by Callie Rae
He leans back onto the cot like he didn’t just glue two pieces of my puzzle together.
I lied. Maybe life is a puzzle, and I just need to figure out how to solve it.
I stare down at my hands, my brain overloaded from all the things I’m not allowing myself to feel. I don’t hear him. I don’t see him. But the moment his hand touches mine, I look up into his eyes as the bed dips from his weight while he makes himself comfortable on the edge of the bed.
The fingers on his other hand graze my cheek as he tucks a piece of hair behind my ear.
He stares into my eyes and whispers, “What happened back there? What did he do to you?”
He searches my face for something, anything.
“What hasn’t he done, Jesse?”
I pull my hand away and roll over, turning away from him. From any comfort he might give. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying desperately to block out anything and everything in my life.
I thought he’d go back to his cot. Instead, he crawls into the bed beside me. I feel the warmth of his breath on my neck. A shiver skates down my spine as his hand finds mine and he links our pinkies together. When my heart lurches, I thread all our fingers together and hold on.
I hold on like the world might try to rip us apart at any moment. Because that’s what happens when I care.
Chapter 9
Fallon
“Okay, Fallon, just a little bit more. Almost done,” my physical therapist urges me on as he stretches my knee, pushing my range of motion further each time.
It’s only a few more seconds to him, but to me it’s a few more slices of cold metal driving their way up my leg in agony. Okay, so maybe I’m being a bit dramatic, but it hurts. Each stretch hurts like hell.
I guess I should be thankful it was just my leg and not my life.
“Very good. You can rest,” he says as brings my leg down back to the ground. He squats down in front of me and examines my leg and ankle before massaging the muscles. “How does your leg feel?”
I wince as his hands knead into the tissue. “It hurts.”
“It’s going to hurt a bit at first. As you continue therapy, it will get better. You’re still healing, and it just takes time for these things to recover.” He stops massaging and adds an ice pack to the muscle before wrapping it up. “Just remember that resting your leg is as important to recovery as working to build up your strength.”
He stands, leaving me on the mat to die. Well, it feels like it after 30 minutes of stretching the damaged, angry muscles. “Your doctor checked in on your progress. I think after today, I can confidently report that you are ready for outpatient therapy.”
“What? What do you mean? Like, I get to go home?” I turn my head to him, still unable to move my body.
He nods. “Yep. If your doctor clears it, you’ll probably get discharged.”
I asked about home, but really what does that even mean? I no longer have a home to go to. Jesse and I are barely hanging on by a thread, and my poor mother is still recovering from her own injuries.
“Hey. You’ve made really good progress since those first few sessions. I wouldn’t give you the green light if I didn’t think you were capable.”
I nod. I let him believe my hesitation is about the therapy.
“Hey, guys. How’s it going in here?” My mom’s voice floats in from the hallway, and I look up to find her head just barely wedged between the swinging double doors.
“It went well. We’re done for the day, so she’s free to go back to her room.”
My mom pushes all the way through the doors with the nurse following closely behind her. The nurse begins to push my chair as my mom walks alongside us.
I look over to my mom. “Where is he?”
She sighs. “Both Jesse and Cason are back in school now, but that doesn’t stop either of them from checking up on you every 10 minutes. I honestly don’t know which one is worse.”
“Girl, I’ve seen those boys here worried about you. They’re cute. Especially the moody one that sleeps here every night. Mm-hmm,” the nurse murmurs her appreciation as she continues to push me down the hall. “Now the other one—the one that keeps flirting with some of the nurses—is something else. He’s got some of them falling over themselves to get a peek at him.”
I’m surprised to hear myself laugh a bit. “That sounds about right.”
“Regardless of whoever or whatever they are to you, I’d say any girl would be lucky to have people like that in her life,” she says as we reach the door to my room. “Come on, honey. Let’s get you settled. The doctor is about to start his rounds.”
She helps me into the room and into my bed before leaving Mom and I sitting in my room.
“So, you might get discharged, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess so,” I say back.
“Seems like not being dead is helping.”
She doesn’t know exactly what it means, but she’s smart enough to know that whatever happened the day she had to peel me off the floor has helped me. I’m able to participate in my reality a bit more. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy or comes without pain.
Still, I nod in response to her question.
“It’s a start.” She smiles.
A knock sounds at the door and the doctor peeks his head through. He walks in once he’s sure he’s not interrupting anything.
“How’s everyone doing today?”
He shakes my mom’s hand and looks around the room. “No cavalry today?”
I laugh. “Not today.”
“Well, someone needed to convince them to get back to school and graduate. Otherwise, you’d all end up in summer school together.” Mom snorts her amusement at the thought.
I drop my smile a bit. It’s true. I might not be walking with them this year. I’ve missed too much school already, and I’m not sure I have it in me to catch up in time.
