Chapter 49
FORTY-NINE
STORM
I ’ve been sent to Hell.
That’s the only reason I can think of for the searing pain in my arms and at the back of my head. Something annoying blows at my face, and I try to bat it away.
Except when I lift my arm, it flops right back down.
My eyes shoot open.
Well, I tell them to shoot open. Instead, I’m greeted with hazy vision and eyelids that only want to move in fractions.
“Whaaa…” I grumble, trying to get my dry lips and tongue to work.
“Oh, my God, let me get the doctor!” Shae’s voice comes from my side, and I tell my eyes to focus, but it’s too bright, too white in here.
I’m in heaven?
But if I’m in heaven, that’d mean Shae’s dead, too, and?—
“Shhhh—” I grunt when I can’t even fix my lips to shout her name.
I try again, groaning when I fail, and decide I need to go find her.
Except my legs don’t move when I tell them to.
I attempt to look down at my lap, pieces starting to come together about where I am—not Heaven—when I spot the rough white blanket covering my lower half and the medical tape pinning an IV to the back of my hand.
“—ae,” I try again, panic swirling in my chest.
I’m in a hospital.
And something is very, very wrong.
Pounding footsteps get louder, and right when I start hyperventilating, Shae slams back into the room. I try to reach for her, but my body’s so weak, I can barely crunch my abs to bring my shoulders off the bed.
“Shhh, Storm, it’s okay! Everything is okay,” she says. She moves inches from my face with a broad smile, but tears course down her cheeks, too.
“Wh…are…you…cr—ing?” I say the words slowly, trying to get as many syllables to come out as possible.
“Baby,” she says, bending over my stomach as she breaks into sobs. I want to hold her, bring her close, but nothing is fucking working.
Fuck!
“Calm down,” she says, sniffing when one of the alarms behind my head goes off. “Take some deep breaths.”
“Why?” I ask, still not letting go of why she’s crying. My throat sears from trying so hard.
“You’ve been… You’ve been asleep for almost two weeks, baby. They had to put you under for some time, so you were on a ventilator. They weaned you off all the meds to keep you asleep and took your breathing tube out yesterday. I was starting to worry because you should have woken up by now, but?—”
She blabbers, blubbers as she explains what’s happened over the last two weeks, but I cut her off.
“Tems…Rai… Safe?” I pant out, and she nods vigorously.
“Yes, they’re with my mom and Yennifer. Axel and Riale came back almost an hour after everything…happened.” Darkness comes over her expression then. “Everyone is safe.”
I try to breathe in slowly, but it’s hard with this thing on my face.
“What’s wrong…legs,” I say, sweat rolling down the side of my face when I tell my legs over and over to move.
Shae’s face changes then, sadness coming over her.
“I… There were some injuries when you fell,” she murmurs. The alarm goes silent for a few seconds before picking up again. A loud bong, bong starts up, and I hear a few people moving in the hallway from the open door.
“I’ll let the doctors explain,” she adds, kissing my hands. “It’s all gonna be okay.”
She doesn’t let go of my hands when three doctors come into the room. One of them looks familiar.
“Doc…tor Swan…son?” I ask, looking at Shae and the other providers who flood the room.
“Yes,” Dr. Swanson says, winking. “Your wife here demanded I leave my practice in California to treat you. But you’ve become my favorite patient, Storm, so it hasn’t been a chore.”
The way she says “wife” is like she’s in on a joke no one else is.
Shae pulses my hand quickly for a second, like a signal.
“What’s…wrong…me?” I ask, staring directly at Dr. Swanson. “Who…are…they?”
She steps to the side.
“Ah, yes, let me introduce you to everyone. This,” she points to a tall Black doctor who wears wire-rimmed glasses and a crisp line-up, “is Dr. Jamal Malcom. He’s the lead trauma surgeon on your case, and we worked side by side to get you patched up.”
Dr. Malcom takes a step forward, his eyes flicking behind me for a second before going to my face.
“You survived a stab wound that narrowly missed your kidney, smoke inhalation, and a fall from the second story. You’re one resilient man, Mr. Sandoval,” he says.
I tilt my chin down, and the thing around my face pulls me back.
“And…her?” I ask, nodding to the Asian doctor at the foot of my bed.
“I’m Dr. Wu. I’m your spinal surgeon. I’m also the one who will follow you as you enter rehab.”
I blink again, then again, and again, trying to latch on to any single part of that statement.
Another man in a lab coat walks in—tall, lanky, and blonde—bee-lining to the hand sanitizer on the wall and then zipping over to me.
“I’m gonna check your eyes,” he says, already pulling at my eyelids. I try to bat his hands away but can’t.
