Chapter 11 #2
I still liked to give her a hard time for it, not that I cared. Most of the time, Bacon and Biscuit preferred to sleep in their dog beds anyway. And if they brought her comfort, well…then who was I to complain? It was exactly why I’d suggested that we adopt them in the first place—to comfort Bryn.
“They’re soft and cuddly. Sand is—” She scrunched up her face, and I tried not to laugh as I rinsed off my feet. “Gritty.”
When I finished, I sat back up, enjoying the warm water on my skin. I craved these quiet moments with Bryn, especially after the chaotic fun of the past few hours.
“Bear.” She slid her hand along the edge of the tub, her pinkie touching mine.
“Yeah?” I took it as an invitation and linked our fingers.
“Thank you.” Her voice echoed gently off the bathroom tiles.
“For what?” I asked.
“For being there for me.” She gave my hand a squeeze. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Bryn.” I smoothed my thumb across the back of her hand. “I’m not going anywhere.” I needed her to know that, to feel it. “Well, I am going to bed. And so are you.” I gave her hand a squeeze and then released it. “Come on.” I pulled the plug, watching the water as it spiraled around the drain.
I woke with a start, blinking my eyes open as I tried to remember where I was. The clock on the nightstand said it was four in the morning, and I squeezed my eyes shut in frustration. Why?
As always, my mind started spinning. I thought about Frasier and how much had happened since we’d arrived in Anguilla. How much had changed in such a short span of time. And thoughts of my relationship with Frasier inevitably led to thoughts about Derek, as they so often did when I couldn’t sleep.
I lay there, trying to settle my mind and to focus on something else. Anything else. Any efforts to get comfortable again were useless. It didn’t matter how exhausted I was; my body wasn’t going back to sleep. And the more I tried, the louder my thoughts became.
Derek—alone in a hotel room. He’d just won a game and was staying on the opposite side of the country. I wondered if he’d tried to call for help or if he’d even been able to. I wondered if he’d been in pain. If he’d been scared.
It felt as if a fist were clenching my heart, as if my windpipe were being squeezed. I couldn’t…
Unable to handle it anymore, I slid out of bed and tiptoed over to peer out the French doors. I didn’t dare open them for fear of waking Frasier, but I couldn’t stay in bed either. I rested my forehead against the glass pane of the door, closing my eyes as I focused on my breathing.
I knew this was a bad idea. I knew I should’ve pushed harder for a separate room. But selfishly, I was glad Frasier was here, even if I was trying not to wake him. It made me feel less alone.
There was shuffling, and then Frasier said, “Can’t sleep?”
I continued looking outside, even as I sensed him standing behind me. “No,” I whispered, grateful he’d interrupted my thoughts. “Sorry I woke you.”
“Can I help?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know if anyone can.”
I knew he had to be exhausted. We’d only gotten back from the bachelor/bachelorette party a few hours ago. But here he was, putting aside anything he was feeling to be there—for me.
“I’ll be fine,” I said, though it didn’t feel like it at the moment. That said, I’d been through this before—many times. It might not seem like it now, but I would be fine. “I don’t want you to lose sleep because of me.”
“Angel…” He placed his hand on my shoulder. His touch was warm and reassuring, solid and sure. He wasn’t going anywhere.
In the darkness, I found random thoughts spilling from my lips. “Do you ever feel like your body or your mind says one thing, but your heart says another?”
“I think most people experience that at some point or another. Why do you ask?”
“Because, lately, I feel like my heart or my body wants me to move forward with life, but my head will stop me.”
“Is that what’s keeping you awake?” he asked.
“Sort of. That’s part of it, I guess. My body is exhausted, and I know I need rest. But my mind keeps spinning, spinning, spinning.”
He slid his hand down my arm, and the touch was gentle and soothing. “Talk to me.”
