35. Live to Tell
CHAPTER 35
Live to Tell
DUSTY
K ey is Baby.
Baby is Key.
And I’m fucked.
Rooms blur past my periphery as I follow the nurse down several corridors. Some with their doors open, some shut tight. I can’t help but look into each one I pass, my heart pounding harder and harder. What if he isn’t in a room at all? What if he’s not in recovery and they’re taking me to the morgue?
We push through one last set of doors. It’s quieter here, and finally the nurse turns into the first room on the right. I follow, but stop in the doorway. I can smell the blood. The bandages. That overwhelming sterile smell. It hits me viscerally, freezing me in place, and my throat closes up.
“Mrs. Thanger?”
The kind nurse takes my hand. She must see the fear in my eyes. How could she not? I must look like an utter mess.
“He’s right over here,” she says.
I give her a shaky nod, but I still can’t move.
“Were you in the accident as well?” she asks, and gives me a careful once-over.
“No, I . . . the smell.” Why is it so strong? “I lost a baby once . . . in a hospital.”
She understands immediately. Clasping both of my hands, she says gently, “I’m sorry. That must have been awful. Here . . .”
She reaches into the pocket on her scrubs, beneath the name badge that reads Nancy , and reveals a tiny bottle of liquid.
“Peppermint oil,” the nurse—Nancy—explains. “Just a little under the nose and?—”
Like a miracle, the smell is gone. Or at least the wrong smell is gone, replaced by one that clears the fog and loosens my muscles.
“Better?” she asks.
“Yes. Much. Thank you.” My feet are still stuck to the floor, like there’s Elmer’s glue on the bottom of my shoes. With a tug to my hands, Nancy pulls me into the room toward the curtained off bed.
“I should warn you,” she says quietly, “he probably looks worse than he is. It might be frightening for you.”
I stop and squeeze her hand. “I—I . . .” I whisper. “Please, I?—”
“You can do this,” she says gently. “He needs you.”
Blinking furiously, I nod once, then take a shaky breath and follow her behind the curtain. I let out a choked sob at the sight that greets me. Joel lies on the bed, his hair shaved off one third of his head, giving him a kind of one-sided mohawk. There’s a long, angry scar and black stitches. The tattoos on his chest peek out from behind white bandages, and one of his arms is in a cast up to his shoulder.
“Oh god,” I breathe, stumbling forward. My hips hit the side of the bed in my rush to grasp his free hand. “Joel, oh my god!”
His face is so bruised he’s barely recognizable. Ugly black and blue lumps on his face. Bloody and swollen lips. How was it only hours ago that I kissed those delicious lips without a care in the world? What if we can never go back? The tears pour out of me as I feel a hand on my shoulder.
“Oh dear, Mrs. Thanger, you’re freezing,” Nancy says. “Let me get you a warm blanket. I’ll be right back.”
I wait until her steps retreat down the hall before breaking down completely. I sink to the floor, the strength it takes to hold myself up vanishing. I’m too terrified, too exhausted, too out of my mind.
“Joel, I’m so sorry. Please,” I whisper. “Please don’t leave me.”
The only response is the slow, steady beeping on the heart monitor. I lift my head and stare at his face.
“I know I couldn’t say it before, but I love you. Please, I love you so much. Come back to me so I can tell you. Even if you never want to see me again, I need to say it. I need you to know. Please . . . please!”
But the beeping just continues its sad march. I kiss his knuckles, rubbing my thumb over the calluses on his hand.
A bald man with green scrubs appears across from me with a chart in his hands. His words sound like something from the bottom of a well. Words like fractured clavicle and broken ribs . Scalp laceration and probable concussion . That there doesn’t seem to be any internal bleeding at this point, and I simply need to wait until he wakes up. But how can I wait? How can I sit here and do nothing?
Mid-spiral, a soft blanket is draped over my shoulders. The doctor is gone, but the scraping noise of furniture moving registers and I’m being eased off the floor and into a chair next to the bed.
“Thank you,” I whisper, hastily wiping my face.
“You poor thing,” Nancy says. “You must be exhausted. Try to get some rest.”
“I can’t. Not when he’s like this. I need to do something.”
“He needs you to be strong for him. Can’t do that if you don’t sleep. Here,” she says and passes me an extra pillow, “try to rest. I’m sure he can sense that you’re here.”
Offering her a shaky smile, I take the pillow and nod. “Thank you.”
“Just ring the bell if you need anything, okay?”
“Actually,” I say. “The man I came in here with?—”
The nurse cocks a brow at me. “Yes?”
“Keith Prentiss. Could you update him for me? He’s his best friend. I’m sure he’s going out of his mind with worry.”
She presses her lips together for a moment and glances at the ring on my finger. “He’s his best friend?”
There’s a tone to her voice, and I recognize it immediately. She saw how we were together in the hallway. How friends don’t embrace like that. Perhaps she thinks I’m cheating on Joel with him.
“Yes, his friend. They—I mean, we . . . we all live together.”
She rolls her lips, her face softening, and smiles. “Of course, I’ll let him know.”
Then I’m left alone. Alone with my thoughts and my grief. I pull my legs up under myself and hug the pillow, never letting go of Joel’s hand.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “This is all my fault.”
He doesn’t move, and eventually, my eyes slip closed. But in the darkness is where the guilt thrives. I can hear Key’s voice, and all of those phone conversations replay on a loop. I’m such an idiot. How could I possibly not have recognized his voice? It’s been years, yes, and his voice has changed from the seventeen-year-old who asked me to marry him, but it’s still him. The same inflection, the same comfort. Maybe deep down I did recognize him. Maybe that’s why I so easily fell for a stranger despite that never happening to me before with the hundreds of other callers I’ve taken—because I was already in love with him.
But I love Joel too.
Fuck, it’s all such a disaster. Key and I have such a long and complicated history. I’ve been so angry at him—at myself—for so long. I’ve spent years thinking I was unwanted and worthless because of a terrible misunderstanding. But those vulnerable telephone calls, and the hot ones too . . . God, it’s almost unfathomable how good his words and his voice made me feel. It’s frightening. I was right to put a stop to it when I did. Because Joel is real, and everything I’ve ever needed in a man. Someone who is willing to fight for me while letting me be myself. He cares for me despite everything. If I’d had the courage to tell him about my past, I’m certain it wouldn’t have mattered any more than my present.
He just needs to wake up.
And I need to make an impossible choice.