The Path We Take (Young Love Book 2)

by Kylie Key

  "We're waiting for Dr Yee and Dr Strauss to come," she said, and I wondered why she called my brother by his title, usually he was Dr Cash. "Come hold his hand." She made way for me to sit by Malachi's side.

  Malachi looked lifeless, so pale, his cheeks hollow, lips dry and chapped. I thought I was looking at a corpse. My stomach turned, a feeling of hopelessness engulfed me. He had deteriorated since yesterday; he looked like he was waiting for death to take him. It seemed impossible that a person could recover from this. For a moment it seemed that it would be kinder to let him die, to release him from his pain.

  But then I held his hand. And though it was cold and unresponsive, I knew there was life in there, blood flowing through his veins. Malachi was still in there, struggling, but clinging to life. I had to believe that.

  Cash and Dr Yee arrived together, their actions brisk. They both acknowledged me but there was a seriousness about them. They checked the monitors, the charts, Cash examined Malachi's eyes, listened to his chest. The nurse who had brought the machine in was attaching hoses and tubes and cords to it. Jill flattened the head of the bed, making Malachi lie flat. She put an oxygen mask over Malachi's mouth, pumping air into him for a minute or so. Cash stood behind Malachi, tilted his head back and spoke as if Malachi was able to hear.

  "We're just going to open your mouth Malachi and put a tube down it." He used a silver thing with a curved blade, and then threaded a tube down. "The tube goes down into your trachea. We're going to hook this up to the ventilator and that's going to breathe for you." He taped the tube to the side of Malachi's mouth. He then used his stethoscope to listen to Malachi's chest, all the time telling Malachi what he was doing. The white haired doctor pushed another machine over the bed. The other nurse indicated for me to stand, and then everyone took a few steps back and I heard the click of the x-ray machine.

  Cash and Dr Yee looked at the screen showing Malachi's lungs and the tube inserted down his throat. They both nodded, looking pleased with what they saw. Cash attached the tube in Malachi's mouth to the machine. He looked directly at me again. "This will give Malachi a chance to rest. The machine will do his breathing for him, giving him a chance to heal. Okay?"

  I nodded slowly, in awe of what my brother had done, making it seem as easy as opening up a bandaid and putting it on a wound. But there was a question that was burning within me, piercing me deep inside my core.

  “Did I do this to him, Cash?” I whispered.

  “Do what?” Cassian asked.

  I cast my glance at Malachi and made sure nobody else could hear me. “I kissed him. I kissed Malachi.” My voice felt strangled, tight. “Did I give him the infection?”

  Cassian chuckled and my first thought was how inappropriate that was. This was no laughing matter, this was life and death — Malachi’s life on a precipice.

  “No,” he said firmly, and he pulled me into a hug. “No,” he reiterated, “not at all.”

  My relief was only momentary. “Is he going to be all right?"

  "He has the best care," Cash said. That answer was too vague. I needed the truth. I needed reality.

  "But will he make it? Will he?"

  "I believe he has everything to live for," Cash said. He massaged the top of my head, so I knew he'd taken off his doctor mantel and was now speaking as my big brother. "He's a survivor. He's done it before."

  "I don't want him to die," I cried into his chest, "I don't want Malachi to die."

  Cassian's hold tightened and though he tried to hide it, I could hear the angst in his voice, "Neither do I, sweetheart, neither do I."

  "I'm not leaving his side," I said and I pulled away, returning to Malachi's bed. "I promise I won't leave you Malachi," I said, taking hold of his hand in our original greeting, palms together, fingers bent. I squeezed tightly. "I promise to be here for you."

  Malachi showed no response. His hand felt limp, his eyelids sunken, his face a mask. My own breaths came unevenly, rapidly, and I laid my head on the bed, fighting back the tears.

  Cash kissed the top of my head, and nestled Benji next to me. I heard him leave but I didn't move.

  It's funny how your perspective on life can change so suddenly, how you realize that the things that matter, don't matter at all.

