by BB Miller
Kennedy excuses himself to go find Cameron and Sean, but my eyes lock on the detective. The police have spoken with me only once, to interview me about what I knew about the kids at the group home, but I’ve been able to get some information from Tom and Aaron. The detective rises and gives me a perfunctory smile as he leaves. He doesn’t need to tell me what they were talking about this time; I know.
Zach. My blood runs cold at the thought of the little thug who is the number one suspect. After everything Tom, Matt, and the other staff and volunteers have done for him, and this is how he repays them. Underlying my anger is a twinge of guilt; I should’ve said something earlier about my suspicions regarding Zach and the incident with the Camaro. But who knew he’d do something like this?
I don’t know what evidence the police have regarding the crash, but we know now that it wasn’t an accident. Someone tampered with the brakes of the Harley after Aaron had given it a last wipe-down before the test ride. Both Zach and Beck fled as soon as news of the accident reached the group home. I know Tom is still struggling with his feelings where Zach’s concerned, so I keep my thoughts to myself. But if Zach is responsible and I ever run across that punk . . .
Taking a deep breath to calm my rage, I unclench my fists with difficulty and sit next to Tom. He absently pats my knee. “Kennedy told me the guys broke the news to him. How is he?”
“He’s asleep again.” I sweep my hair away from my face, feeling drained. “We didn’t talk about it. He’s exhausted.” Bracing my elbows on my knees, I let my head hang down to stretch the kinks out of my neck. I really should nip over to Matt’s for a quick shower and a change. I was just there yesterday, but the hospital smell seems to seep into my clothes faster these days.
Tom pats my back. “Well, we’ll be talking with him about it soon enough. He needs time to process everything. We’ve had two weeks to adjust to it; he’s had about twenty minutes.”
I mumble agreement and sit up to find him watching me with that measured look that reminds me so much of my father.
“Why don’t you take off for a while and get some sleep—some real sleep in a real bed, not on one of those spindly cots they’ve got here.” Before I can argue, he says, “I want some time with him when he wakes up again, and then he’ll need to see you. And you won’t do him any good unless you’re rested, Tess.” He grins at me through his own exhaustion. “Besides, your father will shoot me if I don’t at least try to take care of you.”
I chuckle, realizing the truth of that statement. My dad has stayed in town, while my mom stayed with my brother’s family to help with the new baby. He’s come to the hospital at least once a day to check on me and make sure I’m eating. He and Tom have forged a friendship over bad hospital coffee and the love of their respective children. I’ve found them several times, sitting and talking in a corner of one of the waiting rooms, long after I thought Dad had left after visiting me. They make a formidable pair.
Surreptitiously sniffing my sleeve, I cringe at the pervasive odor of antiseptic and sickness. Maybe a quick shower and change would be a good idea after all. “Okay. If he wakes up, tell him . . .” I pause, struggling to find the words to express my roiling emotions. Tom just nods and gives me a knowing smile.
“I will.”
“Why don’t you just move in with him?”
I frown, but of course Jada can’t see me over the phone. “It’s too soon,” I say defensively, although my stomach flutters at the thought of waking up every morning to Matt’s sleepy blue eyes. “Besides, he hasn’t asked me.”
“He’s given you keys to his place, and you’re over there ninety percent of the time anyway,” she says, a hint of mirth in her tone. “If you move out, maybe I’ll finally be able to shack up with Greg.”
“You hate Greg. You say he’s bossy and arrogant.” The hospital looms ahead and my anxiety increases accordingly. Despite Tom’s encouragement, I hadn’t meant to fall asleep. I sat down on the bed to remove my shoes so I could shower and woke up four hours later sprawled across Matt’s bed, still half-dressed. It’s almost five now, and my Uber is crawling in rush-hour traffic.
“Yeah, well, that anaconda in his pants might be worth a little arrogance.”
I laugh in spite of my nervousness, which was her goal. “We’ll see. Hey, I’m at the hospital; I’ll call you later.”
