by Lilly Wilde
“I don’t suspect it will, but we’re keeping him in ICU to better monitor things.”
For the second time since the hit and run, the air in my chest deflated … maybe not a lot, but just enough to make it easier to breathe.
*****
An hour or so later, we were still waiting, hoping to hear more from the doctor. Everyone was quiet, pulled into their own thoughts. Nicholas was standing near the vertical blinds, peering out the window. Sloan was in one of the brown chairs nearest the door. And Allison was sitting in the chair opposite her, still and staring straight ahead. Connor and Sienna were on the sofa across from me, Sienna’s face buried in Connor’s shoulder as her body shook with sobs.
“Maybe we should go check in with the nurse,” Sloan said.
“I’ll go,” Nicholas offered.
He left the room, but returned shortly after with Dr. Burgess.
“Are we able to see Aiden?” I asked.
“He’s still unconscious.”
“Is that normal?” Connor asked.
“Every situation is unique, but in this case, I did expect him to show some signs of consciousness by now.”
“Were there any complications?” Nicholas asked.
“The good news is that the bleeding has stopped and the most recent x-rays indicate the swelling in the spinal area has reduced tremendously. When it reverts to normal, we’ll know more.”
A cold chill ran through me as I took in the doctor’s expression. “What are you not saying?” I asked.
“Mr. Raine is dealing with a couple of things that are of concern. For one, he has a head injury, so we have to be extremely cautious.”
“But he’s going to be okay,” I said. “He’s going to wake up, right?”
“I wish I had a more definitive answer for you, but unfortunately all we can do is wait and trust that Mr. Raine pulls himself out of this.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “You said the bleeding has stopped and the swelling has gone down, so what’s there to pull him out of?”
The doctor took in a breath and slowly exhaled. “Mr. Raine has slipped into a coma.”
The air left my lungs. “No. That’s impossible. Not Aiden. There’s no way,” I said. “He’s going to wake up, and he’s going to be fine. I won’t accept anything other than that. I won’t.”
“Mrs. Raine, please, listen—” the doctor started.
“No! You listen. You’d better make damn sure he’s okay,” I said. “That he comes back to us.”
“Aria, let’s hear the doctor out,” Sienna said.
“He is not in a fucking coma, and he’s going to be fine. He’s just getting some much needed rest. He’s been running himself ragged. He’s going to be fine!” I repeated.
Connor stepped over to me. “Aria, maybe you should get some air. Let me talk to the doctor.”
“Don’t, Connor. Just don’t,” I said, moving away from him.
“You’re not alone,” he said. “We’re all here to help Aiden, and I promise to bring in whomever we need.”
“Help him? The same way you helped him when he tried to leave that God-forsaken company of yours? Had he been allowed to do that, he wouldn’t even be here today. We don’t need your kind of help!”
“Connor, let her go. Don’t push,” Sienna said.
“Yes, it would be nice if you listened to someone else for once in your life,” I said and turned toward the others.
The waiting room door flew open and a nurse told Dr. Burgess he was needed in ICU. There had been a change in Aiden’s condition.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Dr. Burgess said and he followed the nurse from the room.
“Oh, my God. How is this happening?” I asked, starting to hyperventilate. Sienna was breaking down herself while Allison and Sloan offered each other comfort. I started pacing the floor, worried more with each heartbeat.
A half hour or so later, Dr. Burgess was back.
“How is he? What happened?” I asked, rushing toward him.
“There was a significant drop in Mr. Raine’s heart rate, which of course affected brain activity, but he’s where he should be now. Vitals are normal. Brain function is stable. No reason to think he won’t eventually wake up.”
“But is there a chance he won’t?” I asked.
“Mrs. Raine, I think you should concentrate on the positives. We’ve stopped the bleeding. The swelling in his spinal area has lessened significantly and—”
“Can you just answer my question? Please.”
“Yes, there is a chance he’ll remain in the coma.”