  That's what I was thinking as I tried to transfer my love, my thoughts, my essence into Malachi. Medals, awards, titles, scholarships, senior year, prom, graduation meant nothing to me now. That path seemed pointless, meaningless. All that mattered was that a boy with horrific burns and a life threatening condition, should live.

  I recited prayers to every celestial being, I transmitted positive energy through every portal of the universe. I scrutinized every piece of equipment that Malachi was hooked up to, knew every sound they should be making, listening for any variation. It was frightening, but ever so clear — death was but a beep away.

  I couldn't let Malachi give up, I had to get him through this. This boy had given me everything to live for; now it was my turn to return the favor.

  EVEN THOUGH MALACHI was comatose, I acted like he wasn't. I was reading a Benji Bear book out loud, comforting myself with familiarity. I knew most of the lines by heart now. Angie, Jill and the white haired doctor came bustling in. Angie gently assisted me out of the chair, whispering that I needed to vacate the room.

  Malachi’s father was coming to visit. She made it seem like it was classified information. She guided me out to the reception area, sat me down and hurried back to Malachi's room.

  My heart rate accelerated and my thoughts were blurred and confused. If Malachi's father had been permitted to visit, did it mean that death was imminent? Why else would they allow a double murderer, on two life sentences, into a public hospital?

  I sat there shaking, my eyes flitting from the elevator to the stairwell. Several hospital security guards arrived and positioned themselves along the corridor, one of them in front of where I was sitting.

  I expected Travis Keneally to be in an orange prison jumpsuit, but he was dressed in a light button down shirt and dark pants. His hands were shackled behind his back and his feet were chained together meaning he could only take baby steps. He was flanked by two armed prison officers. I peered from behind the guard as he shuffled towards Malachi's room.

  When the door to the room closed the guards dispersed, congregating at the reception counter. Still in a state of shock, I leapt up and scuttled across to Malachi's window. I needed to see what was going on. Malachi's father and the officers had masks on, but they hadn't been made to put on a gown, hat or gloves. Travis Keneally's head was shaved, but the regrowth showed his hairline was receding. He had the web tattoo on his neck and like Malachi's Grandpa, his hands were covered too. It looked like Dr White Hair was explaining the medical situation as Travis's eyes darted around the room. He looked at the vases of flowers that Mom and Jill had brought in, at Malachi's name sign on the wall, at the Benji books that I'd left on the bedside cabinet. I was glad I'd tucked Benji securely under Malachi's arm. Even though he was in a world of his own, on the verge of death, Malachi surprisingly looked peaceful and content.

  Travis leaned over the bed and appeared to lose balance. One officer jerked him roughly, making him stand upright. Travis looked down at Malachi, seemingly frustrated that he couldn't touch his son. For a long time he stared at Malachi's unresponsive body and it looked like he was speaking to him. I longed to know what he was saying.

  Then, unexpectedly he turned his head and I found myself gazing into the eyes of a killer.

  But I didn't see hate, or insanity, or derangement; I saw the eyes of a father swimming in hopelessness, a face that feared the worse.

  I quickly ducked my head and slunk away. I went to the stairwell, gingerly walking down a level and sat on a step.

  Travis Keneally had been given permission to visit his son. There could only be one reason for that - Malachi wasn't expected to survive. They'd let him come to say his last goodbye.

  I knew now that everyon
e was waiting for him to die.

  CASSIAN FOUND ME HUDDLED in the stairwell, clutching the rolled up gown, hat and mask. I don't know how long I'd been there, but long enough that my bottom was numb. Numerous times I thought my tears had dried up, had tried to get up, but each time it was as if I was petrified.

  "What's going on?" Cassian asked gently, as he stooped to sit beside me, his mask pulled low so it hung below his chin. "What are you doing here?"

  "Why didn't you just tell me?" I sobbed, "Why didn't you tell me Malachi's going to die?"

  Cassian pulled me into him so that my face rested on his chest. His gown smelt of antiseptic. "Who told you that?" He tilted my chin towards him. "Who told you that?"

  "His father visited," I gasped between sniffs, "you all think he's going to die."