“Okay. Thanks for checking in. I’m glad he’s awake. Hang in there, Tess.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “The worst is over.” We say our goodbyes, and I thank the driver.
My hair is still damp from my fastest-shower-in-history, so I gather it quickly into a loose ponytail to get it out of the way while I wait for the elevator inside. My shoulder twinges from the weight of my laptop and a few files in my bag. Abby has been a godsend since the accident. In addition to keeping me from imploding those first few hours, she’s never once suggested that I should come back to the office while Matt was unconscious. She and April stepped in to handle the more immediate things, while I worked when I could from the hospital. Of course, she’s been here, too, with Kennedy and on her own, keeping up to speed while checking in to make sure I’m okay. I’m still so new to my role, another boss might have handled it differently. I’ll never be able to thank her enough.
The sight of Sean’s concerned face when I get off the elevator sets off alarms. “Tess! Finally!” He quickly links his arm with mine and propels me down the hall. “He’s been having a nice chat with his dad, but that hot doctor is back in there now, and you know how well that went last time.”
I’m almost breathless by the time we reach his room. My taut nerves stretch even tighter when I hear Matt’s raised voice through the closed door. Sean gives me a comforting pat on the shoulder, and I enter as quietly as I can, so I don’t interrupt the doctor’s narrative. The doctor pauses mid-sentence anyway, and Matt heaves a sigh of relief.
“Cardinal . . .” He holds out his hand, and Tom moves so I can step forward and take it. Matt squeezes my fingers like I’m his last link to sanity, and maybe I am. Sinking into a chair next to the bed so the angle isn’t as difficult for him, I squeeze him back. The oxygen tubing has been removed from his nose, and I want to kiss him so badly I can barely stand it.
“Sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up again,” I murmur, but he shakes his head.
“It’s okay. I’m just glad you came back.”
I can’t help it; I raise our joined hands so I can press my lips to his knuckles. “Of course I came back.” His blue eyes search my face, until a throat clearing from the doctor brings us back.
“As I was saying.” She gives me a small, polite smile. “Healing your arm and wrist is the first order of business. We won’t know if surgery will be required for the damage in your shoulder until we see how you respond to therapy.”
Matt’s grasp on my hand tightens almost to the point of pain, the only sign of his distress. Dr. Elliott continues outlining the care plan: restricted activity for at least four weeks, extensive physical therapy for his arms and shoulders for months afterward, and stretch bands and pool therapy.
“I don’t have a pool,” Matt says, his voice hoarse, and drops his gaze to the rumpled blankets covering him.
“I do,” Cameron says, and I jump. There are so many damn flower arrangements in here, I hadn’t noticed him and Kennedy standing in the corner next to the window.
“Ah, well good. That’s good.” The good doctor’s voice sounds slightly breathless, and she touches her hair as she glances at Cameron. “Pool therapy will be extremely beneficial. Biofeedback may also be helpful,” she continues, resuming her confident demeanor, but keeping her eyes on her patient. Cam smirks and shoots a wink my way. I simply shake my head.
Matt swallows with difficulty before trying again. “How long until I’m back to normal?”
A small frown ghosts over her lips. “It’s hard to say. It really depends on how you respond to therapy and how much you put into it. You’re lucky that you’re in good physi
cal shape to begin with.” She pauses and cocks her head, considering. “I’d guess six months to a year.”
Matt stiffens, and I hear a muttered “Fuck” from one of the men in the corner. Tom nods, looking resigned. Dr. Elliott carries on, ignoring the sudden dearth of energy in the room. “I know that sounds like a long time, but, as I said, it depends on how your therapy goes. Everyone’s recovery is different.”
After another minute, it’s clear that Matt is no longer listening. He stares dully at our joined hands, his thumb running listlessly over my knuckles. With a last glance at Cameron, the doctor excuses herself with a promise to check back in tomorrow morning.
Tom clears his throat and signals to Matt’s friends. “We’ll go see about getting you something for dinner that’s better than what I saw being delivered down the hall.” He brushes his hand across the top of my shoulder. “I’ll bring something back for you, too, sweetie.”
