Chapter 17
FELIX
TWO WEEKS LATER
"No wheelchair," Ember snaps at the nurse holding the device that is the bane of Ember's existence. "Walk."
The nurse looks at me for help, but I shrug. "Don't look at me. I can't make her do anything."
Willa, the nurse, knuckles her forehead. "It's just hospital policy, Ember. We all know how hard you’ve worked on using your crutches."
Ember narrows her eyes at the wheelchair. "I hate thing that." She growls at the slip. "That thing."
"It's no different than the crutches, honey," Willa says—Willa is an actual saint, I'm pretty sure, anointed and shit. Or, she has the patience of one, at least. "It's just a tool to help you. And in this case, hospital policy is that every admitted patient must be wheeled to the exit by the nursing staff." She leans forward toward Ember. "Dr. Richardson broke his leg and got a nasty infection a few years ago and had to be admitted. And wouldn't you know, he pitched an almighty fit about being wheeled out like every other patient? But you know what happened? I wheeled his ass out of here. You can't out-stubborn me, sweetheart."
Willa is the day nurse—she's in her sixties, with thin dishwater blond hair, a smoker's rasp to her voice, and a loving and compassionate but firm bedside manner; she’s also a real stickler for the rules.
"I did not pitch a fit, Nurse Ratched," comes Dr. Richardson's familiar voice. "I calmly expressed my wishes. Which you ignored. As usual."
Willa grins at Ember and then quickly wipes her face clean, adopting a scowl. “You wanna see me go Nurse Ratched on you, Dr. Richardson? Call me that again. And you did not calmly express anything. You whined like a little bih—baby. And I only ignore you when you're being difficult."
"I'm a doctor, Nurse Wright. I'm always difficult. Comes with thinking I'm the smartest person in the room—and usually being right."
Willa snorts. "Oooooooh-kay," she drawls, "keep telling yourself that, buddy."
These two have a gift of banter—it's been the centerpiece of every day for the last two weeks. Neither of them ever lets on that it's all in good fun—they bicker like an old married couple, scowling, needling, teasing. But underneath it all is a deep respect for each other that somehow shows through despite the constant jabs.
Dr. Richardson stands next to Willa—close enough to communicate a comfort level with each other's personal space. "So, today's the day my star patient goes home."
Ember isn't successful at hiding the wince at the word "home." Her ability to filter her thoughts and words has taken a pretty big hit from this injury, as has her ability to deal with her emotions. She's more mercurial than ever, prone to outbursts of anger, crying, or manic excitement. She's not always aware of what she's doing or saying.
In one memorable incident, she hit on Dr. Richardson, called him Dr. McDreamy—which he found funny for some reason—and she tried to grab his butt. He handled it like a pro, clearly used to situations like that, and never referenced it again. She doesn’t remember doing it.
Her memories are pretty fuzzy, still. She remembers some of the accident but not all, and her memories of the first few days after waking up are mostly a fog.
I think she thought recovery would be a lot of sitting around and reading or watching TV, but that's definitely not the case. Every day has been filled with speech therapy, physical therapy, fine and gross motor skills, testing, assessments, scans, talk therapy…lots and lots of all of that, plus nurses and doctors coming and going at all hours, poking, prodding, taking blood…
Today being release day, she's antsy as hell. Has been all day. Practicing with her crutches, going up and down the hallway outside her room, pausing to chat with whoever's at the nurses’ station, popping into other patients' rooms to hang out…restless, anxious, and difficult.
I've been assured all this is normal. Or, at least, normal for a fucked up situation.
We haven't talked about that day—her walking in on me and Amy. What she saw, or thought she saw.
It's funny—we barely knew each other before the accident, but out of necessity and desire I stepped in and took care of her. I've helped her to the bathroom. Fed her when her hands decide not to work. Gave her sponge baths when she couldn't stand up long enough to take a shower and helped her wash when she could. I've slept on a thin, hard folding cot for so long I'm not sure my back will ever be the same.
I wouldn't change any of it.
I know her, now.
I know her moods. I can tell when she's about to blow a fuse over something—usually silly shit that’s just one thing too much for her frustration level—a tremor in her hand will make her spill her Jell-O and she'll burst into tears, or she can't make her mouth form the right word even though she has it in her brain or it comes out all twisted up and she'll have a fit of anger.
