26. Luke
26
LUKE
T he steady beep of the machines that has filled the hospital room for the past day and a half continues incessantly.
It would drive me to the brink of madness if it didn’t mean that Mom’s and Dad’s heartbeats were both steady at this point.
Finally.
Evening out after several dangerous drops of blood pressure and heart rate during that first twelve hours before the antivirals started kicking in and attacking the mystery virus that almost killed them.
I blink open my eyes, brain still slightly foggy, and lift my head from the back of the chair to scan the now-familiar hospital room that has been our home since the roads were clear enough to get them here from Mistletoe.
That storm did its damnedest to prevent it, but we got them out.
And I don’t ever want to relive anything the wind and snow brought to my door and into my life .
None of it.
I shift more upright and blink away the last vestiges of sleep.
Dad snores peacefully in his bed to my left, and I turn to my right to find Mom watching me intently, like she’s been waiting for me.
That’s never a good sign…
Yawning, I run a hand through my hair. “I fell asleep?”
She nods. “And now, you need to get out of here, go home, take a shower, clean up, eat some real food, and sleep in your own bed .”
The last time I was in that, it was with Noel…
Before I took her up to the lake.
Before it all fell apart.
Again.
I shake my head. “Nah, I’m fine.”
Staying here has been as much about not wanting to leave Mom and Dad as it has about not wanting to be there.
Where it will still smell like her.
Where I’ll still taste her on my tongue with each breath I take.
But Mom levels her glare at me, clearly feeling better. “It wasn’t a request, Luke, you smell.”
I scowl at her, but her lips curve the tiniest bit at the sides.
At least her sense of humor hasn’t been affected by all this.
“We’re okay, hon. You know the doctor said we’ll probably go home tomorrow—”
“Then I’ll leave tomorrow.”
She purses her lips and reaches out to slide her hand over mine, where it rests beside her on the bed. “I know you’re worried, but we’re fine now.”
No matter how many times she says that to me, no matter how many times the doctors assure me that they’re both going to make a full recovery, I can’t get the way they looked lying in that bed out of my head. I can’t get past that drive and thinking that by the time we got to the clinic, it would be too late.
Even now, seeing the life returning to her eyes and the color back in her skin, the thought of leaving them makes my stomach turn.
She interlocks her fingers with mine and squeezes tightly. “What do I need to say to snap you out of it?”
“Nothing.”
“What if I asked you what was happening with you and Noel?”
I wince at her question and avoid eye contact, watching the heart monitor next to Dad’s bed.
The man always could sleep through anything, but I could really use a rescue here, an interruption of any kind…
Mom squeezes my hand. “Are you just going to ignore me?”
I tug mine out from under hers and push out of the chair. “I think it’s better if I do.”
“Why is that?”
Because if I open my mouth and start discussing anything having to do with Noel, that thin thread of control I’ve managed to maintain over my emotions that is already so badly frayed will finally give way.
And I’m afraid I’ll drown in the tsunami it releases.
I turn to face her, wanting to walk out, but I can’t, not until she and Dad are released. “Nothing’s happening with Noel and me.”
Not anymore.
Mom watches me pace, following me back and forth at the end of both beds. “I heard a lot of what you said to Doc Woodson, and to each other in that car. I may have been feverish, possibly hallucinating, but it sure sounded like something happened between you two. She was at your cabin for two days…”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, wrapping my hands around the edges of the stupid tray that sits at the foot of her bed to use when her meals are delivered.
Mom always did love Noel.
She had prayed we would work things out.
Acted as my biggest cheerleader when I got on that plane and flew to Toronto to try to convince Noel to return to Mistletoe.
I don’t want to give her any false hope, not like the false hope I let myself develop with every kiss and every touch and every moment we were entwined with each other this Christmas.
“Things are complicated, Mom.”
Her graying brows rise. “Aren’t they always? That’s what relationships are.”
I release a heavy sigh. “Noel and I don’t have a relationship.”
