11. Huxley
11
HUXLEY
The appointment with the prosthetist is a breeze, and Al emerges sporting a state-of-the-art prosthetic that seems to inject him with vitality. Whatever that squabble was about at the hospital, he seems to have let it go. There’s a sparkle in his eye that wasn’t there before. It’s like he’s not just walking for himself anymore but for Savannah, too. I bet she’ll find him hopping fences when she gets back.
After getting Al settled in with his new limb, I make my way back to the hospital. But first, a detour through The Thirsty Fox, Red Mark’s official watering hole and my go-to spot for comfort food. Savannah could use a little cheering up.
A nurse approaches me as I near her room. “Keep her calm, Mr. Cometti,” she says.
Her tone is light, but it makes me serious. “What happened?”
The nurse offers a reassuring smile. “She’s all right, just a bit stressed. Fluctuating from a low heart rate to a high one isn’t ideal, but she’s stable now.”
I exhale in relief. “Okay, thanks for letting me know.”
“Take it easy, sir. She needs you to stay calm, too. ”
I nod slowly, signaling that I’m composed.
The door to Savannah’s room is already ajar. “Knock, knock.” I nudge the door open a bit more.
“Hey, come in,” Savannah’s voice floats over.
I step in and give her the update. “Everything went smoothly.”
She looks up, her eyes thankful yet tinged with concern. “Was my dad okay?”
“He’s back home now, grinning ear to ear with his new leg.”
“That’s fantastic. Thanks, Hux. I’d be up the creek without your help!” Her appreciation resounds, refreshing as a brook in spring. She seems to have shaken off earlier tensions, too.
“Think nothing of it,” I say, dropping the bag from Al beside her bed.
Her eyes spark. “Oh, looks like Dad remembered after all,” she laughs in relief, nodding at the bag. “Time to ditch these old rags, huh?” She flicks a glance at the torn pants draped over a chair.
I pull up another seat next to her. “You haven’t been up to any mischief while I was out, have you?” I joke.
“Like what?” she plays along.
I study her for a moment. “Like… breaking the law?”
She bursts out laughing, then suddenly pauses, sniffing the air. “What’s that divine smell?”
With a grin, I rustle up the contents of the brown bag. “Got you a cheeseburger from The Thirsty Fox. Low fat, just how the doctor ordered.”
“Low fat? I don’t even know what that means!”
I lean in, lowering my voice. “I heard about your ventricular hypertrophy.”
Her laughter softens, and she gives me a look, reminding me of my bold little stunt—claiming to be her boyfriend—and now I’m aware of her health history. She doesn’t press on it, though, steering us back to lighter topics. “Been living on Dad’s steaks and roasts so far without a hitch,” she says.
“Guess a country gal like you knows her way around a good meal,” I tease, wondering how she manages to stay so petite. Maybe everything goes into her muscles. She’s got arms as strong as new ropes.
“Let’s see then!” She motions for me to open the bag further. Carefully, she unwraps the burger. “Oh, wow… low fat be damned!” She gazes at the burger like it’s the crown jewels. “Aren’t you having one?”
I shuffle my feet. “I’ll grab something later.” Her enthusiasm makes me feel unexpectedly bashful.
“No, please, join me. I can’t enjoy this alone. Share with me?” Her invitation is earnest, impossible to decline.
I split the burger in half, sliding one portion toward her. There’s something intimate about sharing a meal, even if it’s just for a fleeting moment. Especially since she devours her half in record time. The hearty appetite is a clear stamp of her ranch upbringing.
“God, that was good!” She licks her fingers with relish. “Honest truth? I thought about asking you.”
The phrase ‘asking me’ sends my imagination racing. Perhaps too far. Feeling a bit foolish, I query, “Asking me what?”
“To grab me something to eat. But I didn’t want to be a bother.”
Is she kidding?
“Bother? Please. I’d probably fetch you a dragon if you asked right now!” I give her a wink.
She laughs, the sound tinged with a note of admiration. Maybe I’m revealing more than I intended. We’ve only known each other for a few hours, yet here I am, already hinting at my truth: I’d do just about anything for her.
“Your dad mentioned you grew up on a ranch and have a passion for horses.”
She pauses, surprise in her eyes. “He told you that? He must really trust you. It’s a touchy topic for us.” There’s a hint of sadness in her voice, so I let the subject go, sensing it’s best to tread lightly.
Savannah takes a sip of water, then, quite unexpectedly, she reaches out, and our hands touch. “Look, I’m sorry for the nonsense I spouted after the accident. And for… well, clinging to you as if you belonged to me. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”
I swallow, not out of discomfort, but because in that moment, it felt exactly as she described, and I didn’t mind one bit that she thought I belonged to her. “I’m your boyfriend, aren’t I? Why would that make me uncomfortable?” I joke.
Her cheeks tint pink at my words.
“It’s really okay, Savannah,” I reassure her with a smile.
“My mother died in a car accident, and I was the passenger,” she confesses. “When you held me at the bottom of that slope, I felt like—” She holds a breath, then exhales. “As if I was back in that wreckage. Trapped, desperate to talk to her and get her out.”
Instinctively, my fingers find hers, clasping mildly. “I’m so sorry to hear that. It’s natural to feel frightened in a moment that mirrors past trauma.”
She nods, a flicker of unresolved pain passing through her eyes. “I’ve made peace with her death, but there’s always that lingering thought—could I have done something more?”
