21. 21
Hayes
Now
W hen I answer Annabelle’s call, the first thing I notice is the fear in her voice.
“Slow down, Annabelle. I can barely understand you. Start over, Yankee.”
I’m standing in my condo, staring out the enormous windows that overlook Nashville, my eyes scanning the city while my brain races to catch up to her words.
“It’s Laura, my best friend,” she says, her voice breaking. “The hospital just called. She was in a car wreck.”
Her speech is choppy, every word laden with emotion. “They said… oh God. They said she was unconscious when she arrived. What if she doesn’t make it, Hayes?”
“Don’t think like that, Annabelle,” I command as I switch into crisis management mode. “Which hospital?”
“Nashville General.”
“Okay. Do you want me to pick you up at work or meet you at the hospital? My afternoon is free. I can leave now.”
“No, no, but Hayes…” I hear a sharp exhale on the other end of the line as Annabelle grapples with her emotions.
“Could you pick up the girls from school and watch them for me, please? The woman who usually watches them is out of town visiting family for Christmas. I don’t know who else to call.
I’m sorry to ask you to do this, but there’s not anyone else I trust. Please. ”
“Annabelle, of course, I can do that. Breathe, baby, breathe. It’ll be okay. Where are you now?”
“I’m driving to the hospital.”
“Annabelle, focus on driving. I’ll meet you at the hospital so we can switch cars. I’m assuming the girls still use car seats of some kind, right?”
“God, I hadn’t even thought of that. Yes, they still use booster seats.”
“It’s okay. Together, we’ll figure it out. I’ll meet you there.”
Seventeen minutes later, I rush through the hospital lobby and head straight to the elevators. On the second floor, as soon as the doors slide open, my eyes land on Annabelle.
She’s sitting motionless in a chair, pale as a ghost, her body stiff. I drop to my knees in front of her and gently cradle her face in my hands, trying to bring her back to the moment.
“Annabelle, I’m here, baby. Have you heard anything yet? ”
She shakes her head, her wide, terrified eyes locking on mine. Her bottom lip trembles.
“No. They haven’t told me anything.” Her voice is thin and shaky, barely above a whisper. “I noticed she hadn’t come back from lunch. I thought maybe she had a meeting or something. I should have known.”
I press a kiss to her temple before sinking into the chair next to hers. I hold her hand, trying to comfort her, knowing that as terrified as she is about Laura, this situation is probably also digging up the trauma of Kyle’s accident.
"You're not alone in this. I'm here with you."
A few minutes later, a man in a white coat approaches us. “Excuse me, are you the family of Laura Slattering?”
Annabelle jumps to her feet, nodding.
I stand behind her with my hands on her shoulders, prepared to hold her up if she crumbles.
“I’m Dr. Giancarlo, Ms. Slattering’s attending physician.
She’s in stable condition. She sustained a concussion, several lacerations and contusions, and a compound fracture of the wrist. Because of the nature of her wrist injury, she needs surgery, but because of her concussion, we're holding off on the surgery for now.”
“But she’ll be okay?”
“Yes, she’s young and healthy. After surgery and with some physical therapy, she’ll recover fully.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” Annabelle slumps in relief, swaying slightly on her feet. “When can I see her?”
“She’s still being treated, but once she's been assigned a room, you'll be able to see her. That will probably take another hour or two.”
When the doctor leaves, I press Annabelle into my arms, running my hand up and down her back as the tension ebbs from her body .
Spotting the clock on the wall, I ask, “Do you think you’ll be okay here by yourself? I can arrange for someone else to pick up the girls or come sit with you?”
“Now that I know Laura is okay, I’ll be fine here alone. But if you could pick up the girls, I’d really appreciate it.”
We quickly work out the logistics and switch keys. Nervously, I ask, “Do Grace and Claire know who I am?”
Annabelle nods. “They’re aware I have a friend named Hayes because they’ve heard me talk about you.”
“Okay, good. Call the school and tell them I’ll be picking up the girls.”
As I park at Wesley Hall, I realize I’m nervous.
I’ve done plenty of shit that would terrify most people, but meeting Annabelle’s daughters has me shaking in my boots.
While I’m only meeting them now because of an emergency, it still feels like a monumental step forward in our relationship because of how fiercely protective Annabelle is of her daughters.
Upon entering the school, I spot the office to my right and head that way.
An older woman sits at a large wooden desk, and I approach her with a smile, determined to win her over with my charm. Annabelle warned me that the school secretary was a battle-ax.