“Thanks, Tom.” I smile up at him in thanks. He knows I won’t be budging from here again tonight.
“I think we’d better check on what Sean’s been up to,” Kennedy adds. “One or all of us will be back tomorrow, yeah?”
“Yeah, okay.” Matt’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look up. Cameron gives me a wry smile and a tweak of my ponytail, before they all shuffle out.
The muted hum of the IV is the only sound in the room. Despite the long rehabilitation in front of us, all I can feel is gratitude that he’s alive and awake.
“How do you feel?” I wince at the ridiculous question. “I mean, do you need anything? Any pain meds?”
“Nah. My nurse hooked me up just before the doc came in. The pounding in my head has lessened to a dull roar, so I guess it’s working.” He raises his head slowly, as if he’s afraid it might fall off, and half-smiles. “She said I’ll be discharged in a few days, assuming the latest test results come back okay.”
I huff out a breath in relief. “Good.”
“Dad said you’ve been here with him almost the whole time.”
“I have. And the band, of course. There’s been at least one of them here every day.” I reach out and smooth his matted hair back from his forehead. “You should’ve seen how the staff reacted to them the first few days,” I add with a smile. “A couple nurses walked into walls, they were so busy ogling.”
A smile flickers on his lips, and then he clears his throat. “It’s nice you stayed to keep them company.”
“That’s not why I stayed.” I search his face, but see only turmoil in his eyes. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t wake up,” I admit, my voice barely a whisper. “They kept saying it wasn’t unusual for people with head trauma to be unconscious for a while afterward.” I swallow down my fears and manage to give him a shaky smile.
“I was having the weirdest dreams.” He grimaces, as if willing away some memory.
The cheap plastic chair creaks as I scoot closer to the bed. “I wondered what it was like for you. If you were in too much pain to dream.”
“I’m not sure I can tell you,” he says, sounding drained. “At first, I felt like every inch of my body had been beaten with a baseball bat. Then there are times I can remember the dreams, but not the pain.”
Looking up at me through his long eyelashes, he swallows. “When I first woke up, and you were here, uh, it was confusing, you know? I think I was still dreaming or hallucinating, because, um, because I thought I heard you say . . .”
“Because I said I love you?” I’m calmer than I thought I’d be. “I do. I love you.”
He flinches, almost like he’s been struck, and he stares down at our hands. “Oh my God.”
My stomach drops, and I turn toward the window to give us both the illusion of privacy. His rejection stings even more than I’d feared, but it’s out there now. I can’t take it back so I keep going. “I can’t remember exactly when I realized it, but I’ve been trying to tell you for about a month.”
He laughs shortly, but there’s no humor in it. “I must not be the only one who was concussed.”
The thin veneer of calm over my raw emotions bursts, and I stand abruptly, dropping his hand on the bed. “Why? Because I would dare to love you? You think there must be something wrong with me to feel that way about you? Good God, Matt—yes, you had a shitty childhood, and I can only imagine the heartbreak you must have gone through all those years. But when are you going to wake up and see that you deserve every good thing that’s happened to you since? You’ve worked your ass off to hone your talent and become one of the best at your craft to give back to those people who have loved and believed in you for years.” My chest heaves as the words pour out of me, my exasperation with his inability to see how worthy he is eclipsing my embarrassment over him not feeling the same way about me.
He gapes at me, as I stand with my fists clenched and my chin raised in defiance. I know I should shut up—he just woke up—but I can’t stop myself.
“Tess . . .”
“You are worth it,” I grate out. “It was your idiot of a mother who didn’t deserve you! You did nothing to warrant her piss-poor treatment. I know you feel lucky that Tom found you, but I don’t think of it as luck. I think it was fate. I think you were meant to find Tom, someone who could see you for who you were, give you the love you deserved, and the tools to become all that you could be.”
“Tess . . .” He raises a hand, but I shake my head. I’m on a roll.
“So, don’t sit there and tell me who I can or should love. I’m not asking you to feel the same.” My heart twinges at that. “I never thought I’d feel this way for someone, so forgive me for wanting to share.”