I lower my gaze, and she catches my attempt to retreat into myself. She asks, “Have you lost someone?”
The question tightens my chest. “Yes, but… I’d rather not ta lk about it if that’s okay.” The words come out stiffer than I intended.
Understanding colors her features. “Death is written in everyone’s book. I’ve come to terms with my mother not being here anymore. But accepting that fact is one thing, and accepting what comes next is a whole other story.”
Her words trigger a rush of thoughts and reasons. Valentina is gone—I don’t deny it. Yet, every attempt to let her fade into the backdrop of my past proves futile. She was too perfect, too vital to slip away.
Savannah continues. “For me, what comes next is an angry wish. I was furious about everything because she wasn’t there. I wish for all the things that couldn’t happen. That wish burned, Hux. And it still burns. Especially when life feels like it’s conspiring against me.” Her voice quivers slightly, perhaps revealing that the argument with her father earlier hadn’t been fully resolved.
But something else strikes me.
An angry wish.
Grief is familiar terrain, with its well-documented stages, and anger is a notorious landmark. It’s so saturated with negativity, yet you’re not human without it. It’s layered with complexity, more so than mere sadness. I have moved past such anger. The CIA, the cartel—those bastards have been exorcised from my thoughts.
But this notion of an angry wish?
It resonates, molding the formless heat that has simmered inside me, unnamed but intensely present.
Perhaps what lingers isn’t the regret of Valentina’s untimely departure. Not even the horror of the circumstances surrounding it. I just wish she and I were here, raising a family, experiencing all the cliché of happily ever after. Just a wish, a seemingly innocuous desire, yet it stirs a profound rage within me.
I want to respond to Savannah, but the words don’t come. Instead, I find myself fixated on her hands, how calming it would be to feel them steady me. Forever? Is that what I’m really considering?
“Hux? Hey, don’t let me bring you down. This place is glum enough. We don’t need your sorrow adding to it.”
I force a chuckle, brushing the moment away. “Nah. All good.” With a brief inhale, I change the subject. “By the way, there was a man at your father’s house earlier. He didn’t seem too friendly.”
Her face tightens. “Early thirties, blonde, about six-foot?”
“That’s the one.”
She clenches her fists, and her jaw sets in frustration as if she’s ready to leap off the bed and confront him. “He’s my ex.” There’s a pause, and her lips part as if she’s about to continue, weighing her words carefully. Finally, she exhales sharply and adds, “He played a part in the loss of our ranch.”
Now, that explains why Al was so agitated. And perhaps the ‘stress’ the nurse mentioned earlier had something to do with this ex of hers.
“Has he been bothering you too?” I ask, my voice edged with a protective menace. If he has, I’ll deal with him myself, and he’ll learn the hard way what it means to leave her alone.
She shakes her head. “No. But I’m surprised he’s here in Helena.”
The knock on the door precedes the entry of a nurse. With a sympathetic tilt of her head, she says, “I’m so sorry, but I must let you know that visiting hours have ended.”
We both acknowledge her.
I brush Savannah’s hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning. ”
“Fingers crossed, by then, the docs will have busted me out of this hospital hoosegow,” she jests with a wink.
My shoulders shake with laughter. “I’m sure you’ll be allowed to go home then.”
Without warning, she leans forward, wraps her arms around my neck, and plants a kiss on my scar. “Thank you,” she breathes, her lips brushing against my skin, waking up pores that had been dormant since my injury.
“For what?” I ask, even though her grateful eyes already tell the whole story.
“For everything. For saving Bethany, for helping my dad, and for putting up with me.” Her lips linger close to my cheek.
That kiss, so sincere on a mark of my past, carries a message of acceptance. She doesn’t see the scar as a flaw but as part of who I am.
As I start to leave, stepping through the doorway, I hear her.
“Hugs,” she states, as if the word paints a pair of open arms.
I pause, a bit puzzled. “I’m sorry?”
“Hux. It sounds like ‘Hugs,’” she explains with a grin.
A smile breaks across my face. Hugs—what a fitting coincidence for the affection she evokes in me. I’d give her that hug in a heartbeat, and perhaps, if destiny is kind, many more.
As I walk away from her, I wonder what Savannah has truly done to me.
There’s something disarming about feeling needed, about being able to fulfill her needs—no matter how minor. This feeling, this reward, transcends the abstract notions of love and connection.
Finding a girlfriend has never been a challenge. Attraction has always been the main draw. Women have come and gone, offering everything from fun and gratification to the promise of lifelong companionship.
But finding a true partner, someone who serves as an ever-fresh oasis that sustains, cleanses, and restores me, is a more profound quest. Adventure and closeness often thrive on shared interests, which we can find through compromise. Yet, I seek a woman who is both fire and water, someone who will push me to my limits yet hold me with safeguarding hands.
Did I experience this completeness with Valentina? She was my refuge among life’s chaos, but her absence has reshaped what I seek in a partner.
With that thought, I picture myself sifting through the ruins of what was. My heart seeks a skilled hand, both robust and tender, capable of reforging the shattered pieces.
Is Savannah the one?
I don’t want a rebound reaction to be the reason for saying yes—a choice swayed by mere moments of wonder and fleeting sparks. But by now, time has lost meaning. I’ve wasted years searching for a mythical current that might carry me to the shore of a sheltered cove. But such a haven does not exist unless one crafts it.