The blood drained from my head, leaving me dizzy and disoriented, my legs all but giving way. Nicholas was beside me, supporting my fragile frame as the doctor went on, but by that time I’d slipped into another part of my psyche, no longer hearing the doctor as he rambled off statistics. A vision of Aiden at the altar flashed before me, his promises ringing loud in my ears.
“Aria, come take a walk with me,” Nicholas said.
“No. I can’t,” I said, finding my voice. “I can’t leave.”
“Aiden’s in intensive care recovery,” he replied. “You won’t be able to see him for a couple of hours.”
“We’ll let you see him as soon as we can,” Dr. Burgess said.
“Is there a chapel?” I asked.
“Yes,” the doctor said. “It’s on the first floor.
“Nicholas, take me,” I said.
“We’ll all come with,” Sienna said.
“Dr. Burgess, if anything changes, here’s my card. Call me,” I said.
“Of course,” he replied, sliding my card into his pocket.
I watched Dr. Burgess leave the room, staring at the door long after it had closed.
“Aria,” Nicholas said, his palm at my back guiding me out the room. In silence, we all moved from the waiting area. The only thing I could think of was Aiden lying in a cold room, fighting his way back to me. I didn’t want him to be alone. He needed to know I was here. If they didn’t grant permission for me to see him soon, I’d find a way in without it.
We all stepped inside the elevator. No one said a word, but we were all thinking the same thing—of that much I was certain. Nicholas pressed the button for the first floor, and the cold chrome doors slowly closed. Everyone stared straight ahead—soundless, unmoving, like statues in an empty museum. The elevator smoothly descended with a slight jolt as it cleared each floor. Even when the doors opened to what would be new passengers, we remained motionless.
The group of strangers looked to be a family—the same as us. They turned to each other before looking back awkwardly at the despondent faces in the elevator and waved us off, saying they would catch the next car. And then the doors closed, once again shutting us off from the world that existed outside our reality. The silence within the narrow space penetrated us like venom. It pulled our collective fear, gathering it in one poisonous vial, and then it was piercing my skin, and seeping into my pores as my soul cried out for help.
Chapter Fourteen
“Aria needs to see her husband,” Connor said to Dr. Burgess.
“Mr. Raine, we’d like to give your son more time to—”
“I’ve consulted with a specialist, and he’s reviewed Aiden’s charts,” Connor said, negating the doctor’s rebuttal. “He’s assured me it’s fine.”
Dr. Burgess’ lips were fixed with a wry smile. “Very well,” he said. “But one visitor at a time. I’ll be back to check on him later.”
“Thank you, Connor,” I said, as the doctor stepped away. I stared at the door, wondering in what condition I’d find Aiden. I took an anxious breath and then looked back at the family.
“Go ahead, Aria,” Sienna said. “We’ll be right here.”
Somehow my legs cooperated. I took two nervous steps and opened the door to Aiden’s room. My breath caught as I took in his appearance. With a bandaged head, a cervical collar, and bruises covering most of h
is face, he didn’t resemble my Aiden at all. My larger-than-life guy now seemed small and vulnerable—two words I didn’t think I’d ever associate with Aiden.
Pulling a chair beside his bed, I took a seat and reached for his hand. It was cold. I moved my palm over his skin, offering him my warmth. A lone tear cascaded down my cheek as I studied his state of unconsciousness. Despite the scrapes and bruises, he looked peaceful. “You have to wake up and keep your promise to me,” I said, lifting his palm to my lips. “You told me we’d have forever. I can’t live without you. I can’t. Please don’t make me.”
That was the first night—the night I fell asleep with my hand wrapped around Aiden’s, both his hand and my cheeks wet with tears.
*****
Hour after hour, I sat at Aiden’s bedside, holding his hand, whispering prayers and wiping tears. I watched the second hand on the clock, ticking away the minutes and hours that held Aiden prisoner. I watched the drip of the morphine, occasionally following its path through the plastic tubing. And I watched for any signs of Aiden coming back to me.