He stares at me for a beat. Then he catches me by surprise when he reaches out and grabs my arm, jerking me down to the bed. I’m off balance and afraid of hurting him or of him hurting himself, but he moves his hand to the back of my head, holding me in place. His blue eyes burn with a pain that takes my breath away, before they soften and become glassy.
“Well, since I can scarcely breathe without you, Cardinal, I’d say you don’t have to worry about me not feeling the same.”
Matt
“SEAN’S ON THE cover of Burnt magazine again.” Tess calls out from the kitchen as she putters away, making lunch. The toaster pops—a BLT again, one of the few things Tess can make without having to call the fire department—plates clang and drawers are opened and closed. Life just fucking goes on.
For the last four weeks, since I’ve been home, my schedule has been reduced to waking up in pain, navigating the shower with my arm cast wrapped in plastic bags, and trying to take a breath that doesn’t actually hurt. “It’s been over a month. You think they would’ve moved on by now.”
From my prime location on the sofa, I let out a dull half laugh. “You would think.”
“It’s very sweet, what he did.”
“Sure.” I glare at my faithful bass guitar that taunts me from across the room. It’s been six weeks since the accident. Six weeks of not playing the guitar. Six weeks of searing pain and nightmares, of dodging paparazzi who want a money shot, of arguments and tension. Six weeks feels like a goddamn lifetime, and the physio is only just beginning. Most of the time, my shoulder feels like it’s being cut with a hacksaw from the inside out. Thank fuck the cast on my arm comes off today. “He just likes the attention.”
“He did it for you.”
I haven’t got a comeback for that. Tess is right. Sean dressing up in a disguise on the day I was released and having Tucker wheel him out of the hospital was pure gold. Him, bundled up in a big blanket and jumping out of the wheelchair, clad head to toe in red leather, was just the distraction the paparazzi needed. He stole the limelight in the way that only he could, and allowed me to escape through one of the back doors of the hospital unseen.
“They’re calling him the nicest guy in rock and roll.”
“Super.” I know my voice is flat. It’s been that way since I woke up in the hospital. The guys visit in a blur of stilted conversations th
at don’t even matter. Inevitably, they navigate to the guitars, unable to resist the urge to play. That’s typically when I tell them I need to lie down. We’ve never been awkward with each other until now.
No one wants to talk about the massive elephant in the room that threatens to trample us all. We won’t know how long I’ll be out until I can actually get to some serious rehab on my shoulder without the cast in the way.
Time, apparently, is the key. Unfortunately, I’ve never been good at waiting.
Tess tries—fuck, does she try to entertain me. And when she’s not here, the guys or Tom are. It’s a constant buzz of activity at the loft. Never a moment of silence. It’s all designed to make sure I don’t slip down the darker path.
We’ve all read countless articles on recovering from this kind of injury. On how depression can sneak in. Recovery doesn’t happen overnight, and you need to maintain a positive mindset, make sure you keep active, blah fucking blah.
I should focus on the fact that I survived this fucking accident and that surgery isn’t required—that if, in Dr. Elliott’s words, I was going to have an injury, one like mine is the best-case scenario. But this cast and the unknown it could be hiding is wearing me down day by day.
The possibility of never being able to play the way I did before is like a noose around my neck that tightens with each passing minute.
“Matt?” I turn my head in the direction of Tess’s voice, finding her standing beside the couch, the familiar look of pity I loathe etched on her face. I hate that I’ve put that there. That I’m the reason for the dark circles under her eyes and the tension that now seems to live in her body. She’s had to calm me down one too many times; the nightmares have returned with a vengeance. I keep the details to myself. She doesn’t need her head filled with memories I’d like to keep dead and buried.
“Mhmm?”
“Did you not hear a word I just said?”
“Sorry. I zoned out.”
She sinks to the couch beside me, setting a tray with the BLT and a protein smoothie on the coffee table. “The guys? They’re asking what time your appointment is.”
