it off with. While I’m sure they don’t have any need of my reading skills, I think they might be up for a little chat with a new friend.

  The instant I step off of the elevator, headed for the cancer ward, I feel it. Something is different—the energy in the air is off. My suspicions are confirmed as I start to approach the nurse’s station. Pamela and Stacey both stop what they’re doing when they see me. I’m not greeted with smiles, and my heart starts thumping loudly in my chest when I watch Pamela take a deep, fortifying breath.

  “What’s going on?” I ask instead of hello.

  Pamela doesn’t answer me right away. She looks at me for a long moment, as if assessing me somehow; then, as she makes her way around the desk, I hear her whisper a curse. That’s when I know it’s really bad. Around here, really bad is usually devastating, which is why a knot starts to clog my throat before she speaks a word.

  “Oh, dear, I don’t want to be the one to tell you this,” she murmurs, reaching out to run her hand up and down my arm. “It’s about Sheamus.”

  “What?” I choke out, my chest tightening in anxiety. “What happened?”

  “He passed away a couple night
s ago.”

  My heart drops, and it’s as if the ground beneath me has been ripped away, screwing with my equilibrium.

  “No,” I state adamantly. “No-no-no.” Stepping away from her touch, I almost lose my balance. My tears form fast, and the grief that fills my chest comes instantly, pressing down on me like an anvil crushing me from the inside.

  “It happened so fast. He had a brain aneurysm, and in his fragile state, it ruptured. He suffered a stroke, and before they could get him to the operating room—”

  “No!” I declare. Forcing my voice around the sob in my throat, I cry, “No, no, no! This was not supposed to happen. Not to him. Not to him!”

  I don’t realize that I’m still backing away from her touch until I collide into a wall. With nowhere else to go, I can’t stop her from pulling me into her arms. The second my cheek meets her shoulder, it’s as if the floodgates have been opened. I weep at the injustice of it all, my heart in pieces as I think of who the world has lost.

  I remember his smile. I remember his laughter and his joy. I remember the optimism he held on his best days, and the dreams he harbored that are all now lost. When I think about the last time I saw him and how happy and excited he was, I cry harder, wishing to be anywhere but here.

  I want to run—I want to be away from this place, away from death and pain and cancer—I feel like I’m suffocating under the reality of it. But when I think about it, when I think about how I can leave because I’m not sick, my heart hurts even more knowing there are sick children that I’ve grown to love here who do not have the same liberty.

  “This is what I love about you, Kenzie,” Pamela says as she strokes the hair that cascades down my back. “These kids, they aren’t just volunteer hours to you. They aren’t your charity. You care about them. You let them into your heart—you let them change you. After all my years working in hospitals, watching patients come and go, it warms my heart to know that there are people like you to come and touch places like this.

  “It hurts like hell—I know. I know, dear. But this is who you are. This is why you are so special to each and every one of them.” She pulls away from me, coaxing my head up with a finger. I don’t try and staunch my tears, knowing it’s useless, but I somehow manage to quiet my sob when I look into her eyes. “Come here,” she tells me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Lance left something for you. He dropped it by yesterday.”

  When we reach the nurse’s station, she silently reaches across the top of the desk, and Stacey is quick to hand her a thick, manila envelope with my name on it. Pamela gives it to me, and when I start to open it, she clamps her hands down tightly over mine, shaking her head sternly.

  “No,” she demands. “Not here. I don’t know what’s inside, but my guess is that if you open it now, you’ll not make it home.”

  I nod my understanding, sending a few more tears racing down my cheeks. My throat feels so tight, I’m not sure my voice will work at all when I try to speak. Even the slightest thought of Sheamus sends a fresh wave of grief and tears through me. I know without even having to think about it that I can’t stay—that I can’t spend the day with the other kids like I had planned. I’m not strong enough to hold up a smile. Not today. Not right now.

  I look to Pamela with the intent to express my thoughts, but she stops me with another shake of her head. “I already told the kids, dear. They’re not expecting you today. I knew this one would hit you especially hard.”

  I bring my hand up to cover my mouth in a failed attempt to mute my cry, and it takes me another minute to gather myself. When I feel like I can make it at least as far as my car without breaking down, I swallow back my tears and take a deep breath, meeting Pamela’s eyes once more. “Thank you,” I whisper, my voice husky and soft. “Please tell them I’m sorry.”

  “Take care of you, dear.”

  I nod, hugging the envelope to my chest as I allow my feet to lead me out of this place. I force myself to think of nothing, absolutely nothing, sure that that’s the only way I’ll be able to hold on to the tiny bit of control I’ve managed to gain over my emotions. But the second I close myself into my car, all bets are off.

  I don’t remember my drive home, or my walk from my car to the front door. I’m not sure at what point I abandoned my purse, my jacket, and my shoes; and I have no idea how long I sit in the middle of my bed, staring down at the envelop in my lap. All I know is that my hands are trembling when I finally open it, carefully taking out the contents.

