42. Callie
42
CALLIE
The moment Torren and my mom leave the room, Glory turns to me with wide, apologetic eyes.
“I’m so, so sorry for scaring you before, Cal. I didn’t know what to say. I froze and I made it worse and?—”
“Glory, no. You didn’t do anything wrong. Honestly. I was disoriented and confused. I barely even remember it.”
Her face twists into a frown. “But we’d been waiting for days for you to wake up, and then when you did, I freaked you out and then they had to put you back under. I thought for sure Torren would flip.”
I furrow my brow. “Did he?”
“No. He said it wasn’t my fault. But still. I feel like an asshole.”
“You’re not an asshole, Glory Bell...” My lips twitch with a small smirk. “Well, not about this, anyway.”
Her face goes flat and unamused. “Ha. Ha. Ha.”
I smile and suppress a yawn. It’s only been two days since I woke up, and I’ve only spent a matter of hours actually awake, but it feels like I’ve gone a week straight without sleep.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Glory jumps from her perch at the end of my bed and digs through the large duffle bag my mom brought with her. She pulls out a phone and hands it to me. “The old one was...” She grimaces. I get it. The old one was ruined in the seven-car pile-up. “Well, anyway, this is your new one. We transferred your number and contacts and everything. It’s working. ”
“Thank you, Glor.” I tap the screen on, then promptly tap it back off again when I see over three hundred text messages and missed calls. “Jesus.”
“Yeah, it’s been blowing up. We’ve already blocked a bunch of reporter numbers, too, but the texts are all legit.”
I take a deep breath and drop the phone on my lap. “I’ll start going through them later.”
Torren and my mom reappear in the doorway with bags of takeout from a local clean-eating restaurant. I have to eat foods that are “gentle” right now, so they are all doing it in solidarity. It’s kind of them, but what I really want is a giant cheeseburger or a greasy slice of pizza. Instead, I am handed a leafy salad, light on the dressing, with unseasoned chicken and a dairy-free fruit smoothie. It’s delicious despite not being what I want.
“Oh, Sav wants to know if you’ll be up for visitors on Monday,” Torren says through bites of salad. “I told her probably not, but she threatened my life if I didn’t ask.”
I furrow my brow realizing I have absolutely no concept of time at the moment. “What day is it?”
“It’s Saturday.”
Saturday . I don’t know if I’ll ever wrap my head around just how many days I spent unconscious. I force a smile and nod.
“I’d actually love to see her. Mabel and Jonah, too?”
I don’t miss the way Torren doesn’t make eye contact when he answers. “Yeah, Mabel will come. Jo probably won’t, though. He’s got some shit going on.”
I wrestle down the questions circling my brain. I think there’s a lot I’m still unaware of, and I get the feeling Torren is choosing to reveal all the details slowly. I both hate it and appreciate it. Damn him for already knowing me so well.
“Ezra has started texting me, too,” Glory chimes in. “He and the guys want to come see you. I told him to stop texting me and to wait for you to contact him. He’s worse than Torren King with the whole need for constant attention thing.” She waves her hand in Torren’s direction. “The dog, obviously, not you.”
Torren snorts out a laugh and shrugs. “I mean, sometimes me.”
I don’t comment on their exchange as I pick up my phone and send Sav a text.
Me
I’d definitely be down for visitors. Fair warning, I look like I’ve been in a severe car accident.
Sav Loveless
Breaking out the dark humor? You must be feeling better.
Feeling alive, at least. Can you do me a favor when you come?
Anything.
Can you bring me some hair clippers? Like the kind a barber would use?
Consider it done. See you soon!
“Traveling barbers, at your service.”
Mabel comes skipping into the hospital room in a pair of lime green faux-leather shorts, a Van Halen shirt, and black combat boots. She looks like she just walked off the stage. It’s a direct contrast to the men’s sweats and slouchy tee Sav is sporting behind her.
Sav smirks, then flares her eyes, letting out a low whistle as she scans my face. “You weren’t kidding, Cal.”
I laugh lightly, tension disappearing from my body the moment she cracks the joke. I didn’t realize how worried I was that they’d tiptoe around me. I’m already metaphorically climbing the hospital walls. I want out, and I want things to go back to normal. Or, well, as normal as they possibly can, now.