I know when she's exhausted and needs to rest. I'm getting better a understanding what she's trying to say—and still not so good at letting her get it out, right or wrong, instead of guessing to take the work out of it for her.
We talked about her college degree aspirations, her nomadic childhood with her mom. We talked about how she never knew her father and doesn't want to. We talked about how she wants kids someday—in the future. Two or three, she thinks. Boys, girls—doesn’t matter. She's not sure about settling into a house, though. Being in the hospital for two weeks is the longest she's been anywhere but her bus in many years—even in California, she, Faye, and Faye's family took trips together, so she wasn't just in LA the whole time.
We talk about Faye a lot. Those weeks in LA with her, watching her fade from a hale, sassy, sprightly old woman to a fragile little thing, tired, eyes dim, often lost in memory. Waking up one morning and finding her gone, having passed in her sleep.
We talked about her actual grandmother—GramGram. She and her mom would spend a week at a time throughout the year in Florida with her GramGram, and according to Ember, those were always her favorite weeks. She told me she dreamed of running away from her mom and going to live with her grandmother. That was never a real possibility, though, as her grandmother lived in an assisted living facility. Not a great place for a kid.
I told her about my parents, although I tried to spend more time listening than talking.
Glaring at the wheelchair like it’s her arch enemy, Ember sighs. "Fine. Last ride in that tham ding." A huff. "Motherfucker. Damn thing I mean."
That's her most stubborn speech issue—flipping words around or mixing them up like that. It annoys her to fits of rage.
Willa moves for her, but Ember glares at her until she holds her hands out in surrender. Wedging the crutches in her armpits, Ember levers upright on her good leg, wobbles, and catches herself—glaring at all of us, daring us to help; we don't. Pivoting and hopping backward, Ember lowers herself into the wheelchair and lays her crutches across her knees.
"Ready, missy?" Willa asks.
Ember's head snaps around. “ Do not call me that. Ever."
Willa rears back in surprise. "I…okay. I’m sorry."
Now tearful, Ember sniffles. "No, I'm sorry, Willa." She paws at her face. "I'm sorry. It's just…a very dear friend of mine used to call me that, and she, um…she died right before the accident."
Willa bends to hug Ember from behind. "I had no idea—I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hit on a sore spot."
Ember pats Willa's forearms where they're wrapped around her shoulders. "Of course you didn't." She sighs. "Okay. Let's go."
Cole and Riley brought my truck to the hospital yesterday, and now it's idling in the pickup-dropoff line of the main entrance. I follow behind Willa and Ember as we make our way from Ember's room to the elevator; Ember makes Willa stop at several rooms on the way so she can say goodbye to her new friends. We reach the automatic sliding doors to find the whole crew waiting with cards, flowers, oversized teddy bears, and, in Nyx's case, a small handbell.
Ember covers her face with her hands, shoulders shaking; she bends at the waist, putting her face to her knees for a moment. Everyone here—Cole, Nyx, Riley, Bear, Noelle, and the Cartwright sisters—have visited her just about every day since the accident, and I know she's gotten particularly close with Noelle and the sisters.
"You guys," Ember whispers, voice shaky and eyes streaming tears. "This is ridiculous. Too much fuss."
Cole is the first to approach her, handing her a bouquet of colorful flowers. He kneels in front of her wheelchair, presses the flowers into her hands, and leans forward to whisper in her ear for a moment. Ember nods, sniffling, and kisses his cheek.
The bastard has the gall to go and blush like a fourteen-year-old virgin.
Riley is the one with the giant teddy bear—it obscures him as he holds it. He peeks his head around the side of the absurd thing, grinning at Ember. Playfully, he sets it on her lap, but it's so huge its arms and legs trail on the ground.
"Riley, you're such a fucking goofball," Ember laughs. "What am I supposed to do with this thing?"
"I dunno, snuggle it when my brother's being an obnoxious bitch-cake?" Riley answers.
"Bitch-cake," Ember echoes, snickering. "I'm stealing that one."
Lainey and Layla give her a gift certificate to their cafe—instead of a dollar amount, however, the certificate only bears a sideways 8…the infinity symbol.
Ember hugs them both at the same time. "You guys—what? I got in a wreck, I didn't, like, cure world hunger. Good grief."
