“What was his name again?” the receptionist asks.
I turn back to face her. “Drew Greyson.”
“And you’re his wife?” she asks, almost suspiciously.
“Yes,” I bite out, having to restrain from rolling my eyes.
Her disbelieving eyes remain on me, but eventually, her features soften, and she quickly types on her keyboard. I watch intently at the way her brown eyes scan the information in front of her.
“His records show that he isn’t married, and we’re only supposed to give out information to family, but since I’d like to keep my desk from breaking in half”—her eyes glance to my tense grip on the edge of the desk—“all I can tell you is that he’s in surgery.”
“Is he okay?” I question with pure desperation in my voice.
“I’m sorry, miss. I cannot divulge any further information. I could get into serious trouble for disclosing what I already have.”
“Thank you.” In defeat, I step away and find a spot in the corner of the waiting room while I wait for Rachel and Jenson to arrive. I brace my head in my hands, wanting to know when I will wake up from this horrific nightmare.
“There you are.”
I lift my head at the sound of Alana’s voice. I wipe my eyes with the backs of my hands as she takes a seat beside me.
“Any news, baby?”
I shake my head. “They couldn’t really tell me anything since I’m not family even though I did lie and tell the receptionist I was his wife—not that she believed me—but she did bend the rules a little and told me he’s in surgery. I don’t know why he’s in surgery. I don’t know what procedure he’s having done. I don’t know how bad it is. I don’t know anything.”
My heart constricts, and a sob rises from my chest. Alana takes ahold of my hand and squeezes tight. I glance down at her fingers clasped in mine, and I’m grateful to have her in my life. She’s the mother I should have had. She doesn’t say anything, which I’m grateful for, but I do bask in her comfort because, right now, that’s all I have.
Never taking my eyes from our hands, I whisper, “I can’t lose him. I can’t lose him like I lost Christopher. I won’t survive it a second time. I’d rather die than go through that pain again.”
The tears fall fast, and when I finally look up at her, I see she has tears in her eyes, tears of sadness and understanding.
“Come here, baby.”
I curl into her side and let her soothe my shattering cries, her fingers brushing through the strands of my hair, as she mothers me.
“You can’t talk like that. You have to be strong. Do you hear me?”
I take in her words, but they won’t matter if the love of my life—the man I want to grow old and gray with, the man I want my forever with—no longer exists in the same world as me. If he dies, then I’ll die along with him.
Time seems to stand still, and within the confines of this hospital, I spend the timeless minutes watching the world pass by at an obscure angle as I lie on my side with my head in Alana’s lap, her fingers continuing to caress through my hair. I see doctors milling around, children running riot, people coming and going, and all the while, I’m stuck in the depths of hell, waiting for news that could mean life or death.
My eyes are still in position when I see a sideways version of Rachel and Jenson enter the emergency room, rushing toward me. I shift into an upright position. As I stand up, I’m hit with a bout of vertigo, and I have to blink away the stars floating in front of my eyes.
“Jo!” comes the cry from Rachel just moments before she crashes into me, engulfing me in her arms.
I hug her back, and when she steps back, I notice her eyes are all swollen with no doubt the same amount of tears I’ve shed during the past God knows how many hours.
“Have you heard anything? Is he okay?”
I shake my head while I sit back down in my seat, still a little overcome with dizziness. “All I know is that he’s in surgery. The receptionist couldn’t give me any further information since I’m not family.”
“Oh my God,” she whimpers, turning to Jenson for support.
As she grips on to him for dear life, Jenson presses a kiss to her head and tenderly says, “Shh, baby. I’ll go and see if there’s any more news. Sit down.” He guides Rachel to the seat beside Alana before heading in the direction of the reception desk. He returns shortly after.
“What did they say?” Rachel asks, hope shining bright in her tear-soaked eyes.
“He’s still in surgery. We won’t know anything else until a doctor can speak to us. The receptionist said a doctor will speak to us once Drew’s out of surgery.”
I look over to the reception area, staring daggers at the woman who told me she couldn’t divulge any further information because I wasn’t family. She didn’t even have any further information. Bitch.
Jenson takes the seat beside Rachel, and we all sit in utter silence. I don’t even bother with introductions because, right now, the only thing I care about is Drew.
Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay.
More time passes by, and still, we hear nothing.
Seconds turn to minutes, minutes turn to hours…and we’re still waiting.
I find myself growing angrier and more frustrated with every doctor we see walking by.
I jolt at the sound of Jenson’s voice when he asks if anybody would like a drink. I shake my head, not sure if I could even stomach anything.
Alana answers for me, “Get her some water.”
The longer we wait, the more my anxiety goes through the roof. I’m rocking in my chair while bouncing my knee. I’m exhausted. My mouth is dry, and my head pounds with every relentless tear I’ve cried since I woke up this morning.
When Jenson returns with our drinks, I reluctantly drink the water, but it doesn’t do anything to ease the shooting pain that continues to strike across my forehead.
“Seriously? Shouldn’t we have some more news by now?” I sigh, my patience wearing thin. I frustratingly fist the empty cup in between my fingers.
