by BB Miller
My throat is dry, burning, begging me for something to drink. What the fuck happened? A blurry, large form slumped over in a nearby chair snores away. It’s the only sound over the humming machine in the dimly lit room. My jaw feels locked shut. It’s a struggle to open my mouth, and when I do, nothing comes out, even though I want to scream.
I fight to take a breath, but the scent of flowers is suffocating, pushing down on my chest.
A tatted arm comes into view. I recognize those tats. It’s something familiar that finally makes sense. I can feel his big hand curl around mine, and I manage to croak out a single word. “Dad.” I close my eyes to the raw sound of my voice, to the searing pain.
“Matty, Jesus Christ, kid.” I hear the chair scrape the floor, and feel the bed sink with his weight beside me. His warm breath is on my hand before he holds my palm to his cheek. I fight to open my eyes again. “Shit. Nurse!” I grab onto his big, booming voice like a lifeline. “Don’t you dare leave me. You’re going to be okay. Nurse!”
My eyes open to find his staring back at me, uncharacteristic tears spilling to his cheeks. I try to wet my lips as his hand tightens against mine. “You look like shit,” I rasp.
He drops his forehead to our joined hands, and I feel the bed shake a bit as he takes a stuttered breath before lifting his eyes back to mine. I try to lean up, but it’s impossible. A steady weight feels like it’s holding me in place. “Don’t try to move.”
“Wha . . . ?” I try to take a swat at the tubes in my nose, but I’m held tight by his grip.
Commotion at the door causes my head to spin, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Voices I don’t recognize snap at Tom to move away. His grip just tightens over my hand. “I’m not leaving my son.”
“Stubborn,” I mutter, forcing my eyes to open to a huddled crowd of strangers. White coats, concerned looks, penlights, and clipboards.
“BP is 160 over 90.”
“Can you hear me?” White coat number one is obviously in charge. Her face looms close to mine, her voice a pounding blast to my ears.
“Right here.” I’m panting, exhausted from just a couple of words. “Don’t have to yell.”
“Grasshopper!” Fuck, the Brit is here, too. I’d recognize that annoying accent anywhere. “I don’t give a rat’s ass what your fucking rules are. I want to see him.”
“Get that man out of here, or I’m calling security.” White coat number one again. She’s annoyed at Sean. I know the feeling. I try to get a look at him at the door, but I’m too weak to move.
“The security here is ours! Don’t go toward the light, Matty!” I can still hear him ranting away as a door is shut in an attempt to drown him out.
“Where.” It’s all I can manage before my eyes slide shut. I feel Tom release my hand.
“I’m Dr. Elliott, the attending physician here at St. Francis. Can you tell me your name?”
“Matt . . . Matt Logan.” I take a shuddered, painful breath.
“Good, and how are you feeling?”
I open my eyes to her ridiculous question. “Is she serious? Cardinal . . . Fuck.”
“Try not to move too much yet. Do you know what happened?” The sea of nameless faces hovers closer, poking, prodding, and trying to get at me. Memories of a dark alley, of fists and danger run a loop in my head. No.
“Get off me.” I struggle against the vice-like grip on my arm.
“Matt, calm down.” It’s Tom’s voice that I try to focus on.
“Matt. You’re safe. You’re in the hospital.” Dr. Elliott’s words float in, and I try to make sense of them, my eyes darting to the lingering crowd. “Do you remember what happened?”
Glancing back at the doctor, my heart races as snippets burst in confusing pieces. The open road, a curtain of long, black hair, a spinning cloudless sky. “The Harley.”
Dr. Elliott nods. “Yes. You were in an accident. You’ve been in a coma for almost two weeks.”
“What?” I try to swallow, feeling panic set in as I search the room for Tom. “No. The concert. Cardinal.”
I slam my eyes shut, willing the room to stop turning as the doctor’s voice filters back in. “It’s normal for patients to be confused when they wake up. The morphine is probably doing the talking.”
“How long will he be like this?”
I struggle against the steady hand pressed against my shoulder, trying to push up to the sound of Tom’s voice.