I wasn’t sure I could or even wanted to. I hadn’t even shared some of these thoughts with my therapist. But I also knew not talking wasn’t working either. Lately, it felt as if I’d plateaued. I was stuck. I wanted to move forward, but something kept holding me back.
This trip was the first time in a while that I’d felt as if I’d made any progress. And then… Now…this.
I tried not to feel too discouraged, but it was disheartening.
“When I can’t sleep, it’s often because my mind goes to that night,” I admitted.
“I get it. I think about that night a lot too.” Frasier guided me over to the couch. He sank down onto it, tossing a blanket over my legs after I sat next to him. Then he grabbed my feet and pulled them into his lap. It didn’t matter that we were in Anguilla. Suddenly, it felt like we were home.
“I think about what it was like for Derek, in those final moments—” My voice broke, a tear sliding down my cheek.
“And I wonder not only why it happened, why his heart gave out all of a sudden. But also why, of all the times it could’ve happened, why it couldn’t have been on a night when I would’ve been there.
I’m a medical professional, for fuck’s sake.
” I jabbed my chest with my thumb. “I have the training. If I’d been there… ”
Frasier placed his hand on my knee, resting it there—heavy, reassuring. “Bryn.” His tone was full of both pain and sympathy. “What happened was awful, but no one could have saved him.”
“I hate that I’m even talking to you about this,” I continued, angrily swiping away a tear. “Because I know how much he meant to you. And the last thing I want is to hurt you.”
“You can always talk to me,” he said in a solemn tone. “About anything.”
I nodded. I knew that, but still…this conversation couldn’t be easy for Frasier. It was gut-wrenching.
The medical examiner had determined that Derek had suffered a sudden cardiac death. SADS happened when the heart’s electrical system malfunctioned, causing an arrhythmia that prevented effective blood pumping.
I knew it could occur with little to no warning.
I knew it could affect someone at any time—during exercise, at rest, or, like Derek, in sleep.
Just as I knew that it could result in death within minutes without immediate medical intervention.
That was the point my mind always snagged on—immediate medical intervention.
“I just… I don’t get it,” I huffed. “Like even now, eighteen months later, I still can’t understand it.”
Frasier’s touch was comforting. “I don’t understand it either. We will probably never understand it. But at some point, I knew I had to make my peace with it, as hard as it’s been.”
“I’ve tried.” The words felt as if they’d been ripped from my throat. “God, I’ve tried. But it just doesn’t make sense. I’ve asked the staff, teammates, everyone. Derek didn’t show any warning signs. No abnormal vitals. No chest pains. No fainting.”
“True,” Frasier said, but I sensed hesitation.
“What?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” He rubbed the back of his neck, and I could tell there was something he didn’t want to say.
I was terrified to find out what that was, but I also had to know the answer. “Please just tell me.”
“Just because none of us witnessed those symptoms doesn’t mean he never had them.”
I sucked in a jagged breath. “You think he was hiding them?”
“No.” Frasier let out a deep sigh, and he looked so…tired. Weighed down by a deep exhaustion, a heaviness. Then he said, “I don’t know. But if Derek didn’t tell anyone, there was no way we could know.”
I gnashed my teeth. “The autopsy also showed no structural abnormalities. None.”
“I know,” Frasier said. He’d been with me when I’d read the report. He’d gone with me to identify the body.
“He didn’t have an inherited disorder that could be linked to SADS.
” I tugged at my hair. “I get that it’s especially common in athletes and young people, but he was in the best shape of his life.
He was at the top of his career.” My chest was heaving.
“We’d just bought a house. We were going to start a family. ”
Frasier stilled, and I… I froze. Oh shit. I hadn’t intended to mention that.
“Bryn…” Frasier’s tone was soft yet guarded, as if he were tiptoeing across a frozen lake. Stepping carefully to avoid falling through the ice. “You were…” He swallowed hard. “Were you pregnant?”
I shook my head, wiping away another tear. “No, but we were trying.”