“Excuse me, ma’am. I’m here to pick up Grace and Claire Morris. I believe their mother, Annabelle Morris, called to let you know that I’d be picking them up since their babysitter is out of town.”
“Oh, yes, she did. I’ll need to see your driver’s license,” she replies in a curt voice, pushing a clipboard across the desk towards me. Tapping the lined paper, she explains, “Fill out this information and sign on the last line. ”
Digging out my ID from my wallet, I hand it to the school secretary and begin filling out the paper.
“Oh, oh. Are you…” she says in an excited, high-pitched whisper, “Are you the Ruston Hayes from Outlaw?”
“Yes, ma’am. I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say, glancing at the nameplate on her desk. “Mrs. Rogers.”
“It’s Ms. , not Mrs. ” Flustered, the secretary blushes and pats her silver hair. “I’ll just, I’ll just have the girls sent down to the office now, Mr. Hayes. You can take a seat over there while we wait for them.”
When two girls rush into the office in matching blue-and-white plaid uniforms, I immediately notice how much they resemble Kyle. They stumble in, dragging their backpacks and glancing around in search of a familiar face.
Hoping to ease the awkwardness, I crouch down and introduce myself. Just as I expected after hearing about her for weeks, Annabelle’s youngest, Claire, warms up quickly.
“Mr. Hayes! I heard my mama talking about you to my Aunt Laura.” She smiles shyly, and I see she inherited her mother’s dimples. Her coloring favors her father, but those dimples are all Annabelle.
Her older sister squints her eyes, watching me with a maturity that far surpasses her age. “Why are you here? Where’s our mother?”
“Your Aunt Laura fell and broke her wrist, so your mom is at the hospital with her. She’s going to be fine, but she’ll need to wear a cast for a few weeks. Your mom asked me to come pick you girls up, since she didn’t want to leave Laura alone.”
Annabelle and I didn’t talk about what to tell the kids about Laura’s injuries, so I’m playing it by ear. Given that their father died in a car accident, I don’t want to tell them that Laura was also involved in a wreck today .
“I don’t like to go to the doctor’s office by myself either. I guess Aunt Laura must be a little scared of doctors and hospitals too,” surmises Grace.
While Grace stays a little wary, Claire slips her tiny hand into mine and leads our ragtag trio out of the office. I sling both of their backpacks over my shoulder, and we amble across the school grounds.
But when I spot a few people snapping photos, I scoop Claire into my arms and take Grace’s hand, quickening our pace. I figured I might get noticed, but I didn’t expect people to take pictures—especially not when I’m with children. It’s invasive, infuriating, and completely out of line.
“Shit,” I mutter, picking up the pace.
Glancing at me, Grace chirps, “That’ll be twenty dollars for the swear jar.”
“Twenty dollars! Per swear?”
Damn. Apparently, inflation has also affected the price of swear jars.
“Twenty dollars for the first swear, and then ten dollars for each additional swear word.” For the first time since we met, Grace smiles at me, as she scrambles into her mother's SUV. Grace is a little mercenary. “When the jar gets full, the money will go to a good cause. If you don’t have cash on you today, you can write me an IOU.” Then, she adds, “Assuming you’re good for it. ”
With a grin, I assure her, “I’m good for it.” Not only is this kid clearly brilliant, she’s also a ballbuster. “I thought that after a long day of school, y'all probably need a snack. How does ice cream sound?”
“I love ice cream!” shrieks Claire, clapping her hands and bouncing on her seat. “You scream, I scream, we all scream for ice cream!”
Sounds like I’m already well on my way to winning over Claire.
“I suppose I could be agreeable to that.”
“You’re a tough nut to crack, Grace. ”
“I don’t have any nuts, but boys do. Boys have special nuts,” Grace says.
When I glance in the rearview mirror, wondering if she’s alluding to what I think she’s alluding to, Grace has the audacity to smirk.
“What kind of nuts, Grace? Like peanuts?” Her little sister questions.
“No, not those kinds of nuts. I think Mr. Hayes should explain these nuts to you since he’s a boy, Claire.” Grace’s smirk grows even wider. The little rascal knows exactly what she’s doing, and I’m having a hard time not laughing.
“Uh—” I have no idea what to say in reply. How pissed will Annabelle be if I discuss the male anatomy with her five- and seven-year-old daughters? Probably pretty pissed.
I'm saved from answering when Grace asks, “I know you and my mom are friends, but how did you meet my mom, Mr. Hayes?” Our eyes connect again in the rearview mirror, intimidating me more than I’d like.