“Dad.” My throat is on fire and raw, and my tongue feels weird, swollen and taking up too much space in my mouth.
“It’s hard to tell. Unfortunately, we still don’t know a lot about what goes on in the brain during a coma like the one your son’s been in. But he’s awake, and that’s the best sign we can have. When he’s calmed down a bit, we’ll come back and run through a few tests.”
“Get off me!” I feel my jaw set as a younger man’s face comes into view.
“Try to calm down, Mr. Logan.”
“He’s not usually like this.”
The doctor shakes her head at me. I’m being scolded. “He’s disoriented right now. He might be incoherent and confused for a while, lash out, or have trouble focusing. It’s important you try to stay calm during this time. He’ll need that.”
“I’m right fucking here!” The burn in my throat threatens again.
“Mr. Logan, it’s important you try to stay calm.”
“Matty, it’s okay.”
Turning in the direction of Tom’s voice sends a searing pain through my shoulder. “Get him off me!” My arm flails and my fist makes impact with the young kid’s nose. Blood, dripping red, and chaotic shouts for more morphine swirl until I’m plunged back into darkness again.
“We can’t have these in here when he wakes up.”
“Why the hell not? They said he needs things around that will trigger memories.”
“Extra-small condoms may not be the memories he wants, genius.”
I hear a quick laugh and then Cameron’s voice. “Fuck, that was classic. Tess is all right in my book. The look on his face when Tucker opened that box.” There’s a round of subdued laughs, but it all sounds hollow. “But seriously, we should donate these to a clinic or something. He’ll lose his shit if he sees boxes of condoms in here.” Condoms? What the hell are they going on about?
“The hospital administrator tracked me down this morning.” That’s Kennedy’s voice, and I turn my head in the direction it’s coming from. “Asked me to tell the fans if they want to help, to make a donation to the trauma center. Said he couldn’t have the lawn of his hospital looking like a mini Woodstock anymore, and that they were running out of space for the flowers and these.” I hear a soft thud as I slowly blink my eyes open to the harsh light.
Through a shaky breath, I manage a few words, my voice raw. “Would you all shut the hell up?”
“Ah! Sleeping Beauty has awoken! See? The condoms worked!” Sean slides the chair over to the side of the bed, dropping into it and leaning forward. “You look like you’ve been run down by a truck, mate. Get the nurse, Cam.”
I practically growl at Sean’s words. “No. No fucking nurses.”
“Come on now, Grasshopper. There’re some hot ones here. I’d be taking advantage of every single sponge bath that was offered if I were you.” He smirks at me, but he looks tired. “Heard you broke one of the male nurse’s noses. Badass.”
Furrowing my brow, I try to sit up. “I did what?”
“What hurts?” Cameron asks, sitting on the side of the bed.
“My tongue feels weird.”
Sean shakes his head. “You’ve been out for fucking days and the first thing you’re worried about is your tongue?”
“You were on a ventilator for a while.” Kennedy moves beside Cam. “And they had to take out your tongue piercing.”
My head spins in confusion. “My tongue piercing?”
“Yeah, mate. Please tell me you remember how epic that was.” Sean shoots Kennedy and Cameron a look of worry befor
e turning back to me. “The bet we had a few years back? If you could survive the tongue piercing, I’d get my cock—”
I groan as the memory slams back to me. “Fuck, stop. That was in Australia. I remember now.”
Glancing down, past the dressing on my shoulder, I notice a cast running the length of my left forearm down over my wrist. “Fuck.”
“Yeah. About that.” I look up to Kennedy, nervously rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. “It’s broken in three places. Your wrist, too. You had to have surgery for a collapsed lung, and your shoulder’s a mess, but man, finally seeing you awake after almost two weeks is damn fucking good.” His half-hearted smile falls flat. Even through the confused haze that seems to orbit me, I can see that.
“How long until I play again?” I grind out, a feeling of helplessness I’m not accustomed to rolling over me. Fuck, for them to see me this way, it just doesn’t feel right.