  Cassian ran his thumbs across my cheeks, wiping the tears away. "Shhhhh," he said softly, "Malachi's not dying. Not today."

  "You don't know that," I said, pummelling his chest, "you can't just say things like that."

  Cassian took hold of my fisted hands, he forced me to look straight into his own watering eyes. "Dominique," he said, "I know I can't promise you Malachi's life, sweetheart, but we're doing everything we can for him. That, I can promise you."

  "Those are just words," I cried, "they're just words. You can't promise anything!" I struggled to free myself from his grip. Cassian's arms encircled my trembling body. He kissed the top of my head and I sunk into him, my tears infinite.

  And then, with less compassion than I was expecting, he said, "Malachi needs you right now. He needs you to be strong for him. Sitting around crying isn't doing anyone any good." He released me and nodded towards the doorway. "You need to go back in there and give him some of your positive energy."

  I was momentarily taken aback - Cassian was giving me a telling off! Here I was, in the depths of despair, guilt and grief, and he was telling me to pull myself together!

  As if he had better things to be doing, he pulled me up to standing and guided me back through to Malachi's room. He helped me back into a gown, cap and mask and said sternly, "You fight with him, kiddo. Don't let him give up."

  I nodded in dumb amazement, still reeling from his harsh truth.

  But he was right.

  I couldn't sit around crying, waiting for the worst. I had to believe in the power of modern medicine. I had to believe Malachi was fighting for his life.

  "Malachi, would you please hurry and wake up," I said, as I ran my fingers through his spiky hair. I pulled down my mask and kissed his forehead gently. "I love you more and more every day," I said. There was a flutter of his eyelids and I waited for his eyes to miraculously open.

  They didn't, but it didn't matter.

  I was full of hope.

  And sometimes hope is all that matters.

  CHAPTER 13

  The next night I was tidying my room and folding laundry, when Ella's head popped around my door.

  "Are you up for a visitor?" she asked. "Your dad let me in."

  "Hi! I didn't hear you at the door," I said, shoving a pile of clothes into a drawer.

  "I come bearing English and chemistry notes." She waved some papers at me and put them on my desk.

  "Oh, thanks. I think," I said, casting a glance at the printed pages. I guessed I'd have a frantic time trying to catch up my classes.

  Ella smiled. "Are you okay? I missed you." Without warning she pulled me into a hug. I clung to her and then lead her to my bed. Ella sat cross legged but my knee was feeling weird so I stretched it out. "I've been going to the library for lunch because I couldn't bear to look at any more makeup videos.” She rolled her eyes. “And I haven't checked my Instagram in two days. But don't tell anybody."

  "That's outrageous," I said, and we giggled and giggled.

  "Um," Ella said, lowering her voice, "is everything all right?"

  "Yes," I said, "I'm fine now." Mom had begrudgingly let me keep vigil over Malachi the last two days, while I told everyone I had the flu. It was easier to lie. Explaining Malachi and his condition would be too complicated.

  "I mean," Ella said hesitantly, going into a full on whisper, "is everything all right with the burns boy?"

  "How do you know about that?" I asked, a little too defensively.

  Ella's face turned red. "I thought your knee might've gotten worse and you didn't want to tell us, so I contacted Damon." Her face reddened more. "To check that you were really okay."

  "Oh," I uttered in surprise.

  "He told me how Malachi was really sick and that you were worried about him."

  "I was," I said, blowing out a sigh of relief. There was nothing underhand about Ella knowing about Malachi; she'd asked Damon in genuine concern and it was touching that she had. "Ella, I couldn't leave him. He's all alone. He has no family to help him."

  "That's what Damon said." Her blush extended to her neck. It made me wonder how much Damon had told her. Did she know Malachi's father was in prison, that he was a murderer? That his grandfather was a drunk? That Malachi had a tattoo on his face? "It's really great what you're doing for him," Ella continued.

  "Not really," I said bashfully, "I'm just sitting with him and reading. Cassian is the amazing one. He's had to do skin grafts on half of his body, even his feet and toes."

  "Wow. Will he be able to walk?"

  "We don't know yet," I said, "but the doctors and nurses are hopeful."