As soon as I say this, a doctor in a pair of scrubs and a Captain America scrub hat approaches, and the tears become relentless, as I’m unable to take my eyes from his scrub hat. I blink to make sure I’m not seeing things, but yes, he’s wearing a Captain America scrub hat.
I’m usually not superstitious, but I hope that’s a good sign.
Please let that be a good sign.
“Are you the family of Drew Greyson?”
Rachel and I stand at the same time, both answering, “Yes.”
“I’m Dr. Stephens, head of Neuro. I apologize for the long wait, but I finally have some news for you. First of all, he’s doing okay. He came in with quite extensive injuries. After a full body CT scan, we discovered he had a skull fracture, which was causing a small bleed in the brain. He also had some internal bleeding, cracked ribs, and a broken leg.”
I gasp and fall back into my seat, clutching my chest with my fist when I find it impossible to breathe, my lungs closing up on me.
“I managed to stop the bleeding in his brain, but there is still a substantial amount of swelling that I will monitor closely during the next twenty-four to seventy-eight hours. We’ve had to put him in a medically induced coma for now to allow his brain to rest and for the swelling to go down to hopefully prevent brain damage from occurring.”
I glance over to Rachel, who’s sobbing her heart out, and I struggle to contain my emotions.
“If the swelling in his brain doesn’t go down, what would that mean for him?” asks Jenson.
“It’s too early to say for now, but the worst-case scenario could either be severe brain damage, disability, or ultimately death, which is why we’re doing everything in our power to avoid the worst-case scenario. I don’t want you to get ahead of yourselves. He’s a healthy young man, and the odds are definitely in his favor.” He goes on to tell us how his colleague Dr. Kennedy managed to stop the internal bleeding by performing a splen
ectomy.
I stop breathing and have to hold on to Alana for support when the words, “Complications during surgery,” and, “Suffered a cardiac arrest,” leave the doctor’s mouth.
Oh God.
“Thankfully, we managed to get his heart beating again, and the rest of the surgery went as smoothly as it could. He will need to undergo another surgery to fix the fracture to his leg, but with the stress his heart underwent while on the table, keeping him under anesthesia for much longer would have been extremely risky, a risk I wasn’t willing to take. He’s in recovery now, but he’s in critical condition. The next twenty-four hours are crucial, so it’s still touch-and-go.”
I tip my head back and let out a long exhale, my entire body shivering with a sudden chill.
“When can we see him?” Rachel asks, her voice a little stronger than it has been since she’s been here.
“It’ll be a while yet, but once we’ve got him settled in the ICU and his vitals are more stable, we’ll let you see him but only for a short while.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Jenson finishes when an awkward silence fills between us.
Dr. Stephens gives a curt nod with a friendly smile before turning and heading back in the direction he came. I watch him walk away, my eyes focused on the Captain America scrub hat.
Suddenly, I’m up on my feet, and I call out his name. He stills in his steps and turns around just as I approach him.
I point to his scrub hat. “I don’t know if it’s fate that you were one of the surgeons who operated on Drew today, but he loves Captain America. Obsessed actually. It’s kind of embarrassing at how much he loves that superhero, but it wouldn’t be him if he didn’t.” I suck in my bottom lip as the tears hopelessly fall. “I guess I’m just trying to say that I’m glad you were the one who saved his life…or, well, trying to save his life. It’s comforting, you know? That you obviously love something he does.”
Now, I’m rambling, but with the pleasant smile on the doctor’s face, he doesn’t seem to mind.
“I kind of got the feeling he was a fan. I did notice the tattoo on his arm while we were prepping him.”
I bury my hands in my pockets and nod. “See? Obsessed.” I try to laugh, but it just comes out as a strained sob.
He chuckles before whipping his scrub hat off. He hands it to me. “Here, you can have it.”
I look down at the hat, as if he’s just handed me a pot of gold. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, absolutely. I have more than one Captain America scrub hat. I guess you can call me obsessed, too,” he says with a quirky grin. “Plus, when he wakes up, you can tell him that Captain America saved his life.”
Now, the tears run down my face like a cascade of water, and without thinking, I launch myself at him and hug him tight. Pulling away, I clutch the scrub hat against my chest.
“Thank you,” I say with sincerity that means everything to me. Everything.
“You’re welcome.”
I walk back to my seat and sit back down. I place the scrub hat on my lap and stare intently at it.
“What’s that?” Rachel asks curiously.
Without looking up, I say, “Proof that Captain America is real.”
Another eternity passes by—or at least, that’s what it seems like—before another doctor approaches and tells us we can finally see Drew. We’re told only two are allowed near his bedside, so Rachel and I head toward the ICU, hand in hand, while my other hand still clutches the Captain America scrub hat that I’ve been unable to let go of since it was given to me.
As we sanitize our hands with the antibacterial foam, we listen to the nurse explain the rules and the items that are not permitted—no cell phones, no food or drinks, no flowers, no pictures, and no children under twelve.
We enter a private ICU room, and the tears I managed not to shed in the past couple of hours come at me full force, and my knees almost buckle. I’m at his side instantly, standing above his bed, taking in bruises and deep lacerations that mar his beautiful features along his bare chest and arms.