Kennedy glances warily at Sean and Cameron. “Um, I don’t think that’s for us to explain.”
“How fucking long?” I snap.
“Clam down, Grasshopper.”
“Answer the fucking question!” Pain cuts through my shoulder like a hot blade as Sean tries to press me back to the bed.
“They don’t know,” Kennedy blurts. “The broken bones in your arm and ribs, probably a couple of months. But your shoulder . . .” His voice trails and he shakes his head. Kennedy Lane at a loss for words is something I never thought I’d see.
“What about it?”
He glances away, looking desperately at the door. “We should wait for the doctor, I think.”
“Don’t you dare fucking bullshit me! Not you guys.” My lungs burn, my weary body begging me for a break.
“Matty.” Cameron sets his hand on my un-casted arm, and I search his worried face. I can’t remember seeing any of them like this. Even through the stints in rehab, and Brodie’s suicide. “The tests they’ve done show you’ve got some nerve damage in your shoulder. A potential brachial plexus injury.”
“What is that?” My throat constricts, and my chest thuds.
“Why can’t they just speak fucking English when they explain shit?” Sean huffs.
“It’s a group of nerves that run from your spinal cord,” Cam explains, ignoring Sean. “They control the muscles in your shoulder and arm. It’s probably minor, and you’ll be fine in a few weeks.”
“Probably?”
Cam nods, moving in slow motion to my fucked-up brain. “Yeah. Some physio with Tucker and you’ll be good as new.”
“And if it’s not minor?”
Silence greets me; silence and the incessant hum of the machine beside my bed. I’m so fucking tired. Tired of being confused and floating in a dream. “I don’t think we should talk about this right now,” Kennedy says.
“What fucking happens?” There’s a threatening edge to my voice I don’t recognize.
“We won’t know how bad it is until we can get you up and into some physio, but some people have a permanent disability,” Cameron states. Harsh and brutal and plain as day. My entire life, everything I’ve ever actually been good at could be gone, ripped away from me.
“But that’s not going to be you, Matty.” Sean tries to break the mounting tension in the room. “You’ll be back up and playing with us in no time.”
I glance over to the table against the wall, overflowing with cards and flowers. The scent reaches in and grabs hold. I focus on one of the glittery cards, on the lines of a black guitar that’s pictured on the front. The letters above it seem to morph and blur. It makes no sense. The blood pounds harder in my ears. “Get out.”
Sean fists the thin material of the hospital shirt I’m wearing. “We aren’t leaving you.”
“Sean, just for a bit, okay?” Somehow, I manage to bring my eyes back to his. I can feel myself teetering on the edge. “Please.”
Sean glances warily over to Kennedy before pushing up from the chair. “It’s time for the lovely Tess’s shift anyway.” He shoves on a pair of ridiculous yellow sunglasses. “She’s been here the whole time.” And I know that. Somewhere in all the confusion and unknown voices, in the flashes of light and time, I know she’s been here. Her touch, her scent, her energy, I can feel it. But to know she’s seen me this way, it’s another punishing blow to my gut.
“Give me a couple of minutes.”
“We’ll be back later tonight,” Kennedy says, opening up the door.
The door closing behind them is faint. The ceiling seems closer as I stare at it, slowly closing me in, snuffing me out.
Two weeks, Kennedy said. I’ve been out for two weeks, through New Year’s, for fuck’s sake. It’s just a confusing void of time. I take a glance across the room, over the sea of flowers to the window. It’s dark, another day passing with me having no idea.
Closing my eyes, I try to will the relentless pounding in my head to end. I hear her before I see her. Hesitant steps, a sharp intake of breath, the creak of the bed as she sits beside me. “Matt?” She approached as if I’m an unpredictable, caged animal who might attack.
Swallowing back the lump in my throat, I turn my head and open my eyes, and I see it. All the things I never wanted to see: sympathy, regret, and worry. She’s looking at me like I’m a stranger. I’m right back to being that weak, terrified, clueless teenager living on the street.
“Tess.” Her dark eyes light up with that one word, and she reaches for my hand, crushing it in her grip.