“Ah, I guess that is pretty smart,” he says as he looks over my chart. He drops the chart on the end of the bed and looks at me. “PT is recommending outpatient therapy. They say you’ve made quite a bit of progress lately. I’d like you to still follow up with neuro and psych to make sure you don’t have any lasting effects from the concussion, but otherwise, everything looks good. I think I can discharge you soon with only a few follow-ups for the incisions on your leg.”
He says all of this as he looks me in the eye. He didn’t sit this time, and his stance is serious. I think he was hesitant to come in and tell me I was getting discharged. I think everyone is afraid for me to go home.
“When do you think that will be?” Mom asks.
“If everything continues to progress this week, I’ll feel okay discharging her before the weekend.” He faces me. “Your leg is healing well. You are showing no physical effects of any trauma to the brain since you’ve woken up. This is honestly the best-case scenario after a situation like yours.” He then comes to my bedside and places his hand on mine. “You’re a really lucky girl, Fallon. And it seems you have an excellent support system. But how are you feeling about this?”
“About going home?” I ask.
He nods, and I tell him the truth.
“I don’t have a home.”
He nods his head a few more times, clearly thinking about something. “I think you’ll be just fine. You still have some fight in there. But from a medical standpoint, it’s time.”
“Okay. Guess I’m leaving.”
I’m leaving to go a place that literally no longer exists. Not since he burned it down.
Still, I find that’s just what I want to do. I want to go home.
Chapter 10
Fallon
My mom packed my bags, and the nurse came by with the discharge papers about an hour ago. We've been waiting since. I watched her meticulously pack all my things, but she keeps checking and double-checking the room to make sure she’s grabbed everything. Between Jesse, Cason, and Jade, they’d brought enough stuff to keep a small child entertained for a year. But I'm assuming her
nerves are about more than just making sure she didn't miss anything. I know my mom; she doesn’t forget things. This was something more.
“When is he coming?” I ask as she races around the room for the tenth time.
“He said he was on his way, so he should be here any minute now!” she shouts through the bathroom door.
“Who else is coming?” I ask her.
She walks back into the room but doesn’t look at me. “I don’t know, sweetie. He just said he would be here.”
Just as she says that, a bouncing Cason comes in. “Ruth, you ready to break out of here?”
Hearing him calling me the nickname he gave me makes me sad. I think about the night I saved Jesse and Cason in the fight that gave Cason the idea for my nickname. It feels like so long ago, but it hasn’t even been a year. That was the night that started it all—part of the chain of events that landed me here in this hospital.
I push all of that back and peer around him for Jesse. But all I see behind him is empty space. Cason glances away, but I see the guilt on his face. He winces and peers at me through his long eyelashes like he's watching a scary movie. He doesn't want to see my disappointment, but he can't look away either.
“He’s not here,” he says, watching me warily.
“Where is he?” My voice comes out monotone and bored, but that's a lie.
A twinge in my gut says this isn't right. He should be here.
I can't care. Put it back on the shelf, Fallon.
Cason doesn’t say anything. He just looks at me with regret flashing in his eyes.
“Where is he, Cason?”
“He wanted to be here. He just got held up. He’s going to meet us there,” he says.
“He got held up with what?” I ask, staring him down. The further this conversation goes, the more agitated I become.
“You need to ask him that,” he says between clenched teeth.
A nurse walks in at the perfect time to give Cason the distraction he so desperately wanted, pushing a wheelchair and interrupting whatever hell moment this was.
She smiles. “Are we ready to go?
Cason looks at the chair and wrinkles his face. “I can wheel her out.”
The nurse rolls the chair next to me. “It’s hospital protocol. We have to wheel the patients out at discharge.”
“It’s fine,” I say, mostly to Cason.
I’m not sure I’m saying it’s fine about the chair or that Jesse isn’t here. Either way, he nods in acknowledgement and begins picking up as many of my bags as he can carry.
“Jesus, what’s in these things?” he asks as the nurse begins to wheel me out of the room I’ve lived in for the last month.
“Jade,” my mom and I say simultaneously.
Cason huffs and mumbles something that sounds very much like, “Women.”
After we exit the building, Cason drops the bags on the curb. His Jeep is already in the patient loading area with a very excited Jade waiting in the passenger seat. She gets out and files into the back to allow me access to the front seat. My mom helps load the bags into the back as the nurse assists me into the Jeep. Once all my things are loaded, my mom climbs into the back with Jade and we head toward wherever home will be for a while.
But instead of going to the Callaways’ like I assumed, we pull into the driveway of a cute, quaint, one-story house situated on a half-acre plot not far from their home.
“What are you doing? Where are we?” I ask Cason.
“I’m bringing you home,” he says.
“I wanted to surprise you. Welcome home, sweetie,” my mom says from the backseat.
This explains the nerves she had earlier.
“What do you mean? How? When?”
My mom laughs. “Well, we needed a place to live, and the insurance money came through. With Catherine’s help, I received a fantastic deal on the place. They are allowing us to lease with an option to buy.”