“Told you,” I say with a grimace. “At least seven cars.”
“But alive,” she adds with a tilt of the head. I mimic the move.
“Alive, indeed.” I wince. “Sorry about your car, by the way.”
Sav waves me off. “Don’t even stress over it. Promise. I won’t miss it. I’m just glad you’re awake now.”
She and I share a smile, one that fixes something small inside me, and then Mabel breaks the silence .
“So, what are we shaving?” She sets a pair of hair clippers on the foot of my bed, then waggles her eyebrows. “Your pussy?”
“Jesus, Mabes.” Torren groans just as a choking sound comes from the side of the room. Sav and Mabel turn toward the noise to find my sister sitting wide-eyed on the couch.
“Oh shit. Sorry.” Mabel scrunches her nose, flicking her eyes to me before looking back at Glory. “I didn’t see you. I didn’t actually think we were going to shave her, uh, vulva.”
Sav barks out a laugh, then sticks her hand out for my sister to shake.
"You must be Cal’s sister, Glory. I’m Sav, and this is Mabel. Thanks for letting us crash your family time.”
Glory just nods silently as she shakes Sav’s hand. I don’t think she even blinks, but Sav is unfazed. She just smiles, then turns back to me.
“Where’s your mom?”
“Physical therapy. She got it moved here while I’m in the hospital. She refuses to leave.”
Sav grins, then waves her hand around my head. “So... I’m guessing you want us to fix this ? Are you sure? It’s very rock and roll.”
I sigh and shake my head. “Please, god, shave it off.”
Mabel salutes me. “On it.”
Sav and Mabel get to work shaving my head. They’re surprisingly gentle. I don’t know why I expected something else. They’ve never been anything but kind to me, but I guess the hard exteriors they portray to the world at large are still difficult to reconcile with their actual personalities sometimes.
When the first chunk of my hair falls to the floor, I make eye contact with Torren. I’m worried I’ll see a frown on his face, but he’s smiling like he means it. Like he truly isn’t bothered that his girlfriend is shaving off all her hair while sporting large, unsightly injuries on her face and head. He smiles like he’s just happy to be here with me, and damn if that doesn’t do wonders for my confidence.
“Voila.” Mabel hands me a compact mirror when they’re finished. “What do you think? I like it. Very Sinéad O’Connor.”
Sav nods in agreement. “It’s pretty badass.”
I take a deep breath and open the mirror, then rip off the proverbial Band-Aid. I move the mirror from side to side, surveying my head from different angles. I avoid my face. I don’t look directly at the wound on my scalp either. I keep my assessment focused solely on the haircut. It’s just a haircut. My red tresses will grow back. It’s not like it’s an important facet of my personality. It’s not like it’s my ability to play piano... I squeeze my eyes shut and give my head a shake to derail that train of thought. Then, I pretend I’m in a salon and force myself to remain objective.
“I don’t hate it, actually.”
I snap the compact closed and hand it back to Mabel. It’s weird seeing the half of my head that’s not sliced open and bruised. It’s pale and untouched, and from the right side it almost looks like nothing happened. The buzzed head could easily pass as a fashion choice. To anyone who can’t see my left side, anyway. But I mean it. I truly don't hate it.
“Low-key was worried your head would be lumpy or misshapen or something.”
I narrow my eyes at my sister, and she throws up her palms.
“What? I was. I’m just saying it looks good. It’s totally normal and round. Hooray.”
Sav and Mabel crack up laughing, which gets me laughing. It makes my stomach and head and arm ache, but it also feels good. It feels cathartic. It feels like some of the weeks’ worth of pain are being purged from my body with each rumble of my chest and gust of air from my lungs.
We spend the next few hours talking and laughing. They don’t ask me about my arm, and I’m grateful for that. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to think about it. And for the time they’re here, I almost don’t.
After a while, Damon drives Glory back to the hotel where she’s been staying with my mom. I didn’t even realize Damon was here, but apparently, he’s been camping out in the lobby and shuttling my mom and sister to and from the hospital every day. Craig, too. Just another thing Torren didn’t disclose right away. He probably knew I’d feel bad. I do.
