Georgia Pine (Southern Promises Book 3)

by K. G. Fletcher

  The light was blinding. The roar of the crowd, white noise in his ears. His breathing was intentional—in and out, in and out. He stood on the fifty-yard line scanning the faceless people in the stands, not exactly sure what he was looking for, palming the familiar leather football in his hands. The green Astro-turf was perfectly lined with the chalk-white lines of scrimmage, large numbers indicating how many yards he had to go. The team, his team was nowhere to be found. Alone in the spotlights, he shifted his weight to where his feet were planted shoulder-width apart and slapped the ball with his other hand, ready for the play. Ready for the sound of the whistle to begin. Ready.

  He waited.

  A flash of light caught his attention, and he turned to see flashbulbs going off in quick succession, a streak of yellow disappearing into the tunnel beneath the faceless fans. With a furrowed brow, he walked toward the light, a sense of curiosity egging him on. He squinted, the light blinding him the closer he got until it was too much. He closed his eyes tightly, an overwhelming sense of love flooding his being. He was floating through time and space—it was peaceful and calm. The steady, strong rhythm of his heart beat—and he slept.

  ***

  “If we don’t operate, he won’t make it. If we do operate, he still might not make it. We have to try. We have to save his life.”

  Jessica was numb, clutching her hands in her lap, listening to Emory neurosurgeon, Dr. Gerald Olson speak to Tim’s sister, Tabitha, in California. She was listed as Tim’s emergency contact on his cellphone, which hadn’t left her side all night. The two spoke for several minutes, Jessica overhearing words like “neurosurgical procedure” and “craniotomy.” She also overheard him say it was a miracle he hadn’t hemorrhaged. The CT scan revealed a fracture in his skull from a violent blow to the head—a blow from a large Georgia pine during the F2 tornado. There was a possible clot near his jugular. His brain was swelling—he needed the procedure to relieve the pressure in his head and save his life.

  Her stomach churned as Dr. Olson explained to Tabitha that a part of his skull would be removed to allow his swelling brain room to expand without being squeezed to death. This was a procedure usually performed on victims of traumatic brain injury including conditions associated with raised intracranial pressure. Jessica understood that a raised intracranial pressure was debilitating and could be fatal if it restricted the blood flow to the brain. Their aim was to reduce the pressure. It sounded easy, but it was far from it.

  “Yes, we’re going to get started shortly. I’ll put you back on with Jessica.” The doctor offered a smile of reassurance and handed her the phone.

  “Hello?” Jessica uttered, her voice hoarse from crying most of the morning.

  “Hey, Jessica.” Tabitha sniffled across the long-distance line. “They’re going to do the procedure. I’m gonna get out of here as fast as I can.”

  “Okay. I’ll keep Tim’s phone charged and text you with any updates so you’ll have them when you land.”

  “Thank you.” She paused. “I know this is hard, but my big brother is a strong man. He’s gonna make it, Jessica. Don’t worry.” Her voice pitched as if she were trying to convince herself what she said was true.

  “I’ll be here. I won’t leave.”

  “I’ll see you soon.”

  The line went dead, and Jessica looked up at Dr. Olson. “What happens now?”

  Sitting next to her, he patted her hand. “We’ll get him prepped for surgery and start as soon as possible.”

  Nodding, she swiped at tears that started to trickle down her cheeks again.

  “I’ll have the nurse update you on our progress. It’ll take two to three hours tops. I suggest you get cleaned up and rest. Stay in the private waiting area. I was told several news crews are already camped out waiting for details. News travels fast when a famous NFL quarterback does something heroic. We have PR folks on site who will handle it, so don’t feel like you have to talk to them.”

  “Okay,” Jessica replied. Shock had settled over her—that, and the lack of sleep left her dazed.

  The man patted her hand again and stood. With a deep sigh, he turned and disappeared through the secure doors for employees only. Fingering Tim’s phone in her lap, the home screen displayed a snapshot of her walking ahead of him in the field of flowers. He had never shown her this photo before. It brought comfort knowing he had wanted a piece of her on him at all times—an indelible memory of a beautiful moment they had together. His last words floated through her thoughts.

