Chapter 60 Slayed the Bucket List
HART
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I COME BACK slowly.
Like swimming up through tar.
My head throbs. Not a sharp pain, just a thick, sick pressure, like someone’s wedged a brick behind my eyes.
The first thing I know is her hand.
Warm.
Still.
Tangled in mine like she’ll never let go.
I can’t move or open my eyes right away, but I don’t want to. I’m okay if she’s here.
I try to swallow, but my throat burns.
I feel her breath, too, slow and even on my skin like her head rests close by on—
On what?
Where am I?
Plastic and bleach sting my nostrils. Something beeps steadily nearby. Cold air kisses my arms where the blanket doesn’t reach.
I blink hard. The light sears through my eyelids. Everything is blurred.
White ceiling tiles. White walls. White sheets.
I turn my head, just barely, and I see her, and my world feels better.
Jade’s curled in the chair beside my bed, head resting on her folded arms, at my side, fast asleep.
Her hair falls over her face, pressed against the thin hospital blanket covering my arm. One hand holds mine, her thumb resting across my knuckles.
God.
Her.
I close my eyes, just for a second, and let the relief roll through me.
Not because I’m okay, but because she’s here.
Everything else is a blur.
The slow beep of a heart monitor. The ache pulsing behind my eyes. The heavy fog in my limbs.
I remember talking to a doctor or a nurse. I’m not sure at this moment, but this ain’t my first time awake. It’s just the first time the room is coming together in more than an image or a sound.
My lips part, but no sound comes out. My throat is desert dry.
Still, I manage a rough whisper of a word.
“Hey.”
She doesn’t move.
I try again, pushing past the weight in my chest.
“Hey...”
I move my fingers, just barely.
Her thumb twitches and pulls her from her sleep. Her eyes blink, unfocused at first.
Then she sees me.
Really sees me.
Her head jerks up fast, eyes wide, hair a mess. Absolutely gorgeous.
“Hart,” she breathes.
I try to smile, but it’s a struggle. “What happened? Why am I in the hospital?”
“You don’t remember?”
“I—” I push into my thoughts. “We were at the rodeo—” Our fight crashes into my head. “Jade, I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry.” She’s already rising. “We’ll get through this. Together.” She squeeze my hand. Right now, focus on feeling better.”
Her chair scrapes backward. She’s on her feet so quickly that the chair nearly tips backward behind her. Her hand touches my chest.
“I need to get someone. It’s the first time you’ve been this lucid.” She’s smiling, backing toward the door. “I’ll be right back.”
I want to stop her.
I want her to stay, to sit back down and tell me what the hell happened and how long I’d been lying here.
But I can’t say much more than a rasped, “Okay.”
She’s gone in a blink, calling for help in the hallway.
Footsteps shuffle in the corridor. The curtain pulls aside, and two nurses come in, followed by a man in scrubs with a tablet.
“What’s your name?” He snaps his fingers in my peripheral vision.
“Hart Wilde,” I manage.
“Good. Do you know where you are?”
“My guess is a hospital.”
“What day is it?”
That one takes me a second. “I... don’t know.”
“Totally normal.” The nurse checks the machines, adjusting something near my IV. “You’ve been out a little while. But you’re doing okay.”
The man in scrubs steps closer. “You were unconscious. Took a hard hit to the head. You’ve got a linear skull fracture and signs of a significant concussion, but no bleeding in the brain. That’s good news.”
I blink, taking it all in. “How long?”
“Just under forty-eight hours,” he says. “You’re stable. We’ll be admitting you for neuro monitoring over the next few days—just to be safe.”
I turn my head and find Jade again. She’s standing just inside the curtain now, her hands clutched to her chest. She doesn’t come closer until the nurse gives a nod.
“We’ll let you rest.” The doctor checks the IV line, then straightens. “Don’t push him too hard. He’ll be groggy, but he’s stable.”
Then they are gone.
Jade doesn’t rush in. She walks back to the chair and sits beside me, like she isn’t sure if she still has permission to.
“I’m going to text your family.”
“Wait.” I reach for her hand. “Not yet.”
She looks reluctantly from the phone to my hand, but finally sets it on her lap and wraps both her warm hands around mine.
Shadows cling under her eyes, and every blink looks like it hurts. Like she hadn’t slept in forty-eight hours.
“Hi,” I say.
She half-smiles. “Hi.”
“You stayed.” My voice is low and scratchy.
She nods, then swallows. “I hope that’s okay.”
“Always,” I breathe, closing my eyes for a second.
“Are you okay?” She rises. “Do you need the doctor?”
“No. I’m okay.” I try to squeeze her hand, but it’s a weak attempt. “Sit with me.”
The silence is different now with her, me, and the mess between us.
She stares at our hands. “You scared us.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head. “No. I’m sorry. For not believing you. For calling you a”—she inhales—“a liar.”
“You’ve called me worse.”
She smiles, then gives a soft grunt. “That’s what Levi said when I tried to leave. When I didn’t think you’d want to see me.”
“Levi, huh? Maybe fatherhood is good for him.” I lift my hand, slow and clumsy, to cup her cheek.
“Jade,” I whisper. “I love you. That’s all I know.”
Her hand finds mine.
I close my eyes again, but the words still press at my chest.
“I was falling, and I just kept thinking about you.”
“I love you, too. I’m sorry I let my fear try to push you away. I promise you are all I want.”
“You are all I’ve ever wanted.”
She swipes a tear that slips fish her cheek.
“Just so you know, my fear of heights was on my bucket list. And I slayed it.”
She lets out a sound, half-laugh, half-sob, and all of it full of hope.
“You slayed it.” She leans in and presses her lips to my cheek “Happy Birthday, Hart.”
Her voice is sunshine through the fog in my head.
“You’re here,” I whisper, the words catching on the dry edge of my throat. “And that's the best birthday gift ever.”
I try to say more, to tell her everything pressing on my chest, but the words tangle, and the room’s already starting to slip sideways again.
My eyes close before I mean them to.
“Make up with your father.”
I think I say it. I know her like the back of my hand, but it hadn’t been my intention to come between them.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispers, and I feel her lips on my cheek.
I sink into the dark without a struggle.