I look over at the house. It’s a pretty, white brick with gray shutters. It’s not huge, but it’s much larger than our last house. Cason parks his Jeep and gets out, letting my mom out after him.
Catherine comes bouncing out the front door. She stops at the passenger side and opens the door for me.
She reaches out to help me. “Welcome home, Fallon.”
I look up at her smiling face. “Thanks. I think?”
I stand up, balancing on my good leg as Cason comes around with my chair.
“Oh, it’s not a problem. This house has been sitting empty for a few months. So really, you’re doing me a few favors taking it off my hands.”
“Wait. This is your house?” I ask.
“Yes. We have several rental homes, and this was one of them. I dabbled in real estate for a while,” she explains as Cason pushes me towards the front door where a convenient ramp waits for me. She opens the door for us and allows Cason to push me in first.
We enter a small living room that opens out onto a kitchen and dining area. The house seemed simple; the furniture was basic and all neutral colors. The whole place screams “staged.” If I had to guess, I’d say that's exactly what all this furniture had been used for.
“I pulled some of our extra furniture out of storage. I know you lost most of your things in the fire, and I had some things just sitting around,” she mumbles.
Because normal people have enough stuff to furnish an entire house just "sitting around." I know her wording is her way of being humble, but it’s bullshit. They aren't normal people.
My mom comes inside and sees me sitting in the middle of the living room. “Come on, honey. I’ll show you to your room.”
I glance around and breathe in the best I can. I liked it better when I didn’t feel much of anything, because today I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed by this surprise. By the lack of Jesse. By the handouts we never would have taken before.
My mom begins to walk down a hallway off to the left of the living room. Her hair is up and some of the burn scars peek out above her collar. I swallow hard. The boiling in my soul heats up. All of this is my fault. Us being in a situation where we have to accept my boyfriend's charity or my mom loses everything she owns. I grip the wheels of my chair hard and follow her.
Cason drops his body on top of the tan couch, draping his arms down to the floor as I pass him into the hallway. I keep rolling until I reach the only door open at the very end on the left and peek inside. My mom is unpacking a bag on a bed framed in white wood. Once again, it’s basic, but still nicer than anything I’ve ever owned.
“Come on in. Come see your new room,” she says when she spots me hanging out in the doorway. “Wasn’t it so nice of Catherine to give us this furniture?”
She smiles at me, and I glance around at the rest of the matching wood furniture: a desk, a dresser, and a nightstand, all the same shade of white and just as basic. It’s too much. It’s all too much.
This isn't being nice. This is feeling guilty.
“Do you like it?” Catherine says from behind me. “Although, anything is probably better than the hospital bed you’ve been staying in.”
I don’t respond. She’s right, but I can’t say that. I can’t say thanks for fixing my fuck-ups. Thanks for stepping up because your husband is a dick, and your son is lost. Thanks for helping me even though I ruined your family with my presence.
“Okay, well, I’ll be down the hall in the guest room if you need anything,” Catherine says as she places her arm across my back and kisses my cheek. “I’m so glad your home, sweetie.”
As she walks down the hall, something occurs to me.
I turn my head toward her. “The guest room?”
She stops and turns around, and I notice the bags under her eyes and the way her mouth pulls down in a frown. “I thought you might need some help, so I offered to stay.”
No way in hell James is allowing this, but I keep that thought to myself.
I nod, and Catherine disappears behind a door that I assume leads into the aforementioned gues
t room.
What the fuck is happening right now?
I turn around in the doorway and roll down the hall, pushing hard to go fast until I round the corner into the living room where I left Cason.
“Where is he?” I ask as soon as Cason is in my sights.
His eyes are closed, but I know he’s awake because as soon as he hears my voice, he winces.
“Where is who?” He opens his eyes to look at me.
“You know who. Jesse. Where is Jesse?”
He slowly sits up. “He’s meeting us here.”
“Where. Is. He?” I grit out. “Stop fucking lying for him.”
“He’s coming, Fallon,” he says warily this time, as though I’m a wild animal ready to pounce at any moment.
He might be right, leg be damned. The simplest thing might make me attack right now.
“Don’t give me that bullshit. I want to know why me and my mom and my boyfriend's mother are all living in a house that belongs to the Callaways when we both know James would never allow this to happen. And why is she doing all this for us? But most of all, I want to know where the fuck my boyfriend is.”
“Catherine is just trying to help, Fallon. That’s all.”
“Y’all want to help? Tell my boyfriend to get his ass here.” I roll out the front door and down the ramp much slower than I’d wanted to. I reach the grass and push out of the chair onto my good leg and drop down to my hands and knees to breathe.
When do all the lies and secrets stop? When do I find a way to breathe without it slicing into my core?
A shadow falls over me and I look up to find a man in jeans and sports jacket standing on the front path. He has a badge clipped to his waistband and a gun in a holster under his jacket.
I stare up at him for a minute, deciding whether I should scream or just lay down and croak. I'm going for the latter.