“You remember.” I ache to brush the tears falling to her cheeks, but I can’t. Fear grips me, threatening to take over. “They said you might forget some things.” She leans forward to rest her forehead to mine. Her scent washes over me, her hair falling in a dark curtain around my face, and I breathe her in.
“Could never forget you, Cardinal.” It comes out as a dry whisper.
I can feel a tremble roll through her as she presses her delicious curves against me. I welcome it all—the burn in my lungs, the pain searing through my shoulder as she clings to me. I want to drown in it—in her.
“Oh God, I’m sorry.” She pushes away from me. “I shouldn’t be putting any weight on you. What hurts? What can I do?” The words tumble from her lips in a rush.
“Just hold me.”
Tessa
A half-sob escapes me as relief surges. I gingerly slide my arm behind his neck and hold him as tightly as I dare. The machines I’ve relied on for days to assure me that he’s still alive continue their inexorable beeping.
He presses his face against my neck and inhales deeply. “I thought I was dreaming again, but my dreams never smelled this good.”
I laugh weakly, my tears threatening again. I’ve cried so much in this hospital; I’m surprised I have any tears left. “It can’t be that good. I haven’t showered yet today.” I’ve only left to shower and change clothes a few times since his accident. If it wasn’t for Abby and Jada, I wouldn’t leave at all. Every three days or so, one of them frog-marches me out to the car and takes me to clean up.
“You smell amazing,” he mumbles, wincing with the effort. I try to pull back again, but his good hand has closed around my shoulders, holding me in place.
“Matt, I should move,” I argue, although my heart really isn’t in it. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’ll only hurt me if you leave.”
The raw honesty and fear in his soft voice pierce my heart. “Never.” I stretch carefully to press a gentle kiss on his cheek, avoiding the oxygen tubing. “You’re stuck with me now.”
A faint smile touches his lips, and his eyelids flutter closed. They warned me that he’d probably fall back to sleep quickly, and I shouldn’t worry, but panic bubbles up anyway. I promised him something, and I don’t want to miss my chance. Taking a deep breath, I blurt it out.
“I love you, Matt.”
Holding my breath, I wait, but there’s nothing. His breathing is deep and even, and I feel his arm holding me slacken. Damn. I waited too long.
With a resigned sigh, I rest my head on the pillow beside him, allowing myself one more minute to savor his warmth and the relief that he’s still with me before resuming my usual seat beside the bed. His whispered croak startles me.
“Best fucking dream ever.”
“Are you okay?”
Snapping my head up, I look directly into Kennedy’s concerned gaze. The security guy standing on the other side of the doorway politely ignores us. There are two other burly men in black—hired by Tucker—standing at each end of the hallway. It’s weird to see hired security in a hospital, but they’ve been worth their considerable weight in gold. For the first few days, it wasn’t unusual to find roving bands of Redfall fans—and worse—trying to find Matt’s room. A paparazzo, disguised in scrubs and hiding his camera in a bouquet of flowers, would’ve made it if one of the security guys hadn’t recognized him. I can only imagine how much a photo of Matt while he was still on the ventilator would’ve been worth to a tabloid.
I straighten from where I’m slouching against the wall outside Matt’s room and give him a tired smile. “I’m fine. Matt’s asleep again.”
“Maybe you should get some, too,” he suggests, but I shake my head.
“Dr. Elliot said he’d probably be in and out. I don’t want to miss the next time he wakes up.” My insides churn from the dual relief of finally saying those three little words to him and not knowing if he was coherent enough to understand what I said. No matter, he’s stuck with me, regardless.
Kennedy falls into step next to me, and we walk slowly back to the small waiting area around the corner. Tom is there, in discussion again with one the detectives on the case. Normally, I hate that celebrity cases seem to take priority over those of regular people, but I can’t deny I’m glad of it this time.
“We’ll notify you when we have more information, Mr. Logan. Call us immediately if he contacts anyone at the home again.”
Tom nods, his face troubled. “I will. Thank you for all your help.”