  Inside is Coder’s slouchy, gray beanie, a framed photograph, and a letter. Clutching the wool beanie to my chest, I trace my fingers across the glass face of the frame. Underneath it is a photograph that was taken just last week. It’s a candid shot I didn’t even know Lance had taken. In it, Sheamus is sitting up in his bed while Coder works on his tattoo. I’m on the other side of the bed, sitting beside him. He’s smiling up at me, saying something I wish I could remember, and I’m laughing.

  I stare at the picture for a long time, not bothering to dry my cheeks as my silent tears fall. When I think I’m ready, I prop the frame up on my nightstand, and then open the letter.

  Kenzie,

  I wanted to return Coder’s hat and thank him for allowing my son to own it for a short time. I know in another life, he’d wear it every day and never give it back. I hope that it isn’t viewed as a gift returned, but a gift given—a reminder of how special it was to an amazing soul.

  I had the picture framed for Sheamus. He would not stop talking about his tattoo and how the day he got “inked” was the “best day ever.” I wanted to give him something to see every day, something to hope for—something to fight for—another “best day ever.” Now, it is my gift to you.

  The weight of this loss is unbearable. I cannot put into words the pain that I feel. I wish that I could, then you would understand how much this letter really means; how much of an impact you had—so much so that I couldn’t let this moment pass by without telling you thank you.

  You loved my boy through his darkest days, and I don’t use the term “love” lightly. He was more than a patient, more than a sad, sick child—he was your friend, and I know this because you were his, too.

  Whatever it is that lives inside of you, whatever light you carry, promise that you’ll never let it fade. I’m grateful that Sheamus had a friend like you, and I hope countless more who need a light in their darkest hours will get the chance to bathe in the warmth of yours.

  Lance

  “Kenz?” I hear Brooke’s shout, but I don’t reply.

  “Shit, baby—what if it wasn’t Kenzie? Would you let me look around before you start yelling your head off?” Owen hisses.

  “But what if there’s a burglar and Kenzie’s in here?” she hisses back, sounding panicked. “I saw her car. She’s not supposed to be here. It’s only twelve! Shit—what if she was taken?”

  “Brooke, calm down a second, would you?”

  I can hear Owen’s voice growing closer, but I don’t move. I can’t move. If I move, I cry, and my puffy, raw eyes could use a short reprieve—so I remain still, and I remain silent.

  When Owen’s frame darkens my doorway, I hear his sigh of relief followed shortly by, “Oh, shit. Kenz?” I see only his legs as he crosses the room. Then he squats down next to me, his face coming into view. I don’t look at him. I can’t. “Kenz?”

  “Owen, did you—” Brooke stops speaking when she finds us. Soon, she’s right at Owen’s side, kneeling in front of me as she asks, “Kenzie? What’s wrong? What happened? The door was wide open.”

  It slowly registers that if I don’t speak, they’ll never know that it was me who accidently left the door open. They’ll start rattling off different scenarios and explanations for my catatonic state, and I don’t have it in me to talk them down. So I break my silence, looking to the one who’s good with tears as I whisper, “Sheamus.” My heart breaks all over again even just saying his name. “Sheamus is gone.”

  “I’m so sorry, Kenz
ie. That sucks.”

  I roll away from them both, clutching Coder’s beanie tighter. Sucks isn’t the half of it. Sucks doesn’t even begin to describe what this is. They don’t understand. They can’t understand. They never met him or spent any time with him. They don’t know that Sheamus beat cancer once and he was supposed to beat it again. It’s so unbearably unfair that this is his story. They think they know, but they don’t. They don’t get it.

  “Please, just go away,” I murmur through my tears.

  To my relief and surprise, they don’t argue. Owen gives my shoulder a squeeze, Brooke strokes my arm, and then they both leave. I don’t question how easy that was, I just accept it as I settle back down into my grief.

  It isn’t until a little while later that it all makes since. It isn’t until I feel Coder curl his body around mine that I understand. They weren’t leaving me alone at all.

  Coder doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t have to. As I start to dissolve into another fit of tears, I turn over, burying my face in his chest. He holds me close—his silence my reassurance that he’s got my back. He knows that sucks isn’t the half of it.

  I doze off in Coder’s arms and wake up like I always do when I’m with him, pressed into his side, an arm draped over his chest, and a leg hooked around his. I can feel his fingers stroking the length of my side, and when I tilt my head back to look at him, I find his dark eyes already staring down on me. I’m surprised by the amount of comfort I feel laying underneath his silent gaze, though I’m not sure why. In this moment, he’s fighting to keep his promise. He said he’d always have my back. Right now, I don’t know what he’s sacrificing to be here, but he’s here anyway.