Nyx is next, handing her the handbell, the handle of which he's tied a red ribbon. "So you can summon Felix whenever you need something."
I fake a glare. "Wow, Nyxie, thanks. Super helpful.”
He flips me off. "It's not for you …bitch-cake."
I glare at my brother next. "Look what you started, asshole."
Bear and Noelle approach next, each bending to hug her.
"We didn't get you anything," Noelle says, "but I'm gonna be bringing by dinners for you guys, since according to Riley, Felix can't cook for shit."
I tip my head back, sighing. "How did this become a make-fun-of-Felix contest?”
Riley shoots me double finger guns. "I mean, every day is a make-fun-of-Felix contest—you just make it so easy."
Nyx leans in again, stage-whispering. "The bell is just for funsies, by the way. Your real gift is waiting in Felix's driveway."
Ember's eyes widen. "Pumpkin?" Her voice is filled with excited hope.
"Yeah, I fixed 'er up for you," he answers, grinning at her. “You know, I've been wrenching since I was old enough to hold a wrench, and that bus of yours is probably the most incredibly well-maintained vehicle I've ever seen."
Ember grips his hand. "I can't thank you enough, Nyx."
He rolls his eyes and clears his throat. “Yeah, well, it's selfish. I'm hoping you'll stick around once you're healed, mostly because when you're around, my boy Fee is less of a bitch-cake."
"Hear, hear!" Riley says, amid the laughter of everyone else.
"My god," I sigh. "Really? What the fuck even is a bitch-cake?"
"You," Nyx, Riley, and Cole all say in perfect unison.
More raucous laughter greets this. But when I glance at Ember, I can tell she's getting overwhelmed and emotional and wants to escape.
I step forward. "I think we oughta get her—" I almost say home, but stop myself. "Back to the house. I appreciate all of you."
Riley straps the giant teddy bear into the bed of my truck while I help Ember climb up into the cab and buckle her in. A few minutes later, everyone has said their goodbyes, and we're heading toward my house.
Once we're off the hospital campus, Ember rests her head against the seatback with a ragged sigh. "Thanks for getting me out of there, Fee. Your friends are amazing. I just—"
"They're your friends now, too," I tell her. "But they can be a lot."
"I've never really had a friend group," she whispers. "I don’t know how to…" she shrugs. "I don't know how to be a person who lives in one place and has all these friends."
"They don't expect anything from you, Ember," I tell her. "They like you for you. So just be you."
She glances at me. "Fee, you've been—"
I cover her mouth with my hand. "Nope. We are not doing that. Not now."
She blinks hard. "But there are things we need to talk about."
"Sure. But not now." I take her hand. "Right now, we get you settled. Doc said it'll be a few months of PT and rehab and all that before you're totally clear to go back to life as normal."
She works her jaw, shaking her head and fighting tears. "I don't think my life will ever go back to normal, Fee." She groans. "God, I fucking hate being so emotional all the goddamn time."
I just squeeze her hand. She withdraws her hand from mine and wipes at her face, sniffing a few times and then shaking her head like a dog shaking off water.
"Ugh. Okay." She takes my hand in both of hers, rubbing her thumb over my knuckles. "I have to say this. So just let me, please."
"If you say thank you, we're fighting," I say.
She stares at me for a moment. “Of course I'm gonna say thank you, Felix. I…I…I don't know where I'd be without you. You've been there with me at every turn since the wreck, and now you're letting me live with you while I start the real recovery…I just…"
"Ember—"
"No, look—I know you don't wanna talk about what happened. And my memory is still pretty fuzzy. I almost don't care what happened. You've been there for me when I needed someone in my corner the most." She kisses my knuckles. "So yes—thank you. You don't owe me anything. And I…I don't even know what we are, Fee. I just know that…that I care about you deeply and I'm grateful to have met you."
My throat goes tight and hot. "I care about you, too."
"But we're talking about it soon, Fee. Right?"
I shrug. "Sure."
She laughs. "Very convincing response."
"I just think you need to focus on getting better."
"And I think it's equally important that I understand what happened and why. My emotions are all mixed up and complicated and I need to understand." She pauses. "Besides, if we don't talk about it, how are we supposed to move forward together?"
"I…"
"You do want to move forward together with me, don't you?" she asks.
"Yeah, but…once we talk about it, things might change. For you."