  I love you, Jessica. Everything will be okay.

  A wave of nausea filtered through her and she had to take deep breaths to keep it at bay. Holding her head in her hands, she wept.

  “Honey? Oh, Jessica...”

  Looking up, a nurse had escorted her mother into the private room and quietly closed the door.

  “Mama,” she moaned, thankful for the familiar face.

  She clung to her mother, allowing her pent-up emotions and fear to come out in loud wails. Mrs. Southers rocked her daughter back and forth in her arms, running her hand tenderly down the back of her head.

  “There, there. I’m here. I’m here, honey.”

  When she couldn’t shed another tear, Jessica pulled back, her eyes swollen with emotion. Her mother handed her a packet of tissues. It took her several minutes to calm down before she could speak a full sentence.

  “Did…Luanna…come?” she asked, her sentence coming out in a short burst of words.

  “Yes. She’s at the house with Daddy and Elizabeth. The girls are still sleeping. I don’t want you to worry about a thing. You can stay with us as long as you need to.”

  Jessica nodded and laid her head on her mother’s shoulder.

  “How is he? How is Tim?”

  Jessica bit her lip and inhaled deeply, ready to explain to her mother who Tim really was. She sat up and wiped under her eyes. “Mama, you remember when I asked you to trust me?”

  Mrs. Southers smiled knowingly and turned to face her daughter. “I know all about Tim Ryan…”

  Taken aback, Jessica’s eyes became wide. “What? You do?”

  “Yes, honey. It’s all over the news.” She looked down at the floor with remorse. “I owe you an apology.”

  “No, Mama. That’s not necessary. I know you were only trying to protect the girls and me. That’s what mothers do.”

  Mrs. Southers focused her gaze on Jessica. “No,” she interrupted firmly. “I’m stubborn. I’m an old Southern fool, and I need to stop judging books by their cover. You are my only daughter, and it grieves me that you asked me to trust you and I didn’t. You were right. Tim is a kind and decent man. You deserve someone like him in your life—so do the girls. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, Mama.”

  “He saved my granddaughter’s life. He’s a hero.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  The two women stared at one another, their matching blue eyes spilling over with tears.

  “He’s in surgery, Mama. It’s a dangerous procedure. He might not make it. It can’t be over—he can’t leave us…”

  “Shhh.” Pulling Jessica tightly in her embrace, Mrs. Southers kissed her on the top of the head. “We need to be patient and let the good doctors do their work. We have to pray too. The girls are praying. Everyone is praying. He’s in good hands, I’m sure of it.”

  Jessica nodded, closing her eyes, overcome with exhaustion.

  Please, God. I’m begging you. Don’t take him from us.

  “I brought you some clothes and toiletries. I thought you might want to clean yourself up while you wait. I can’t believe you’re still wearing your party dress.”

  Jessica hadn’t noticed the red Macy’s bag her mother had carried in.

  “It’s loose-fitting pants, a change of undies and a comfy shirt. There’s a sweater in there too. Sometimes these hospitals can get a little cold.”

  This was her mother at her best; as a caregiver and provider. She had always been the first one on the block t
o take a meal to a sick neighbor or a new mother. “You should probably eat something too. It’s been a long night, and you need your strength.”

  Jessica nodded. “I could use something to drink. Can you find us some tea or juice?”

  Mrs. Southers stood with newfound energy as if happy she could be of assistance. “Yes, dear. I’ll find us something. You go on and get cleaned up. Trudy, the nurse, said if you want a blanket or pillow to let her know. You go get comfy, now.”

  “Okay, Mama.”

  Taking the bag into the tiny bathroom, she flicked on the light switch, the fluorescent bulbs popping to life and making her squint. Looking in the mirror, she didn’t recognize herself. Her blonde hair was wild and unkept. Traces of mascara were smeared under her eyes and the bodice of her once beautiful, yellow gown was ripped and dirty, dark stains of blood smeared across her chest where she had laid against Tim on the gurney to give him a chaste kiss on his cold lips hours before. Swallowing a lump in her throat, she traced her fingers across the blood stain and struggled to breathe. It took her a moment to find the energy she needed to change.

