Chapter Seventy-One
AJ
Five hours and twenty-three minutes pass before the double doors finally swing open.
Dr. Ellicott, dressed in green scrubs with a flowered cap covering her black hair, steps through the double doors and scans the waiting room.
“Mr. Stone?”
I’m on my feet before the words leave her lips. Connor, Isabel, Jasper, Emi, Hardison, and Parker form a wall at my back.
“Grace did very well,” she says with a weary smile. Her voice is calm and professional, the kind of tone meant to anchor panicked family members in the middle of a storm.
My knees threaten to buckle. “She’s okay? She’ll be okay?”
“She’s stable. The fragment was lodged in her left temporal lobe, only a couple of millimeters from her skull. There was some scar tissue starting to form around it, but we excised that as well.” Dr. Ellicott holds my gaze, as if she’s making sure her words are penetrating the haze of my worry.
Are they? I have no idea. I latched onto the word “stable.” After that…it’s all noise.
“No complications?” Parker steps forward, right at my elbow, her entire body rigid.
“There was a small amount of bleeding, but we controlled it easily. That’s not uncommon.
Slight swelling, but again, nothing more than we expect.
She’ll be in the neuro ICU overnight so we can monitor her closely, but if everything looks good in the morning, she can transfer down to the regular neuro floor. ”
I grab onto Jasper’s arm, unsure I’ll be able to stay standing much longer otherwise. “How long until she wakes up?”
“She’s still under anesthesia,” the doctor says.
“But we’ll start easing her off soon. She should be awake in the next couple of hours.
I will warn you that she’ll be groggy and possibly nauseous.
Headaches are normal as well. Given the location of the surgery, we’ll be watching for any speech and memory issues, but I don’t anticipate any permanent deficits. ”
The relief almost takes me to my knees. If it weren’t for Jasper’s support, I’d be on the floor.
“I’ll have a nurse come get you in half an hour. Until Grace is fully awake and we can assess her condition, only one person at a time, please.”
I manage a nod. After five and a half hours of hell, I can survive another thirty minutes.
The doctor slips back through the double doors, and everyone closes ranks around me.
Parker holds onto Isabel, tears in both women’s eyes.
Emi dabs at her cheeks with a tissue and leans against Jasper.
Connor sinks into the chair and drops his head into his hands.
Hardison stays on the fringes, but I don’t think his eyes are completely dry either.
We made it through the first hurdle. The one that Grace had to jump alone. The rest…we’ll figure out together.
The ICU is mostly quiet, a low hum of machines punctuated with the beeping of heart rate monitors. The nurse pulls back a curtain, and there she is.
Grace looks so small against the white sheets. An IV is taped to the back of her hand, and wires seem to protrude from almost everywhere. Her blond hair fans across the pillow, a bandage covering part of her temple. It’s so much smaller than the one she had in Mexico.
Hopefully that means her recovery will be easier. Grace has already carried more than anyone should ever have to. She’s breathing. That should be enough. But, God help me, I need it to be easier this time. She needs it to be easier this time.
“She’s still waking up,” the nurse says, her voice barely above a whisper. “You can hold her hand, but try to let her rest as long as you can, okay? I’ll come check on her every ten or fifteen minutes. But if you need me, you can always press the call button.”
I drop into the chair beside the bed, and gather her fingers in mine. “I’m here, darlin’. The doctor says you’re gonna be okay.”
A hint of pressure against my palm answers me. It’s so weak, I think maybe I imagined it. Until it happens again. “Just rest. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
It takes another twenty minutes before her eyelids flutter.
My heart skips a beat, then thuds against my ribs so hard, I suck in a sharp breath.
Slowly, her lids part. I only catch a glimpse of her blue-green irises before they close, but she tries again.
I’m not sure she can focus, but then relief eases the tiny lines bracing her mouth.
Her lips part, but what slips out is nothing more than a jumble of syllables that don’t fit together. With a frown, she tries again, but it’s no better, and a tear slips down her cheek.
My chest caves in, like someone kicked me hard enough to break my sternum. I want to jump up and scream for the nurse, but…we knew this was a possibility. Don’t mean either of us were prepared for it, though.
“It’s okay, Grace. This…it’s all normal,” I manage, my voice barely steady, then reach for the call button.
Nothin’ about this is normal. I don’t care what the doctor says. My wife went through those doors able to walk and talk and love. Now…I don’t know if she can do any of those things. For all I know, she doesn’t even remember me. Without her words, how can I tell?
Fear claws at my throat. Rage at the complete unfairness of all of this burns through me. What if this doesn’t get better? She’s been through so much already—clawed her way back from hell, pieced herself together again from nothin’—and now this?
Fuck.
Words or no words, she’s still Grace. Still mine. And I’ll spend the rest of my life—every breath, every touch, every heartbeat—showing her I’ll never stop loving her. She could lose every word she’s ever known, and she’ll still have me. Always.
The door opens with a whisper, and the nurse steps in with a serene smile. “You doin’ all right, hon?”
“She can’t—” My voice breaks. “She…she tried to talk, but it’s just…sounds. She can’t…can’t get the words out.”
Grace blinks back her tears, and another weak mumble escapes her lips.