“I—” He closed his eyes briefly, and I was grateful to have a moment to gather myself. “Come here.” He shifted so I could get closer. “Come on, angel.”
I moved so I was nestled in his arms, allowing him to hold me. He was warm and comforting, his heart beating steadily in his chest.
“Jesus, Bryn. I had no idea.” His voice was gruff. “Thank you for telling me.”
I curled up against him, feeling safe in his arms. Depleted and exhausted, but also…lighter somehow.
“I get that you want there to be an explanation. So do I,” Frasier said, smoothing a hand over my hair. “But you can’t let this consume you.”
“I don’t want to let it consume me,” I admitted. “I’ve made so much progress, but lately, I feel stuck.”
“Why do you think that is?” he asked.
I lifted a shoulder. “I guess I feel like maybe if I can just make sense of it in my mind, I’ll be able to move past it.”
“That’s understandable. But you, of all people, know that a lot of times, medical things don’t make sense.”
“I know.” My shoulders slumped. Because I did know that, thanks to my job.
“A child with a brain tumor never makes sense. And sometimes, the prognosis is bleak, and yet, you do everything you can to give them the best possible chance at life, despite the odds.” He rubbed his thumb back and forth over my knee. “You make miracles happen every day.”
“I’m not sure I’d go that far,” I said.
“Don’t downplay what you do or the hope you give to your patients and their families,” he said. “We both know how important the mind is to the body’s recovery.”
I nodded. He was right. And I wasn’t trying to downplay what I did, but I was part of a team. We all had a role to play, especially the patients and their families. And sometimes, no matter what we tried, something didn’t work. It was heartbreaking and frustrating.
But then there were the times that treatment was even more successful than we’d hoped. That a patient’s outcome was better than we could’ve ever envisioned. And those truly did feel like miracles.
“I guess I just wish some of those miracles had rubbed off on Derek. I feel like…” I swallowed hard, struggling to admit this. “I feel like I let him down.”
“Bryn.” Frasier’s voice broke. “You didn’t let him down.” When I didn’t say anything, Frasier held me tighter. “You didn’t. I need you to know that. Because no one thinks that.”
“Maybe he thought that,” I whispered, confessing my deepest fear. “Maybe in his final moments, Derek wondered why I wasn’t there to help him.”
Frasier rubbed a hand over his eyes, clearing his throat before he spoke. “I can only believe that in his final moments, Derek was thinking of how much he loved you.”
I sobbed, soaking Frasier’s chest with my tears. I knew how much Derek had loved me. I had felt that love every day we were together, and even now, after he was gone. He was still with me, watching over me.
I clung to Frasier, and he held me, giving me the space to let it all out. To let go. All the while, he rubbed my back, whispering soothing words of support.
Eventually, when I had no more tears left, I let out a shaky sigh and rested my head against his chest, feeling calmer. I was emotionally wrung out, but it had been cathartic.
“Have you tried writing him letters?” Frasier asked.
“I…” I turned to look at him, only then realizing just how close our faces were. Our mouths. “No. Have you?”
He used his thumbs to dry my tears. Unlike my family, he didn’t look at me with pity, but understanding. We were in this together. And just that simple act made me feel less alone.
“If I’m really missing him or wish I could tell him something, I’ll call and listen to his voice on the phone before leaving a message.”
Somehow that did and didn’t surprise me, and I loved that Frasier wanted to continue talking to Derek, including him in his life, even if Derek was gone.
“Does it help?” I yawned, fighting to keep my eyes open.
“Sometimes, yeah.”
“Huh.” I hadn’t even thought to check Derek’s messages. I’d figured there was no point.
“But you could send him an email or write him a note. Whatever feels right to you.”
“And what would I do with it?” I asked, thinking it wasn’t as if I could actually give it to Derek.
“If it’s an email, send it to one of his old accounts. A letter—” He lifted a shoulder. “Keep it in a box or burn it. There are no rules.”
There are no rules, I thought. Wasn’t that the truth?