She laughs loud enough that Dad shifts in his bed, glancing over his shoulder at us, blinking awake.
“What’s going on? Everything all right?”
I scowl at her for waking him, and she holds up her hands innocently, but she’s not sorry, not one bit.
“I was just questioning your son about Noel…”
Dad nods slowly as he pushes himself up to a fully seated position, yawning and rubbing at his gray hair that’s already disheveled. “Then I better stay awake because I’m interested in this, too.”
“For the love of God, you two, my love life, or lack thereof, is off the table for conversation.”
They exchange a look that tells me my objection is going to go unheeded, but before they can say anything else, one of the nurses flutters in with a happy smile and a tablet in hand.
“Mr. And Mrs. Crisp, you’re both awake.” She gives me a pointed look. “And you’re still here.”
Mom laughs. “I told him to go home.”
The nurse sets her tablet next to Mom’s bed and fiddles with some of her machines, checking different stats. “I’ve been telling him the same thing for a day and a half.” She glances back at me. “He doesn’t listen very well, does he?”
Mom fights a laugh, shaking her head. “He doesn’t. Didn’t as a child, either.”
I throw up my hands. “I’m standing right here, you know?”
As happy as I should be that Mom and Dad are back to trying to insert themselves where they don’t belong, we certainly don’t need the interjection from a random nurse.
She rolls her eyes and mutters something I can’t quite make out—though the word “Grinch” is loud enough for me to hear.
We aren’t even in Mistletoe, and this woman already knows my fucking nickname.
Great.
I look away from them to find Dad staring at me intently. He motions me over to him while Mom and the nurse gossip about something I don’t want to be involved with. He pats the side of his bed, urging me to sit.
With an annoyed sigh, I comply.
The old man almost died.
I really can’t say “no.”
“Your mom can be pushy.”
“So can you.”
He smirks. “That’s what I love about her, and that’s what you always loved about Noel.”
Locking gazes with him, staring back into the same shade of green I see in the mirror, I can’t keep up the pretense. “You don’t need to remind me why I love Noel.”
He offers me a tight smile. “Why did she come to the lot on Christmas?”
To break my fucking heart.
To crush the shards she left behind eight years ago further into dust.
I release a long sigh, lowering my head back to stare at the drop ceiling above us. “She drove down in the storm to get a fucking tree.”
Dad chuckles, coughing lightly as the infection still tries to work its way out of his body and his lungs. The doctor said it could take weeks before that cough is finally gone, but it will go away—eventually. “She’s so much like her father.”
That draws a genuine smile across my lips.
“She really is. Apparently, Mrs. J never got a tree this year, and it bothered her far more than it bothered her mother.”
“I can see why.”
I return my gaze to him. “Did you know she wasn’t aware that her dad picked the town tree every year?”
Dad’s eyebrows rise. “Really?”
I shake my head, rubbing at the tension in my neck from spending so many hours dozing in that chair. “I told her earlier that day when I was in town getting you the medicine from the pharmacy. I ran into her and said some things I probably shouldn’t have…”
“So, she was probably really happy with you when she showed up to get the tree.”
“Shit.” I snort. “Definitely not happy with me. And to be fair, I wasn’t very happy to see her, either. The storm wasn’t at full force yet, but it was bad enough that she shouldn’t have been driving.”
Mom and the nurse finish whatever they’re gabbing about, and the woman in the blue scrubs moves over to Dad’s bedside, absently flipping her hand toward me.
“Oh, keep going. I’m very interested in the story.”
Mom raises her brows. “Well…go on.”
I cast an annoyed glare at the eavesdropping woman changing out Dad’s IV bag, but with both him and Mom staring at me, waiting expectantly, I can’t put it off any longer.
It’s time to come clean.
Mostly.
“Well”—I rise from the bed and pace again, unable to sit still as the memories that are still so fresh come racing back—“I wouldn’t let her leave.”
Dad chuckles low. “How did you manage that? Noel isn’t really someone you tell what to do.”
