Chapter 36 The Wilderness
THE WILDERNESS
EMERY
I am not the same person today as I was last year, last month, last week.
Yesterday. Every day, every hour, I’m changing.
Whether it’s physical or emotional, a change is always occurring.
It’s change that makes us grow. Makes us brighter and lighter and able to overcome obstacles that, to our former selves, would be deemed impossible.
I am not my past. I am not my pain. But I am the product of endurance, of strength, of fucking knowledge and awareness.
The woman I was a year ago is a memory. But I’ll remember her.
I’ll confide in her and share with her. I’ll learn from her and cry for her.
She’s a part of me, but she is not who I am.
Not now. Not today.
And neither is Damon.
Quin squeezes my shoulder, forcing me to sit back down in my wheelchair as I lurch toward Josephine.
“What do you mean you’re not going to sign?!” I shift my gaze to Javier, baffled. “Is this a joke? He could die! Do you understand?”
Javier’s pained gaze flits to Damon, and he swallows.
“This boy has been through so much. Damon’s had everything taken from him…
” He looks down at his custom-made loafers.
Custom made because Damon’s family employed him.
Gave him a job. An income. A title. A fucking purpose.
“We cannot take this choice away from him.”
Josephine adjusts the silk scarf that’s wrapped around her ungrateful neck. She hasn’t been able to look at us since she waltzed inside the hospital room. Spineless woman.
“Please understand, Emery,” she says quietly. “It was not an easy decision to make but—”
“But nothing!” I grip the armrests of the wheelchair, knuckles white. “He sent that request over three years ago! Three fucking years! His family just died. His… Quin.” I peer up at him, begging. “Do something. You need to do something.”
Quin’s expression is hollow, blank in emotion. It’s as if in the last five minutes every light inside his heart has been flicked off, the power cut. All the rage, all the sorrow, everything…gone. He stands beside me a shell, an empty vessel that was once thriving and hopeful.
He’s not the same person he was a day ago. An hour ago.
I watch him closely, intently, willing for a spark of fight to flash in his baby blue eyes. Power outages are temporary. They’re not permanent. In the wake of disaster, it’s possible to rebuild. It’s necessary. For survival. For evolution. He can’t perish under their inaction.
“Please, Quin…” I snake my fingers around his wrist, muscles clamped and pleading. “Say something.”
He blinks, and I pray to all the deities residing in the grand universe that the next time I see his irises, they’re blazing with fire, that they’re burning with an inferno of determination, that they’re glowing with something other than resignation, passive acceptance of a horrifying fate.
“If God wills it, he will wake up,” Josephine says in a soft, timid tone as she twists a rosary between her fingers.
My veins thrum with disbelief. She smiles at me, and my gut twists and turns with the realization that she truly believes a higher power will right her wrong. “Have faith. He will wake up.”
“God?!” I expel a string of manic chuckles. “You are God right now, Josephine! You and Javier! You have the power. Right there,” I point to the pen and folder in Quinton’s hand, “on that piece of paper, you have the power to help him. Don’t you dare talk to me about any fucking God.”
Josephine tilts her head. “If it’s his time to go, he will not be alone. Do not worry about the after, dear Emery. If it is time, he will be with those he loves.”
I clench my teeth together. “Sign the fucking forms.”
Josephine sighs and then glances at Javier. “We will stay until he is awake, yes?”
“Or until he dies,” I grunt, anger stewing inside me as a fluttering sensation slightly jerks me forward. I gasp, placing a hand over my belly. This should be a magical moment. The first kick. But I know it’s because my son, our son, is enraged, equally fuming at the injustice.
“I am sorry, Miss Jones,” Javier says, shoulders slumped. “I know you do not understand our reasons, but we have known Damon much longer than you have. He is like a son to us, and we truly believe this is the right thing to do.”
“Knowing and believing are two different things, Javier. I know Damon wants to see his child grow up. I know that Damon deserves a second chance. I know that you’re making a huge mistake.” I glare up at him. “Your beliefs are going to kill him. I hope you can live with that.”
“I will live knowing I did as Damon desired,” Javier says. “It is the least I can do.”
“Get out,” I hiss, unable to spend a minute longer in their presence. “Now! Both of you!”
Josephine and Javier exchange a solemn look before silently exiting Damon’s room. The moment the door closes behind them, Quin staggers backward and collapses on a nearby armchair. He drops his head, burrowing his face into his palms.
I roll toward him, my heart aching.
“Quin…” I place a gentle hand on his knee as he sits frozen like a statue made of ice. “We need to do something. We need to fix this. Please, Quin… Please. Maybe we can call your father. He’s a lawyer. He’ll know what to do. He could help us, Quin. Maybe there’s a way around this. Maybe—”
“There’s nothing we can do.” His voice comes out a hoarse, tortured whisper. “I thought… I really thought that…”
“No!” I grab his hands and forcefully rip them away from his face.
His weary gaze remains fixed on the floor.