When Sav and Mabel stand from their chairs, I look at the clock. It’s nearly ten. I didn’t even realize it was past visiting hours. They kept me entertained and distracted, and without the distraction, I’m left to my own thoughts. My heart sinks. My thoughts always come back to my injuries and my uncertain future with music. The train of thought always starts rolling again.
“Thank you so much for coming and spending today with me,” I say honestly. “It was really great to see you guys.”
“Of course,” Mabel says. “As soon as we knew you were awake, we chartered the jet.”
“The jet?” I furrow my brow just as Mabel’s eyes go wide. She flicks her eyes to Torren, so I do the same, and I find him frowning at her. Then he looks at me, and his face falls. “Why did you need to charter the jet?” I look between the three members of The Hometown Heartless currently looking guilty in my hospital room, and my anger flares. I’m so sick of tiptoed around. I’m so sick of being remind just how fragile I am. “Would someone just fucking tell me what’s going on?”
Sav and Mabel both look to Torren, and he sighs. “It’s the last few American shows.”
“Oh.” My stomach twists, and I have to breathe past the sting of tears that overwhelm me. “Right. Of course. You’ve got to finish the tour. Yeah.” I smile at Torren. “I can’t wait to watch you on the live streams.”
Torren worries his lower lip. “Baby... they’re touring. Not me.”
“What? Why not?”
When Torren doesn’t explain, Sav speaks up. “Well...I think this is a conversation that is best had without us, yeah, Mabes?”
“Yep. Agreed.” Mabel and Sav approach my bed, and each give me awkward side hugs to avoid bumping my left arm. “We’ll be back soon, okay?”
“Yeah.” I nod and take my eyes off Torren long enough to tell them goodbye. “Thanks again. Travel safe.”
The second they’re out the door, I’m on him. “Explain. How are they touring without you?”
“They have a backup bassist right now.”
“Who? Why? How is that possible? You can’t skip the tour because of me. That’s ridiculous.”
“It’s Becket Walker. He’s doing it because we asked him to, and he said yes. And, Firebird, what’s ridiculous is you thinking I would want to be anywhere other than here.” He steps forward, holding me with intense eye contact, and crouches by my bed. “The sooner we finish this tour, the sooner we’re out of our contract. None of us wanted to postpone, but I wasn’t willing to leave you, and honestly, no one wanted me to. We all agreed that getting someone to fill in for me was the best option.”
“And you went with Becket ?” The whole concept is strange to me, but Torren shrugs.
“Yeah. He’s been doing a good job, as far as I hear.”
I sit with the news for a few breaths, considering everything. It’s just...it’s just overwhelming, and I start to cry. I’ve cried so much in the last few days that if it weren’t for the IV, I’d probably be dehydrated.
But...
It’s also been so fucking long since someone has taken care of me. Since I’ve been in a position where someone has been able to make me a priority.
I don’t resent my mom for her stroke. I don’t regret coming home and taking over so I could care for Mom and Glory. But fuck, it was so lonely. It was exhausting. To know that Torren has given up touring so he can sit by my bedside while I heal...it’s everything .
My guilt is consumed by my gratitude. By the absolute relief I felt when he told me he wasn’t leaving me.
“Thank you,” I whisper, and he smiles.
“I love you, Calla Lily Sunrise James. Anywhere you are is where I want to be.”
“I hear you’re being discharged tomorrow.”
A tall man with dark curly hair and a white coat stands at the door to my hospital room. He smiles at me with dazzling white teeth, and Torren hops up to shake his hand in one of those low-five type moves.
I smile between them, confused, and the man laughs.
“Apologies. I should introduce myself.”
He closes the space between the door and my bed in three strides, his long legs eating up the distance confidently. Something about him makes me relax and brings a smile to my face. If it weren’t for the fact that I know without a doubt that I would remember a face like his, I’d swear I knew him from somewhere.
“I’m Jesse.” He sticks out his hand to shake mine. “I’m supposed to introduce myself as Dr. Hernandez-Calligaris, but that’s a bit of a mouthful, so you can call me Jesse.”
I clear my throat as he releases my hand. “Um. Hi. I’m Callie.”
He laughs again and gives me another one of his magnetic smiles. “I’ve been the lead surgeon on your case. You’ll be seeing me again in a month for a follow-up, also.”