“No, she isn’t.” I glance at the nurse who eyes me as intently as a grandmother waiting for the big reveal on her favorite soap opera, then from Mom to Dad, preparing myself for their reactions. “I threw her over my shoulder, and I took her to the cabin.”
Mom gasps, and the nurse’s jaw drops.
Dad coughs and then clears his throat. “You idiot .”
I snort. “Thanks.”
“I bet she wasn’t too happy with that.” Mom scowls at me. “I wouldn’t have been in her position.”
Unhappy.
That feels like an incredibly tame description of how she reacted.
And for the way she tore into me the second I walked back into the cabin.
“No, she wasn’t, but she was stupid enough to drive in a storm that was only going to get worse, and she expected me to strap a tree to the top of her car and let her drive back up the mountain with it. What the hell was I supposed to do?”
Mom offers a slight shrug, the hospital gown shifting over her slender shoulders. “Reason with her.”
“Oh, yeah.” I snort. “Because reasoning with Noel Jolly always goes so well.”
Dad laughs slightly. “Okay, that’s fair, but there had to be a better way to handle the situation than that.”
I run a hand through my hair, glancing at the nurse, who seems to have stopped whatever she was doing. “If you’re just here for the story, you can go.”
She narrows her gaze on me, then glances over at Mom. “You’ll fill me in later?”
Is this a fucking joke right now?
Mom nods her agreement, and the nurse flutters out of the room with a wink at me.
Jesus Christ…
I turn to face both of their beds. “Look. I took Noel to the cabin. We stayed in the cabin. We came down from the cabin. We found you. End of story.”
Dad snorts, and Mom laughs again.
She rolls her eyes, adjusting the blanket over her lap. “Yeah, you’re definitely acting like that’s the end of the story.”
I clench my hands at my sides, opening and closing them as I try desperately to control what’s building up inside me—the anger over letting myself get back in the same position I was in eight years ago, feeling the same pain, allowing the same agony to overwhelm me.
“It doesn’t matter what happened.” I shake my head. “She’s leaving in a few days…”
Mom’s brows rise slowly. “What do you mean ‘in a few days?’ Today’s the 28th, right?”
I nod. “Yeah, and she usually goes home right after New Year’s.”
“Oh, honey.” Mom’s face falls. “She isn’t staying that long this time. ”
Her words register slowly.
“What-what do you mean?”
Mom’s lips twist. “I talked to her mom, and she said the Leafs have a big home game this year on New Year’s Day, so she needs to be there a few days early to help with some PR stuff, getting things ready. In previous years, they’ve either been off or had away games, so she wasn’t required to be back…”
It shouldn’t matter.
She’s leaving.
When that happens is irrelevant now.
“Good riddance.”
Dad coughs. “Why don’t you just say what you mean?”
I glare at him. “I just did. ”
“No, you didn’t.” He raises a hand that no longer shakes and points at me. “I can see it in your eyes. If there’s something you want to say to that girl or something you want to do before she leaves, I suggest you do it quickly.”
Something about the way he says it makes panic well up inside me, heavy and thick like molasses.
“When is she leaving?”
Mom and Dad share a look, and Mom offers a sympathetic smile. It’s one I’ve seen far too many times not to recognize as one she only gives me when she feels like she’s telling me something I won’t want to hear.
“I believe later today, hon.”
Shit.
I force myself to take another breath. “It’s fine.” Another one burns my lungs. “I don’t have anything to say to her.”
Dad presses his lips together in a firm line, his jaw tightening. “That’s bullshit, son. We’ve been begging you for eight years to have a conversation with that woman, and if you didn’t have it and things that you needed to say weren’t said in that cabin over Christmas, then you should do it now before she leaves again.”
Beyond frustrated now, bordering on rage, I throw my hands up. “But that’s just it, Dad. She will leave. She always does .”
The corner of Mom’s lips curl slightly. “Maybe this year, you’ll get a Christmas miracle.”