The nurse pats Grace’s shoulder lightly, her gaze softening. “That’s okay, hon. It’s common. Really. Especially after the type of surgery you had. I’ll page the doctor, though. She’ll come talk you through what’s happening, okay?”
The sharp edge of my panic eases just enough for me to take a breath. I scoot closer, lifting Grace’s hand gently and pressing her fingers to my chest, right over my heart.
“I love you, darlin’. Always. Words or no words, it don’t matter. You hear me?”
Her tears haven’t stopped, but she curls her fingers against my shirt. She’s here. She’s alive. And she knows how much I love her. For now…that’s enough. It has to be enough.
Grace
The fog pressing against my skull won’t clear. But AJ holds my hand to his chest, and the steady beat of his heart under my palm is my anchor in this storm.
If I had the strength, I’d try to speak again. But I’m so tired. A little dizzy. And a lot scared. I want to tell him I remember. Not our lives before. But the past two weeks. Or…at least the important bits.
Belle.
Spending nights curled up on the couch watching movies with popcorn so salty and buttery, it was like heaven in a bowl.
Sharing my coffee with him.
Making love last night, his arm around my waist and his lips pressed to my ear.
But I can’t.
So I close my eyes until there’s a soft knock at the door. Dr. Ellicott steps inside. “Grace? Nurse Robin says you’re experiencing some aphasia.”
Does she expect me to say something? In my head, I’m screaming, “Yes. Nothing I try to say comes out sounding like actual words!”
The doctor skirts the bed, comes around to the other side, and takes my hand. “Can you understand me, Grace? If so, squeeze once.”
I do, and she nods, her lips curving into a hint of a smile. “That’s good. Now, follow my finger with just your eyes.”
This is harder. But I manage without the room spinning out of control.
“Excellent. The bone fragment was in your left temporal lobe. That’s the language center of the brain.
When we removed it, we had to excise a very small amount of healthy tissue in addition to the adhesions and scar tissue that had started to form around it. ”
“Why can’t she speak?” AJ asks. He’s in full Ranger mode. Protective. Demanding. Unwilling to put up with any bullshit. If I had the strength, I’d smile. Some things never change.
The doctor takes a small pen light from her pocket and checks my pupils. A tiny whimper escapes my lips, the pain shooting straight through my skull like a blade.
“Think of it like road work,” she says, apparently satisfied now that she’s blinded me. “We just ripped up a section of the highway and didn’t put up any detour signs. So Grace’s brain has to figure out a whole new route from here to home. That takes a little time.”
“How much time?” he demands.
Despite the halos currently turning everything around me blurry, I can sense AJ’s eyes on me. The laser focus he always seems to have where I’m concerned is grounding in a way I desperately need right now.
“I can’t say for sure, but things usually even out within two or three days. We’ll watch for any swelling, any worsening headaches, and any changes in Grace’s pupillary response. Trust me, Mr. Stone, your wife is right where she needs to be. And she’s doing just fine.”
I want to say something. Anything to tell the doctor this isn’t “just fine.” I’m so damn tired. I just want AJ to hold me. But I can’t ask him to. Even if I could, I’m covered in wires and sensors and too weak to move.
“I’ll have a speech therapist come by in the morning. Until then, rest, Grace. This is the worst of it. It gets better from here.”
After a moment, I hear the click of the door, and let my eyes drift closed.
AJ squeezes my hand. “You’re safe, darlin’. I’m not goin’ anywhere. I’ll be here all night.”
Safe. I hold onto that one word. It’s my lifeline. The only thing that matters. I’m safe, and AJ won’t leave me. Even if I can’t speak, he’ll do it for me until I can.
The next time I open my eyes, the room is quieter. Someone dimmed the lights, but the steady hum of the monitors hasn’t faded. AJ still has a hold of my hand. Tightly enough, it feels like if he lets go, my entire world might unravel.
I squeeze his fingers, and his head snaps up. His eyes—red-rimmed and raw—soften the second he focuses on me.
“Hey, darlin’,” he whispers. “You with me?”
I try. God, I try so hard. The word in my head is as clear as glass.
Yes.
But when I open my mouth, it tangles and collapses on my tongue, escaping in a garbled mess that sounds more like “smythiea” than anything else.
AJ doesn’t flinch. Just leans closer, his thumb tracing patterns over my knuckles. “It’s okay, Grace. You’ll get there.”
Bitter frustration coats my tongue, cementing it to the roof of my mouth. Tears prick at my eyes. I want to tell him I love him. I need to. He has to know I’m still…me.
With my free hand, I point at him, my fingers trembling, then rest my palm over my heart.
“A…ayjun…” The sound warps, fades. My chest aches with the weight of all the things I can’t say.
“Shhh.” His hand cups my cheek, and the warmth helps steady me. “You don’t need the words, Grace. I know what you’re trying to say.”
That’s not enough. I open my mouth to try again, but he presses his finger to my lips.
“I love you? Is that what you’re tryin’ to say?”
I nod, amazed at how he always seems to be able to read my mind when I need it most.
“I don’t need to hear it to feel it.” His voice breaks, just a little. “And I love you. So much, there are times I can’t breathe from the weight of it.”
His words wrap around me, warm and steady, cutting through a fraction of my fear. I’m still terrified, but I know—deep down—we’ll be okay.
He catches one of my tears before it can fall. “You’ll get your words back. I promise.”