  "Your brother is amazing," Ella said, "I'm sure he's done an amazing job."

  "Yeah, my brother is amazing." I paused, and then teased, "You do mean Cash, don't you?"

  "Yes. Of course, of course I mean Cash," she stuttered. "He's...he's an amazing surgeon."

  "For a moment I thought you were talking about Damon," I joked. Ella laughed, but the color in her face didn't fade. She reached up to her high ponytail and released it, letting her multi toned hair fall around her face.

  "Ughh. My hair is driving me crazy," she said, shaking it out and slipping her hair tie onto her wrist. "Um, Domi? I was wondering, like, when Malachi wakes up, do you think I could maybe visit with you? Maybe I could play violin for him?" She paused and then word sprinted. "It's just that what you're doing with your volunteering is fantastic and I thought I could do something too. I don't know, it's just an idea."

  It took my brain a second to process what she'd said, that she wanted to meet Malachi. For weeks I'd wished I could share with my friends how much Malachi truly meant to me, and now Ella had presented me with the perfect opportunity.

  "I think Malachi would really like that," I said, "I think he gets bored with my reading."

  "I doubt that," Ella said. She smiled and squeezed me. "Domi, you don't have to go through this on your own. I'm here for you, you know that? We all are."

  "Thank you," I said, a wave of regret washing over me. Truth, trust, acceptance, respect — weren't those the traits of friendship? I'd broken all the rules, excluded my friends because of my own fear of being judged. When, in fact, I'd been guilty of judging them.

  I reached for my phone and scrolled through my photos. I hesitated, then held it out for her to see.

  "He's lost so much weight," I said, my chin quivering, "and he's very weak."

  Ella looked visibly affected as she swiped through the pictures of Malachi and Benji, surrounded by a multitude of machines. She studied them for almost a minute. I waited for a comment about his tattoo or his bandages, but she said, “He looks peaceful." Her eyes watered and she hugged me again. “I’m sending him all my thoughts and prayers, Domi."

  I started to cry then, understanding that Damon must have told her everything. For that, I loved him.

  Ella's voice turned to one of determination. “When Malachi wakes up, we’ll celebrate, okay?’

  “Celebrate?” It sounded absurd and ridiculous, but a spark was ignited.

  “Yes, with a party,” Ella enthused. “We’ll give Malachi a party. I can make brownies and cupcakes."

  “And I can bake a cake.
Or try to. Malachi needs to put on weight.” Her energy was contagious. “We can do balloons, and a piñata, like at Damon’s party.” Ella nodded, her cheeks flushing.

  “And I’ll play my violin, though that might make him wish he was in a coma again.”

  I laughed loudly, and the tears on my cheek were now tears of joy, of hope, of friendship. Ella and I wrote a list, planning for the day when Malachi would open his eyes again.

  CASSIAN SENT A TEXT the next afternoon to say Malachi was stable, so I went to my gymnastics class, doing a little training, but mainly helping with the younger girls. It was a good distraction, focusing on them, and not worrying about Malachi 24/7.

  So when I arrived at the hospital later, I nearly tripped over my own feet when I saw the ventilator had gone and Malachi was sitting upright. My heart lurched as I saw recognition in his eyes and a shadow of a smile on his lips. For a whole week he'd been unresponsive, hiding somewhere in that body, but now it felt like my prayers had been answered.

  Malachi, literally, had no strength to lift a spoon to his mouth, so under Angie’s guidance I fed him, but two spoonfuls of puréed fruit had been enough.

  "You had this little girl scared,” Angie scolded him as she patted my arm and fussed around Malachi's bed. "She was like an angel at your bedside all day."

  Malachi's voice was raspy. "I know."

  "How did you know?" Angie joked, "You were out of it, away with the fairies."

  "I knew," Malachi said, his eyes watching me.

  Angie made him take another sip of juice and instructions to drink regularly, then left us.

  I shifted closer, clasping his hand and studying his face. "Did you really know I was here?"

  He nodded. "Unless. I. Dreamed. It." That's how he spoke, painfully slow, every word an effort.