Chapter 19 #2
This time, I force myself to focus. No more zoning out. No more pretending like none of this matters. I do it not only because Halsey requested it, but because it’s my life on the line now, and I can’t afford to drift off into my thoughts again.
“You’ll be staying here for a few more days,” the surgeon begins, his voice calm, measured, like he’s done this a thousand times.
“After that, your recovery is up to you. You can head to The Aldridge Sports Therapy Center in Baker’s Creek or stay here.
We’ll refer you to a state-of-the-art facility that can handle your recovery. ”
I nod, trying to absorb the information, but it feels like everything’s coming at me too fast. It’s not really up to me, is it?
I have two choices. I could go to Baker’s Creek, maybe stay with Dustin in Happy Springs—or I could stay home and find a facility nearby.
Both options sound better than what my father wanted to force me to do, but .
. . what’s Halsey’s role in all of this? Should I ask him about her?
Halsey told me to pay attention, but I wasn’t ready for this.
It takes a second for the surgeon’s words to fully sink in, like I’m standing on the edge of something huge.
This decision—it’s not just about my physical recovery.
It’s about my future, about the direction my life is going to take from here.
I glance between the surgeon and the physician, trying to keep my voice steady, though it wavers slightly. “I’ll . . . what does Halsey think?” I dare to ask. She said she’d talk to the surgeon, but now I’m not so sure.
The surgeon raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised.
“Though Dr. Lahey let me know that she’s a part of your team, I didn’t discuss any of this with her.
I trust her judgment, but HIPAA prevents me from discussing your treatment with third parties or family without your signed consent.
We only talked about things that are public knowledge.
” He pauses for a beat, then adds, “What is she to you?”
What is Halsey to me? The question hangs in the air, and suddenly, my throat tightens, my chest constricting with a rush of emotions I wasn’t ready to face.
How do I even begin to put it into words?
How do I explain that she’s not just a person from my past, but a constant presence in my life, even when she’s not around?
That she’s woven into everything I am, every memory, every hope I’ve ever had.
She’s the one who understood me before I even understood myself, the one who saw the parts of me I tried to hide from the world.
She’s my everything. Always has been. Even when they took her from me, she never really left my heart.
But it wasn’t just that. Halsey . . . she’s the one who taught me how to love, really love. Not just her, not just the safe, expected kind of love, but something deeper, something truer. She taught me that love doesn’t have to fit in some neat little box.
That it was okay to love more than one person.
With her, I learned that it was safe to let myself fall for a boy, to feel that same rush in my chest when I kissed him that I felt when I kissed her.
She showed me that love wasn’t something to hide from, that it was something to embrace—whether it was for her or for him.
She gave me the space to discover myself, to love without fear, to be vulnerable in a way I’d never known I could be. With her, I felt free, like I could strip away all the masks I wore for the world and just . . . be. She taught me how to be me, not the version of me everyone else expected.
My pulse quickens as I try to form an answer that doesn’t reveal too much, that won’t betray how deeply she’s still rooted in my heart, even after all this time.
“She is . . . was . . .” I stumble over the words, trying to distance myself, but the truth slips through anyway.
“Our relationship is a bit complicated. We were together during high school. You have my full permission to disclose anything to her, I’ll sign whatever you need me to. ”
I continue, “She’s important to me.” Even as the words leave my lips, I know they barely scratch the surface.
They don’t come close to capturing what she really is to me.
What I really want to say is that she’s everything—the reason I ever believed I could be something, someone.
The reason I ever dared to dream beyond what others saw in me.
She’s the stars in the darkest nights, the constant glow that’s always there, even when the clouds of life try to cover it.
She’s the stars in my sky, the ones I look to when I feel lost, reminding me of my place, of who I am. Without her, I wouldn’t have found the strength to embrace all the pieces of me, even the parts I thought were broken. She’s not just important—she’s everything.
“Halsey is . . . everything.”
The surgeon nods once, as though he understands more than I’ve said. “I hope you realize she won’t be able to work with you in a professional capacity. However, she can still help you with your exercises at home.”
“That’s . . . good to know,” I respond, but the words feel hollow. I don’t sound sure, and I’m not.
Is she coming? The question gnaws at me.
She said she doesn’t know if she can stay, but does this mean she’ll try?
Will she try for me? The uncertainty tightens around my chest, making it hard to breathe.
I’m sure it’s not something I should ask him, but the thought is burning on the tip of my tongue. I want to beg.
I need her—here, now, more than ever. I need the way she makes everything feel less suffocating, the way she pulls me back when I start spiraling.
It feels like she’s the only thing that can anchor me, keep me from drowning in this ocean of doubt and fear.
But how do I even begin to say that? How do I ask him to bring her to me, to make her stay, when I’m not even sure if she wants to be a part of me?
It takes every ounce of strength to swallow down the desperation rising in my throat, but the need for her is still there, pulsing, heavy, almost too much to bear.