Chapter Thirty-One
Brilliant Tangerine Light
Colton
Something I will never forget about Cheyenne is her chatterbox tendencies when she’s nervous. Some people clam up and some people don’t let nerves show, but Cheyenne is neither of those people. She will fill every second of silence with conversation to avoid the stillness that comes with waiting. Under certain circumstances, it works in my favor.
For example: our very first kiss.
She rambled since we left that Chicago restaurant, ranting about how al dente pasta was pointless and why it shouldn’t be a thing. By the time we reached the bridge over the Chicago River, she’d moved onto the intricacies of her art history class. She was halfway through a passionate monologue on Da Vinci when I silenced her with a different form of communication.
Tonight, though, I can’t spin my nerves into something positive. Cheyenne talks about everything under the sun, and I drive without saying more than a dozen words. It’s wildly out of character for us both.
By the time we’re ushered to a family waiting area, though, her chattering ceases. No one is currently allowed into Tripp’s room, leaving us to wait not-so-patiently out here.
Cheyenne’s grandfather and her brothers pace like they intend to leave tracks in the tired gray utility carpet. Her grandmother, mother, and Aunt Rosie clasp each other’s hands in a small semicircle, eyes closed, lips moving silently. Beau’s wife rocks a fussy Tate, passes him off to Beau, and then takes him back only moments later. Cheyenne’s hand is clasped in mine and she sits in the chair beside me, but it feels like she’s thousands of miles away.
My heart physically hurts.
I could pull out my phone and scroll mindlessly. I could pick up the outdated issue of Readers Digest from the side table. I could try to initiate a conversation with someone, anyone , if only to distract us both.
I don’t do any of the above.
The uncomfortable plastic hospital chair digs into my tailbone, and my head hurts from thinking so much, but I don’t move. Tripp’s life is on the line. The sobering reality haunting me is that I can’t imagine how I’d feel if it were my father in that hospital bed.
I wouldn’t be ready to say goodbye.
Shoes tapping on the tile floor makes everyone look at the hallway. Indi smiles sheepishly when she comes into view.
“Sorry,” she says, lips twisted. “I’m probably not who you were hoping for.”
Cheyenne’s grandfather squeezes her shoulder. “Just because we’re all a bit jumpy doesn’t mean you’re not welcome here, darlin’. Pull up a chair—we’re playing a little game called Patience.”
Despite myself, I smile. Indi masks her distaste for Warren’s endearment of choice behind a sad smile. The muscle pull of smiling feels foreign, even though it’s only been hours since I was laughing. Since Justin, Beau, and I were walking around the gallery, cracking ourselves up by trying to determine what some of the art pieces were supposed to resemble.
Indi lifts a black duffel bag. “I feel like I looked super sketchy carrying this in, but I promise it’s just a change of clothes for Chey. Well,” she amends. “A couple changes. In case you didn’t like one, and—well, yeah. You get the point.”
My sister has never rambled in the ten months I’ve known her. It hits me when she does so now that all she wants is to be accepted. The way I grew up and the way she grew up was vastly different, but at the end of the day, she’s my sister.
Cheyenne doesn’t say anything. She gets up and wordlessly hugs Indi. I think the tight embrace communicates more than words ever could.
Indi leans around Cheyenne to look at me. “Also, Milo’s downstairs with Jordan to see you.”
I glance around. “Me?”
“No,” she says dryly. “The other Colton sitting behind you.”
There’s the sister I know and love. I laugh softly when she shakes her head, and I take the elevator to the main level. It smells like greasy fast food. My stomach rumbles. The hors d’oeuvres from the gallery were digested long ago.
Jordan and Milo are waiting in the lobby when I emerge from the hallway, and I pause before they see me. They sit side by side in chairs, my older brother’s tennis-shoes clad feet planted firmly on the ground and my younger brother’s sandal-clad feet dangling above it. Milo explains something in great detail and Jordan listens intently.
I smile. Jordan can pretend he doesn’t care about Milo and Indi all he wants to. But if it were true, he wouldn’t be here right now.
I exaggerate my steps so they’ll hear me, and Milo jumps out of his chair. A soft oof falls from my lips as he crashes into my legs. His arms wrap around my thighs, and he tips his head back, a big grin dimpling his face. There’s a smear on his left cheek that looks suspiciously like chocolate.
“Hey there, Captain,” I say.
“Did Annie have her show?” he asks.
“She did,” I tell him, gently disentangling his arms so I can pick him up. “And guess what?”
“What?”
I drop my voice to a whisper and wiggle my fingers. “She told me that, after we were home, the Tickle Monster was supposed to make an appearance.”