We pull up to my driveway, and I park behind Pumpkin—mercifully, our arrival puts off the rest of that discussion.
Ember shoves open her door and wiggles to the edge of the seat. "Help me out, Fee, I need to see her."
I shut off the motor and circle the hood to stand in the doorway. She reaches for me, her arms wrapping around my neck as mine go around her waist. I lift her out of the cab but don't immediately set her down; her big silver eyes pierce mine, fraught with a complicated swirl of emotions. Her lips are close, her breath warm.
God, I want to kiss her.
I don't.
I don't know where we are in our relationship. I don’t know what she wants. I don't know how she'll feel after she finds out why she wrecked. That it's my fault.
I set her on her feet, hand her the crutches, and step back. I wish the disappointment on her face when I don't kiss her was less obvious.
She searches me for a moment and then closes her eyes, letting out a breath before turning to her bus.
She crutches along the left side, touching a sticker here and there before stopping at the driver's door. She braces against the van's body and holds both crutches in one hand while opening the door, hops forward a few steps, and then climbs up to sit behind the wheel, her cast-encumbered left leg hanging out.
I dig her keys out of my pocket and hand them to her. "Here. Start her up."
She bites her lower lip in anticipation, and then inserts the key and turns over the engine; it catches immediately, settling into a healthy, humming idle. "God, she sounds amazing!"
"Nyx is a miracle worker," I answer. "He and his guys totally rebuilt your original engine and transmission from the top down and the inside out, plus he overhauled your suspension, did the brakes, some underbody rust mitigation, and put in a new radio faceplate."
She covers her mouth, eyes shimmering. "Fee… what ? Are you serious ? That's—fuck me, Felix. That's tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of work." She touches the radio faceplate. "That original radio looked cool but it didn't work for shit."
"That's Nyxie for you," I say. "Doesn't do anything by halves."
"How much do I owe him? Even just parts is—"
I laugh. "Good luck with that. If you even so much as bring up paying him, he'll get pissy. It's a gift, Ember."
She shakes her head. “No. No. It's too much. And—why? What did I do to deserve…any of this?"
" Deserve doesn't have shit to do with it, babe," I answer. "They're just good people. They care. And they've decided to adopt you into the gang, it would seem. And no matter what Nyx said about me, in reality it's got nothing to do with me. They just like you."
She holds the steering wheel, not bothering to hide her tears. "I remember Cole's face. After the accident. I was…" She closes her eyes, rests her forehead between her hands on the wheel. "I was suspended sideways—the car was on its passenger side. I—I couldn't breathe—I remember that. I was bleeding. Everything hurt. I was—I was so scared." I can barely hear her. "I knew I was going to die, and I didn't want to. I didn't want to."
"Em," I whisper.
She doesn't hear me. "I felt myself fading." She rolls her head side to side, groaning. "I told everyone I don't remember this part, but I do. I just…I wish I didn't. Knowing you're dying…it's the scariest thing you can ever imagine. And then I heard a siren. Tires. Feet. And then Cole was there. He laid down on the ground in the broken glass and my blood and held my hand and talked to me until the firefighters got there. He kept me awake. Kept me talking." She's speaking through tears; she sits up, tips her head back, and talks with closed eyes, dripping tears from her chin. "I don't remember what he said, what I said—I just remember him laying there beneath me, holding my hands and…staying with me while they cut me out."
"That's Cole for you," I murmur.
She looks at me finally. "Fee, please. Just fucking tell me what happened."
"Fuck. Now?"
She nods, wiping at her face. " Please , Felix. I've compartmentalized and repressed and avoided thinking about it for two weeks. I can't do it anymore. I have to know, and no matter how fucking hard I wrack my brain, I can't remember." A pause. "All I've got is that it's got something to do with—shit. I knew her name. Your ex. A-something. I remember feeling angry. Just…not why."
"Amy," I mutter. "Her name is Amy."
"Amy, right."
I go around to the passenger side and climb in beside Ember. Leave the door open. Trace the outlines of the plethora of stickers covering the dashboard in front of the passenger seat—breweries, distilleries, dispensaries, farmer's markets, sustainable clothing brands, eco-friendly co-op grocery stores, band logos…
I let out a long sigh. "The short version is that you came back from LA in the middle of the night—or, actually, it was early morning. Like four, I think. You walked in like you had something to say to me. But Amy was there. And it—you assumed, based on what you saw, that something either had happened, was happening, or was about to happen between us."