  Quickly, she managed to unzip the dress halfway and pull it up and over her head. Standing in her bra and panties, she turned on the cold water and held the stained fabric under the spout and scrubbed. She was determined to get the stain out. If she could get the stain out, perhaps the memory of seeing him lying unconscious on the gurney would vanish from her mind, and he could be whole again. She scrubbed and scrubbed until the lace ripped and her energy waned.

  Her mind reeled with flashbacks of Tim coming out of the rubble, his beautiful body broken. She was exhausted, her emotions threatening to ruin her. She needed to be strong for Tim. She needed to get a grip. The dress fell from her hands onto the floor, and she splashed cold water on her face in an attempt to keep the lingering nausea at bay. It took her several minutes to gather her wits, the water dripping from her skin mingling with more tears.

  Leaning against the tiled wall of the bathroom, she rummaged in the bag and pulled out the expensive clothes her mother had bought her. The tags had been cut off, and the material was soft and soothing. Once she dressed, she started to feel better. With newfound resolve, she scrubbed her face clean, the freckles across her nose prominent without her usual foundation. After brushing her hair out, she piled it on top of her head in a messy bun. The reflection that stared back at her was familiar again. She squared her shoulders before shoving the ruined dress in the empty bag.

  Her daughters were safe and slept soundly. Her parents and friends were watching out for them. She would forever be indebted to Tim for what he did—for what he sacrificed to save Julia. How could she ever repay him? For now, she would be strong for him. She would be there for him and his sister no matter what happened. He loved her. She would show him just how much she loved him too.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Tabitha had his eyes—the same penetrating forest green that took her breath away. The same crinkle of skin around them when she smiled. It was uncanny, really—the similarities in their skin tone and hair color an accurate indication that they were related.

  Because of the HIPAA rules in hospitals, Jessica had to wait for details regarding Tim’s surgery until Tabitha arrived. His sister made it in record time, arriving in a private plane, the particulars of which Jessica didn’t know. She had been pacing in the small waiting room, frustrated at not knowing how Tim was recovering in the ICU when the tall and tanned, Southern California woman entered and greeted her with a tender hug. The two sat next to each other in the empty waiting room, Jessica’s mother politely excusing herself so the two of them could have some privacy.

  “The nurse is letting Dr. Olson know you’ve arrived. He should be here shortly to tell us how it went.”

  Tabitha crisscrossed her legs in the plastic chair and sat up straight. Jessica thought to herself the woman must be into healthy living like her brother by the way she moved so fluidly. Her beauty was natural, her clothing unpretentious and comfortable. Her classic Birkenstock thong sandals suggested a laidback California lifestyle on Malibu beach where she lived. Tim hadn’t told her much about his only sibling, only that she was instrumental in helping him through the traumatic days after the infamous Super Bowl loss. Jessica liked her immediately.

  “I was reading about Emory Hospital on the plane. Stuart says he’s in the best facility in the southeast.”

  “Stuart?” Jessica had never heard Tim mention a “Stuart.”

  “Yeah. Stu? He’s the owner of the 49ers. Stuart Harding? I flew here with him on his private jet. I couldn’t have made it this fast without him. He’s out there talking with someone from Public Relations right now. Tim and Stu were very close, and I’m sure he wants to make a statement on his behalf instead of getting his former PR firm involved. Has Tim ever told you about him?” Tabitha fingered a leather choker around her neck.

  Jessica shook her head, overwhelmed that Tabitha had gotten the owner of Tim’s former NFL team involved flying across the country in his private jet. “Our relationship is fairly new, Tabitha. We have a lot to learn about each other. Everyone around here knows him as Tim McGill. I just want him to get better. I don’t want the news of his real identity to shadow what he did last night. He saved my daughter’s life.” Her voice caught in her throat.

  “I know. Stu knows that too. That’s why he’s here. He wants to keep the media on track.” She paused, her gaze softening. “How old is your daughter?”