Milo shrieks and writhes against me. “No! We’re not home!”
Jordan lifts a brow. “He has a point.”
“Yeah,” Milo exclaims, “he has a point!”
I poke him playfully in the belly. “You’re the one who has the point, silly.”
He narrows his eyes and plants his hands on my cheeks, squishing my face until my lips resemble a fish. “Where’s Annie? Inni helped me make her a rock so I gots to give it to her!”
My gaze meets Jordan’s briefly over Milo’s head, and I clear my throat before answering. “Well, buddy, she’s got to be with her family right now.”
He frowns. “Why?”
“Because her dad—”
“The coma one?”
I dip my chin. “Yes, the coma one. They need to be with him right now. But,” I add, “I promise that you’ll get to see her soon. No one makes Lucky Rocks as cool as yours, so she’s going to be super excited that you made her one.”
He looks unconvinced. His lips curl and his nose wrinkles, and he eyes me with open skepticism. I look to Jordan helplessly but he only shrugs. I know I should say something to Milo, something that will distract him from not seeing Cheyenne.
Problem is, I also want to see her.
Milo gasps. “Annie!”
His knee connects with my abdomen as he wiggles down. I suppress a groan, turning to look over my shoulder. Cheyenne crosses the lobby, changed into a pair of flannel shorts and a Lake Romance Readers Club t-shirt from Ember’s book shop. She steals my breath now just as effectively as when she came downstairs wearing the blue satin dress that hugged every last curve.
“Milo!” she exclaims, far more enthusiastically than she must feel. “Indi said you had a present for me?”
Milo takes her by the hand and pulls her across the room. “Uncle Jordan has it!”
Uncle Jordan.
It sounds more like Unca Thoran , but there’s no mistaking what he said. It’s not lost on Jordan. He swallows hard and looks away to collect himself before he finds a smile and reaches into the pocket of his shorts.
I bump my shoulder into Cheyenne’s. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she whispers back.
“Close your eyes!” Milo demands, hands behind his back. “And put your hands out!”
Cheyenne obediently follows instructions, and a soft smile curves her mouth when he carefully sets the rock in her outstretched palms.
“Okay,” he exclaims. “Open them!”
She does, and she presses her lips together as she brings the rock closer for inspection. Milo painted the whole thing blue. Just like mine, one side is initialed— M from pain or from confusion they don’t know. His levels are evening, and he still breathes on his own, lips parted and cheeks faintly flushed.
“Please stay, Daddy,” Cheyenne whispers brokenly, her voice nearly inaudible. “Define this moment. Please. ”
Justin’s words— talk to him like normal —hover in the back of my mind. I swallow hard. My throat feels scratchy with emotion and tears blur my eyes, but I talk anyway.
“Your daughter showed her art tonight,” I tell him. Cheyenne’s body quakes on a sob, and she turns her face fully into my body. I release my own choked cry. “You should’ve seen her—she defined her moment, Tripp. She’s with me now, you know that? If you hadn’t invited us to come hang out tonight, I’d have taken her to the beach to celebrate. I know you don’t approve of pineapple on pizza, but that’s what we would’ve had. The water is so nice that I might’ve even convinced her to take a swim with me.”
“Colton is…” Cheyenne whispers. She shakes her head. “Colt, I can’t. I can’t pretend anymore. Not like things… Not like it’s normal.”
“I know, baby,” I say softly. “I know. It’s okay.”
Tripp’s fingers twitch around hers. He moans in the back of his throat, face tightening and leg jerking. Cheyenne sucks in a breath. For the first time since we came in a few minutes ago, her own body stills.
“You’d be proud of Colton too,” she whispers. My pulse drums loudly in my ears. “He’s… He’s…”
“Shh,” I murmur. I squat until my chin can rest on her shoulder, and I squeeze her fingers. “It’s okay, Fini. He knows.”
I don’t look at the clock after that first visit. We rotate through the night, taking turns beside Tripp’s bed. Justin tells him, laughing through tears, that he’s started sorting and keeping his receipts like Tripp told him to. Grace holds her husband’s hand and murmurs that she loves him no less than a thousand times. Kaia cries while Beau holds her, and Tate lies on the bed next to his grandfather. Warren and Clara clasp each other closely as they pray over their son.
And then, when Cheyenne and I are back in the room, dawn pokes through the dark night. Brilliant tangerine light streaks the white wall, highlighting the soft curve of Cheyenne’s neck. My eyes are heavy, and my body is tired, but when Cheyenne freezes under my touch, I lift my head.
Tripp gazes up at us through gritty eyes, and in a whisper, he says, “Annie?”