She's silent for a long time—almost a minute. "The way you're phrasing that suggests nothing did happen."
“No, Ember, I swear—nothing happened."
"But it looked like it did."
“Yeah, I…yeah. It definitely would’ve looked like I..”
She nods, looking at me. "I'm gonna need the long version, Fee."
“I know. But how about we go inside and get settled first?" I suggest.
Ember sighs. "Okay." She glances at the ground outside the vehicle near her foot and then at me. "I'm gonna need help getting down."
"Got you."
I help her out of the bus and precede her to the side door and into the kitchen. She swings into the kitchen and then the living room, eying my front door.
“Fixed your door, I see."
I snort. "Yeah, long time ago." I gesture at the couch. "Have a seat—I’ll bring everything in."
She sighs. "Felix, I can help."
I give her a droll stare. "I'm sure you could, if you had to, but you don't."
She ducks her head. "I hate feeling useless. I hate…needing help."
"You're not useless—you're injured and in recovery."
She nods, head hanging. "I know, I know. It just sucks."
"When I was…oh, shit—twenty-one, I think, I fell off a roof," I tell her. "Broke an arm, a leg, and several ribs. I was stuck flat on my ass at my dad's house for almost four months before I could go back to work full time. And the hardest part of the recovery was having to ask for help for the simplest shit. Getting dressed, opening a jar, getting into and out of cars. Yeah, it fuckin' sucks—no two ways about it."
"Aren't you supposed to be, like, harnessed or something when you're on a roof?"
I laugh. "Of course—OSHA standard is harnesses on any roof over six feet…which is all of them. I wasn't supposed to be working on the roof that day, though—didn't even have a harness. Two of the roofers were cousins and their family member died unexpectedly, so I had to fill in. Like a dumbass, I figured I didn't need a harness." I laugh again. "Spoiler alert—I needed one."
I bring her stuff in—bags, purse, and the giant stupid bear that takes up most of my living room.
Ember is laying down on the couch, staring at the ceiling. When I finish bringing in her things, I sit at her feet and lift them onto my lap.
"Comfy couch," she says. "I don't mind sleeping here, if…"
"You really think I'd make you sleep on the couch?" I ask, frowning at her. "What kind of a dick do you take me for?"
She twitches a shoulder. "I dunno. You're not a dick. I just don't want to…y'know. Assume anything."
"Well, funny you should say that," I tell her. "Because I also didn't want to assume, so I redid my spare bedroom."
"Redid it?" she asks. "Meaning what? And when? You never left the hospital."
“It was a home office for doing paperwork and stuff. And Bear did it for me. Well, for you, for me."
"Fee, you shouldn't have given up your home office."
"Nah. I never used it." I point at a small desk in the corner of the living room, on which is my laptop, a printer, a Crowe Contracting mug of pens and pencils and highlighters, and a few other odds and ends. "That's all I really need. A whole room was wasted space, and now I have a guest room."
She doesn't respond for a while, just looking at me. "What do you want? Like, where do you want me to sleep?"
We're dancing around the real issue.
"I just want you to be comfortable," I say. "I know there's a lot of…unfinished stuff between us. But right now the priority is getting you better."
"You didn't answer the question, Felix." She swings her legs off my lap and pivots to sit up beside me, tugging her hair out of the loose, low ponytail and shaking it out.
"I don't know, and that's the truth." I shake my head, glancing at her. "It's all…complicated. I'm no less attracted to you than ever, obviously, and of course I want to be close to you. But I'm worried that if we're in the same bed that things would get complicated and…I dunno. I dunno. I want you. But I don't want you to think that by staying here while you recuperate that you're, like…obligated to be with me. Maybe you feel differently. Maybe you will once I tell you everything."
She slides a hand between her cast and her leg, growling in irritation as she tries to scratch herself. "Fucking itches where I can't reach." She yanks her hand out and sits on it. "So tell me everything."
"Well, you need backstory for it to make sense," I say.
"I'm not going anywhere," Ember says.
"Amy and I were…" I roll my eyes. "The 'it' couple in high school, I guess. Most likely to get married first. Prom king and queen. Y'know, the whole small-town sweethearts thing. I had offers to play football and baseball from U of M."