“Look at me, Quin! Look at me.” With a labored sigh, he flicks his eyes up at me, and I die a little inside.
Nothing. No spark. Not anymore. “Call your father. Send him the files. There must be something. This can’t be the end. It can’t.”
Damon’s vitals monitor beeps, each sound louder and more grave than the last. The rhythm of his heart fills the room like a devastating melody, a song of surrender.
“Emery…”
“Please!” I squeeze his hands like I’m gripping onto life itself. “Call him. Or I’ll call him. We can’t give up. You’re the one who told me that! You told me yesterday to have hope!”
Quin rips his hands out of mine, bones rattling as his entire body vibrates.
“That was before! That was before they…” And then the ice begins to melt, like a glacier thrust into the heart of the sun.
Tears roll down his cheeks, through his stubble, droplets of hope splattering on the tiled floor.
“Fuck… Fuck, Emery. Oh God. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I tried… I tried my best but…”
I fish my phone from my cardigan pocket and hand it to him.
“Call your father, Quin.” His shoulders shake as he ignores my request, and I shove the phone into his lap.
“This isn’t over. Not until we exhaust every single resource.
So, call Charles.” I pause, allowing Quin to catch his breath.
“We owe it to Damon to try everything. So, please, Quin. Don’t give up. ”
“I’m so tired, Emery,” he whispers, staring at the phone. “I’m so fucking tired.”
Because he’s had to be strong. He’s had to bear the weight of my disappointment, my fear, Damon’s struggles, our collective pain.
It’s been his burden. We loaded our trauma on his shoulders, and he’s carried it without a word, without complaint.
But the weight is too much for one man to carry alone.
I’ve been so selfish, so fucking oblivious to his struggles. Over time, every anchor rusts. And he’s withering away. Right before my eyes.
“It’s okay, Quin. It’s fine. It’s… It’s my turn now.” I reach for his hand and bring it to my lips. I kiss his knuckles, whispering affection against his skin. “I’ll carry it now.”
Quinton frowns as I dip into his jacket pocket to retrieve his cell phone.
He doesn’t fight it. He doesn’t stop me.
Scrolling through his contacts, I find Charles’s phone number and press the dial button.
The line rings. The time difference doesn’t appear to be an issue as Charles answers, and I hold my breath.
“Quinny? What is it? What’s wrong? Is Damon okay?”
I swallow, rolling a few feet away from Quinton. “Hello, Mr. Marquis, it’s Emery Jones. I… We need your help.”
“If this is about Damon’s power of attorney, Quinton’s already sent me a copy,” he says, tone apologetic. “I’ve shared the document with several of my associates, and unfortunately, we cannot find cause to void the DNR.”
“But,” I glance back at Quin, his head hanging low. “There must be—”
“My team has been awake for forty-eight hours, Emery,” Charles says. “We’ve combed over every clause, every paragraph, every sentence. Unless we can prove to the courts that Damon was not of sound mind when drafting and signing the document, there is nothing we can do.”
“Then—”
“We simply don’t have enough evidence, Emery,” Charles says. “And petitioning the courts could take months.”
My jaw clenches. “He doesn’t have months, Mr. Marquis.”
Charles swallows. “I’ve said this to my son, and I’ll say it to you. The only thing you can do right now is pray. I’m deeply sorry, Emery, I truly am. But we’re out of options. I’m…”
And we are.
Damon’s heart monitor begins to rapidly beep. Faster and faster and faster. The phone slips from my grasp and shatters on the floor as I stare at Damon, the walls closing in and suffocating me.
No…
Then, as if all the joy, all the laughter, all the good and holy is sucked out of the world, he flatlines, the harrowing sound ringing in my ears.
“No!” I scream, my heart fracturing into a million shards of longing. “No!” I whip my head at Quin. “No…”
In that split second, it happens. I see it.
A spark. A flame.
And then, as he bolts off his seat, a fucking fire.
I gasp as Quinton leaps past me and springs onto Damon’s bed, straddling his hips. Quin locks his elbows together, and with vicious refusal and vibrant hope, he pumps the heel of his hand into the center of Damon’s chest, into his heart, and I fall in love all over again.
"One, two, three, four..." Quinton mutters to himself.
My knees quiver, and if I weren’t already seated, I’d sink to the goddamn floor.
The doors to Damon’s room swing open and hordes of doctors and nurses pour inside, mounting voices commanding Quinton to stop. He ignores them, his focus unwavering.
"Five, six, seven, eight..." Each compression is a desperate prayer, a plea to the universe. “One, two, three, four…”
My eyes glaze over momentarily, and then they’re in front of me. Javier and Josephine stare at Damon, pale and trembling.
"Sign the forms! Sign the forms or he'll die!" My voice is raw, cracking with despair as I scream at them. “He’s dying! You can’t just stand there and watch him die!”
The longest recorded case of an individual surviving by way of CPR is six hours. They were in the wilderness. No life support. No hospitals.
We’re surrounded by machines.
Technology.
Doctors.
And yet, here we are, in the wild.