I was there, but I really wasn’t. I was someplace else, looking down over the woman sitting vigil beside her husband’s bed, desperate for him to awake. I focused on every part of him—the outline of his bruised jaw, the gradual appearance of his facial hair, the rise and fall of his chest, the absolute stillness of his body. Somewhere in the back of my brain, I kept track of the steady beeps of the monitors. That’s all I had—my prayers and those consistent beeps. I counted on each one as if it were my life line, the only thing holding me to this place—the only thing grounding me.
I was afraid to close my eyes again, fearful if I even blinked, I’d miss something. So I didn’t move—I watched him breathe and willed him to wake up. But it didn’t happen.
Days passed and tears flowed and Aiden still showed no signs of consciousness. Although I’d been urged to go home—to give myself a break—I refused to leave Aiden’s side. I would be here when his eyes finally opened. My eyes had to be the first ones he saw.
When Connor accepted the fact that I wasn’t leaving, he arranged for a bed for me. It was small enough to place beside Aiden’s, close enough to hold his hand each night, and that’s what I did. I clung to his hand each evening until my tired eyes gave up and finally closed.
The days and nights had been reduced to hours and minutes—each one infused with anguish. And there were those nights when I lay in that little bed and I thought about Nadia. I was consumed with anger—a quiet rage that contorted my insides as it brewed inside me. It wasn’t an uncontrollable feeling, though. It was calm and calculated. And it was simple. I wanted to find her. I wanted to wrap my fingers around her throat and choke the life out of her. I wanted her dead.
Then there were the mornings when I awoke with my heart beating a little faster, my eyes opening to the hope of seeing Aiden staring back at me, but that didn’t happen. And as each morning came and went, I became increasingly worried that I’d never see the beautiful glimmer of his green eyes again.
The day started with a prayer that typically ended with my eyes blurry with tears. And after wiping them away, I kissed Aiden good morning. My next move was to the bathroom to wash up and change clothes. Tristan brought in breakfast for me shortly after sunrise. I wouldn’t allow the nurses to touch my husband for anything beyond taking his vitals, so after breakfast, I tended to Aiden—bathing him and keeping him shaved, talking to him about things we’d do when he was all better. Once we were both somewhat presentable, I called Dianna for a video chat with Lyric. It became our routine.
And after that, I sat and recited tales of my youth—stories about my years as a wild child. I’d shared some of those details with him before, but I’d conveniently left a large portion of them out … until now.
At times, I’d found myself awaiting his reply. Some quick comeback or jab at me, but that never happened. And today had been no different. Letting out a sigh, I lifted my gaze from the cold, tiled floor, my irises soon blurring with the yellow, red and green lines of the machine that tracked the electrical activity of his brain. My gaze shifted back to Aiden. His bruises were less prominent, but his skin was pale. Even in the dead of winter, he’d never appeared as he did now—pallid and fragile—as if the life was slowly draining away.
In those fleeting moments, I felt that way—that I was losing him—that he wouldn’t come back to me. More often than not, I told myself otherwise. That he was fighting and that I had to be patient. Regardless of the time it took, I couldn’t leave his side. I wouldn’t. I was torn, though. I hadn’t been home since the accident, and the video chats were as close as I would allow Lyric to the hospital. Yes, he was still a baby, and his visit would probably be okay, but I didn’t want it, and I knew Aiden wouldn’t have, either.
Lyric. My sweet, baby boy. Would he grow up without a father? How would he handle that? How would I? God wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t take Aiden away from me. I couldn’t lose him. I’d lost so much already.
But what if I did? What if Aiden didn’t come back to us? Would it destroy me? Would I fall into a black hole as my mother had? Would I check out on my son? I couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t let Lyric grow up like I did. No matter how the future unfolded, I wouldn’t let anything break me. I would be the mother I’d promised Lyric. I’d be the mother Aiden would want me to be to our son … even if it meant I’d be doing it without Aiden.
Without Aiden.
How could I live in a world in which he didn’t exist? How?