My eyes roam everything. The bandage around his entire head, the tube in his mouth that’s attached to various ventilator wires to help him breathe, and the gauze patch along the center of his abdomen. My eyes continue downward, taking in the blanket that covers him from the waist down and the temporary cast that’s on his right leg, peeking out of the sheets, which is elevated by a cushion. There are wires everywhere, attached to what seem like a million machines, and it’s incredibly daunting to think of what each one is designed to do.
I realize Rachel isn’t beside me, and I look up to see her standing by the door, her arms wrapped protectively around her upper body. Softly crying, she watches her brother from a distance.
“You coming over?” I ask, confused as to why she isn’t at his bedside.
Her face is contorted with pain, and she rapidly shakes her head before turning on her heels and running out. My heart lurches out to her, and I want to go after her, but since I only have a short time with Drew, I become cemented to the floor.
The nurse who entered with us speaks, “Sometimes, it’s hard for loved ones to see their family like this.”
I give a nod of understanding before pulling up a seat and sitting by his side. My hands itch to touch him, but the wires are enough to make me think twice of that decision.
“Can I touch him?” I ask, my hands already poised in position.
“Of course. Just be careful of the wires.”
I rest my hand over his, surprised to learn how warm his skin is. Squeezing gently, I hope he can feel me through his unconscious state.
“Hey, baby,” I whisper in a hushed voice. “I can’t stay long, as the doctor said you need as much rest as possible during the next twenty-four hours, but I need you to listen to me and listen closely. You can’t leave me, baby. You can’t. You have to find your way back to me. It doesn’t have to be today or tomorrow, but I need you to come back to me soon. I want to be able to see those blue eyes of yours. I want to hear the word sugar leave those sexy lips of yours. I want to argue with you, make love to you, laugh with you. I want everything with you. I want to live our forever together because you are my forever.”
At this point, crying has become my MO, and I’ve come to terms with the fact that my tears will continue to fall until he wakes up. Even then, I probably won’t stop.
“You can’t leave me like Christopher did. You have to fight. You have to fight with every ounce of strength that I know you have. Please don’t leave me.”
I wipe at my tears even though, seconds later, my face is drenched with more. As I let out a stammering breath, an idea comes to mind.
“You saved my life. Now, it’s my turn to save yours.”
And I begin to sing the song that changed everything for me—“You & I (Nobody in the World)” by John Legend.
Drew
“So, I finally get to meet the guy who’s put a smile on my girl’s face.”
I find myself standing in the middle of a meadow, watching as a man approaches me from behind a tree. He reminds me of somebody I know, but I’m unable to pinpoint exactly whom. My mind’s a little hazy, and I have a blinding headache, kind of like I’ve been hit by a bus.
“Do I know you?”
“Personally, no, but Jo does—or did. It’s been a while.”
That’s when the penny drops.
“Christopher?” I ask, perplexed when he finally steps in front of me.
“The one and only.”
He smiles, and instantly, I see Junior in him. That’s whom he reminded me of.
“No offense, but aren’t you dead?”
He chuckles while shoving his hands into his jeans pockets. “No offense taken, but yes, I’m dead.”
I glance around at my surroundings with the clear blue skies, the grass overgrown with wildflowers, and the trees blowing with the mild breeze. There’s nothing to indicate that I’m losing my mind, but fuck if it doesn’t feel like that righ
t now since I’m less than three feet away from a ghost. Although finding myself in a meadow is kind of a mindfuck of its own.
Where the hell am I?
I’ve never believed in ghosts or the afterlife in the way a medium claims they can sense. I’ve always thought it was utter bullshit, being able to communicate with the dead, but I’m starting to think I was wrong. That, or I’m having the most fucked up dream. I’m hoping it’s the latter because speaking to the dead means one of two things.
One, I’m insane.
Two, I’m dead.
That’s when it all comes back to me.
The accident. The sound of bones breaking. The blood.
My entire world fading to black.
Holy fuck, I’m dead.
Shit…Jo.
My heart splits into two at what this means for her. I’ve only just brought her back from the brink. This will tip her over. She won’t be able to survive this again. It will kill her.
“Am I dead?”
“Not yet, but you will be soon if you don’t pull your finger out of your motherfucking ass and fight.”
I cock my head to the side. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” he says with an incline of his head. “Jo hasn’t left your bedside for days. She’s waiting for you to wake up, and every minute that ticks by, another slice of hope disappears. You need to fight. She doesn’t deserve to lose somebody else she loves. She deserves to be happy. She deserves a man who will fight for her. Are you man enough?”
His question pisses me off, and the urge to punch him square in the face takes over, but I manage to keep calm. “Yes, I’m man enough. I fucking love her,” I declare.
“Then, prove it.”
Jo
It’s been four days, six hours, and forty-three minutes since Drew’s accident, and he’s still showing no signs of waking up. The doctors said the swelling in his brain has gone down, the brain activity is normal, and his vitals are stable.
The respiratory machine is gone, and he’s breathing on his own. He’s finally well enough to undergo surgery to align the broken bones in his leg. He’s scheduled to go down to surgery this afternoon.
Our Forever Page 28