“Oh.” I widen my eyes and glance at Torren, then back at Dr. Hernandez-Calligaris. “Did you do this?” I gesture to the wounds on the left side of my face and head where my skin had to be sutured back together.
“No. Actually, that was done by Dr. Vanessa Hernandez. Torren pulled some strings and got her out of semi-retirement. She’s got the steadiest hands of anyone I know.” He winks at me. “And I’m not just saying that because she’s my mom.”
I must gape at him because he chuckles. “I know. I don’t look a day over twenty-three.”
“Wow.”
“Wow, indeed. I’m an orthopedic surgeon, but I specialize in hands, specifically.”
“He’s the best in his field, too,” Torren says with a grin. “Don’t let him pretend he’s humble.”
“I get it from my mom.” The doctor shrugs with a sly smile that matches Torren’s. “I was hoping to take a look at your arm and have a chat with you about your case before they get your cast on tomorrow. Next steps, what to expect, et cetera.”
“Yeah, sure. I’d love that, actually.”
As the doctor unwraps my arm, he explains each incision and why it’s there. The plates in my arm. The bone grafting and pins in my hand. The repair work he conducted on two of my tendons. As he speaks, I have to force myself not to disassociate. I have to remind myself over and over that he’s talking about me. This is my arm. This is my hand. These precise, straight incisions are on my skin. Several times, I have to swallow back bile .
“You’ll need extensive physical therapy,” he tells me as he wraps my arm again. “Torren tells me you play piano.”
I nod. “Yeah. I do.”
I did.
“I kept that in mind during surgery. You had a serious injury here, Callie, and I want to be completely honest with you?—”
“I won’t play again.”
“Now, I didn’t say that. In fact, I’m sure you’ll be able to play again after physical therapy...”
My heart soars. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling as the doctor continues to speak.
“...but I can’t be certain what level of dexterity and movement you’ll recover. We’re going to do all that we can, but right now, I can’t promise that you’ll be able to play anything that requires extensive flexibility or precision.”
The hope that had been building collapses as my breath turns to cement. I run through the hundreds of pieces in my head. I focus on the left-hand, on the bass notes, and my heart breaks all over again.
Basically, he’s excluding almost everything except beginner-level pieces. Maybe some intermediate. In a way, it almost feels worse than never playing at all. Guilt surges and coils in my chest with the sorrow.
“Right. Of course.” I choke out. “I’m sorry. I know I should be grateful that I’ll be able to play at all. I should just be grateful to be alive.”
“Callie, you’re allowed to be upset about this. You’re allowed to mourn the life you had before the accident, no matter how much it’s changed. It’s normal, and completely acceptable. Expected, even.”
I look up into the doctor’s eyes. Browns and greens swirl together in his irises. They’re sincere. He’s not just placating me. It makes me feel a little better about thinking my passion has been ripped from my life without mercy.
“Thank you,” I say honestly. “I appreciate everything you’ve done.”
“You’re welcome.” He smiles again, then gestures to Torren. “Your fiancé got me out of bed at midnight and chartered a jet from Chicago so I could be the surgeon that took care of you. I’m honored to help.”
When the doctor leaves with a plan to see me in three weeks, I turn my attention to Torren. He’s smirking, but he almost looks bashful. I arch a brow, and he talks without me even having to ask.
“I told them I was your fiancé. They wouldn’t tell me anything and your mom can’t drive, so Damon had to go pick her up, but it was taking forever because of the accident clean up on the freeway, and I was going out of my mind. I’m not sorry for doing it, and I would do it again. It was the only way I knew about your hand, and it’s why I was able to make all those calls.”
I stare him down for a minute, but I don’t bother trying to hide the smile that curves my lips. I also don’t fight the tears that, once again, well in my eyes.
“Thank you. Seriously. I just...I don’t know what I would have done without you. You didn’t have to do it, but I’m so grateful you did.”
Something sad flickers in his green eyes, but it disappears quickly, and he smiles.
“I’m in love with you. Don’t you know that by now? I’d set myself on fire if I knew you’d rise from the ashes, Firebird. I would do anything for you. I’m in love with you. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good,” I whisper, my chest warming with the truth I hear in his words. “Me, too.”