  Jessica smiled thinking about Julia. “She’s four, almost five. She hasn’t said much all these years, but for some reason, after last night, she can’t stop talking now. She jabbers away like a magpie—takes after me, I suppose.”

  Tabitha giggled. “God, I love the South.”

  “Julia went on and on about how she and Tim were ‘flying’ before the tree fell. Told us he was wrapped around her for hours until the rescue team found them. If he hadn’t been there—”

  “But he was,” Tabitha interrupted, placing her hand on Jessica’s arm. “He was.”

  The two women nodded keeping their emotions in check.

  “I have two daughters back in California. Tim is a fantastic uncle.”

  “Yes, he told me. How old are your two?”

  “Ava is five and Emma is three, going on twenty.”

  Jessica laughed. “My youngest, Jo-Jo, turns one next month. Jill is two and a half, Julia almost five and Jennifer is six.”

  Tabitha’s eyebrows raised significantly. “Are you kidding me? You have four daughters under the age of six? Tim told me you had children, but I never knew how many.”

  “Yeah. Four little girls. Tim is a brave man being around all of us. They adore him. He’s so good with them.”

  “He is great with kids. Wow. This makes me so happy knowing he’s been with you and your family. I was afraid of him being alone all the time. He’s been so hard on himself and shut everyone out after what happened, including family.”

  Jessica pulled on her fingers in her lap and looked down. “He’s not alone. He’s brought more joy into our lives than he realizes…”

  “Ladies? Dr. Olson is coming down the hall,” Trudy, the nurse, interrupted, peeking her head through a crack in the door.

  “Thank you,” they said in unison.

  After a short debriefing of Tim’s surgery and how well it went, Dr. Olson accompanied them into the ICU where they stood outside a large glass window peering into a small room. The doctor spoke quietly.

  “He’s still on the ventilator, but that will come out soon. I know it looks bad, but I promise you, he’s a fighter. I have no doubt he’ll pull through with flying colors.”

  Jessica stared at Tim, not recognizing the man she loved. His beautiful mane was shorn, part of his head wrapped in white gauze. Numerous wires and tubes connected to his nose, chest, arms, and hands. Dressed in a blue hospital gown, he was seated nearly upright in the hospital bed, motionless, surrounded by large, intimidating medical eq
uipment, the intricate Phoenix tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve rising from the ashes. He appeared to be in a deep sleep; only there was no way to wake him up.

  “It might take him a couple of days to fully come to. That’s not unusual. Once the vent is out and he’s breathing on his own, we’ll move him out of ICU into a neurosurgical care unit. I want you to talk to him. Tell stories. Hold his hand. Anything to evoke a reaction. He may not be able to talk back to you, but studies have shown he’ll be able to hear you.”

  Jessica looked at the doctor with wide eyes, not sure what to make of what he was telling her.

  “Will he be the same once he wakes up? Will he remember who we are?” Tabitha asked nervously.

  Dr. Olson put his hands on his hips and explained. “It’s best to be prepared for possible changes in Tim’s personality as he recovers. Traumatic brain injury affects each person differently. The Tim you know and love could emerge fine during recovery. Only time will tell. He’s going to be on some medication which might leave him a bit dazed. Short-term memory loss is also a possibility. He’s going to be very tired for several weeks and may suffer from headaches or problems concentrating. We’ll have a whole check-list of things he needs to be careful of while he gets better.”

  “How long will the recovery be?”

  Jessica was glad Tabitha could speak and ask questions. She was mute with overwhelming anxiety.

  “Tim is in amazing physical condition. I’d place a bet today that he’ll be back on his feet in four to eight weeks.” The doctor smiled. Jessica hoped to god he was right.

  Dr. Olson looked at his watch. “I was told there’s a live conference happening this evening. I’ll be letting the media know how things went and that Tim Ryan has a lot more years ahead of him. This should make his fans very happy.”

  The two women looked at each other, the words “happy” and “fans” an odd pairing in his sentence considering Tim’s past. Nurse Trudy approached their threesome, her chocolate brown eyes full of empathy.