*****
Day nine. I received news that Nadia had been found. She’d tried to check into a hotel a hundred or so miles away. The night attendant hadn’t let on that he’d recognized her, but as soon as Nadia had settled in her room, the police had arrived and led her off to the place where I’d make sure she’d stay. My only wish was that I’d found her myself. That I’d had a good hour or so to beat her to the brink of death, bring her back, and then do it all over again. For now, I had to take comfort in the fact that she was locked away and wouldn’t be able to hurt us again.
Although Aiden remained comatose, he’d been moved to a normal hospital room, a change I latched onto as a clear indicator he was out of the woods. Connor’s specialists had consulted on Aiden’s treatment, running several rounds of tests and concurring with Dr. Burgess that there wasn’t an explicable reason for the delayed recovery. The results indicated an absence of all swelling in both his head and spine, so it was now only a matter of optimism and patience. We had to wait.
Sienna and Connor had been at the hospital every day, as was Allison. Sloan and Nicholas had pretty much been permanent fixtures also. It had taken some doing, but I finally convinced them to leave and take care of Raine Industries. When I mentioned Aiden would be pissed at them for letting things unravel, they accepted that truth and reluctantly took on the tasks to which they’d been assigned. Apparently, the threat of Aiden was almost as daunting as the real thing.
Once Aiden and I were finally alone, I grasped his hand, holding it between mine. He’d lost weight, his face appearing much slimmer than before the accident. “Wake up, handsome,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere until you do.”
There was no reaction at all. It was getting late so it was that time of the evening when I tried my hand at storytelling. “Well, since you’re being stubborn, I guess I should warn you to prepare yourself for my version of bedtime stories.” I had yet to create my own custom tale for Lyric as Aiden had, so, typically, I piggy-backed on the one Aiden told Lyric, about the prince, the princess and their son.
“I’m not as good at it as you are, so if you don’t want to suffer through my attempts at crafting tales, you’d better wake up soon,” I urged. I lifted his hand to my lips, inhaling the scent of his skin, which was now coated with the clean, sterilizing smell of the hospital. “Just come back. Come back to me.”
And as though he heard me and wanted to honor my plea, his fingers curved over mine.
&nbs
p; “Oh, my God. Aiden, can you hear me?” I asked, my heart rate accelerating.
His lids fluttered open for a split of a second and then they were closed again. I didn’t know whether to scream or run into the halls. Afraid to leave him, I reached for the call button and explained to the nurses that I needed Dr. Burgess to come to Aiden’s room.
Minutes later, after the doctor’s examination, my hope of Aiden awakening was dashed when he said there hadn’t been any change.
“His eyes … they fluttered opened and my hand … he squeezed it.”
“Mrs. Raine, I’m afraid those were involuntary responses. A person in a coma doesn’t exhibit reactivity or perceptivity, but sometimes the muscles in the body exhibit reflex actions which mimic conscious activities.”
“So … he’s not waking up?” I asked.
Dr. Burgess’ lips curved into a frown. “Not right now, I’m afraid.”
The doctor did a few checks and then Aiden and I were alone again. I grabbed my tablet and started a search for information on comatose patients.
The patient cannot be stimulated by calling his name. The patient cannot be stimulated if experiencing pain. That said, comatose patients may exhibit some movement, elicit sounds, and experience agitation. The progression of a coma is determined by the patient’s increasing awareness of external stimuli. As functionality increases, the patient will pass through various levels of the coma.
Remember the importance of maintaining a positive outlook and relaying positive energy in the presence of the comatose patient. There have been several reports of patients claiming distinct memories of events while in the coma. While we are not one hundred percent certain of the level of awareness in any particular case, studies have shown that a positive attitude may be beneficial to the patient’s recovery.
It’s also important to note that different injuries yield different outcomes. While we can expect a patient to slowly emerge over time, some patients can suffer from “locked in” syndrome, in which the lower cranial nerves have been disrupted or damaged. In cases such as this, the patient is awake but unable to react or act upon their environment. They may recover to a point where they have restricted capacities, or have a limited recovery which will require long term care.