“What…the hell…is going…on?” I shout, or try to, and everyone but Dr. Swanson takes a step back.
And Shae. Shae’s still here, holding my hand tight.
My lifeline.
“Okay, Storm, here’s the deal,” Dr. Swanson says. The new doctor mumbles something to her, and Dr. Swanson nods. The man leaves again.
“That was Dr. Blankship. He’s your neurologist,” Dr. Swanson offers. “He’s gonna come by and assess you a little later.”
The world starts to spin, and I look at Shae, latching on to her.
“Shae…” I rasp, and she shifts to sit on the bed with me. I see her hip pressing close to mine, but I can’t feel it.
“I can’t…f-feel my…legs,” I say, horror dawning on me.
“Storm, you had extensive injuries from your ordeal. The fall did a lot of damage, including a spinal fracture at the L1-L3 region. You can’t feel or move your legs right now because of the swelling clamping off the nerves there.”
“I’m paralyzed?” I ask, oddly settling down instead of spiraling out into the stratosphere.
Dr. Swanson tilts her head from side to side.
“Yes and no,” she says, and I grunt. “You’re very lucky. You didn’t sever the spinal cord, so we’re optimistic it’s possible for you to recover most, if not all, the functionality in that region.”
Spinning. Spiraling. I’m paralyzed…sort of?
“Doc,” I start. “What…does that…even mean?”
“You broke your right femur, shattered your pelvis. You’ve had three surgeries since you came in, and there will be more procedures to come.
Your recovery will be slow, there will be pain, but if I know anything about you, Storm Sandoval, I know you’ll put in the work to be as strong as you can be. ”
I drop my head to the scratchy pillow behind me, and the plastic tubing tickles my nose.
“Can I get…this thing off?” I ask Dr. Swanson.
“Oh, your cannula?” She looks behind me, likely at my vitals. “Yeah, your O2 saturation is ninety-nine percent, and you’re barely on a whiff of oxygen at this point.”
She reaches over and does something to the tape on my cheeks, and the next moment, the cannula is gone.
Thank. Fuck.
Without that air blowing in my nose, it feels a bit easier to talk, too.
“So, I’m gonna have to learn how to walk again?” I ask, and she gives me a small smile.
“Yes, Storm, you will,” she says. “But you can do it. It’ll just take time. Can you be patient with your body?”
Can I? I look to Shae, and she radiates love and relief. All I feel is sinking dread.
Right then, a nurse with a skin tone that reminds me of my mama hops into the room, freezes, and says, “Oh! Full house right now.”
She moves over to the side opposite Shae, and the nurse greets her warmly.
“I’ll come back for a full assessment later,” the nurse says. “My name is Kaylee, and I’ll be your nurse for this shift.”
I grunt as she fiddles with an IV pole she brings into view from behind me.
“Can I check your IV site?” she asks, and I look away from her, tilting my chin down in approval and giving all my attention to Shae, who returns my gaze with a worried look.
Kaylee presses around the back of my hand, all around the IV, then places my hand back to my side.
“I’ll come back when we have a little more privacy,” she says to Shae and then to me. Shae nods.
“Mr. Sandoval, I’ll need to change your catheters, and it’ll be a good time for a bed bath,” she says in a low voice.
“My… what ?” I bark at the nurse, and to her credit, she doesn’t jump. Instead, she folds her arms and gives me a long, hard look.
I move away from it, looking at Shae.
My beautiful, perfect Shae.
The love of my life who is now attached to a man with dead legs and tubes in his nether regions.
“I need a minute,” I say. “Everyone…get out….”
Dr. Swanson, who’d been watching me silently, gets up without a word, ushering Dr. Wu and Dr. Malcom toward the door.
“We’ll be back for the next rounds,” the doctor tells Shae.
The nurse leaves, and then there’s just me and Shae.
Shae…who’s shackled to a man who can’t even roll over in bed.
“You…you can go, too,” I say. “You should go.”
I look away from her, finally turning my head completely to the side. It’s painful as fuck, so maybe I can blame the tears in my eyes on that.
“No,” Shae says brightly. “Is your mouth dry? I have some sponges here to wet your mouth until you’re cleared to drink.”
“Shae,” I grind out, still looking away. I can’t even wipe my face, as if all my muscles atrophied in the weeks of stillness.
“I’ve been lotioning your hands and legs, and we’ll have to get someone to come home with us to give you a manicure. Your nail beds are terrible, baby.”
“Shae!” I say, raising my voice but not yelling.
She lets go of my hand, and I tense, instead of relaxing.
But instead of heading for the door, she goes to the long counter on the far wall of the room, fiddles with something, then turns around holding a white Styrofoam cup with a small stick poking out the top.
“What are you doing? Leave. You don’t need to deal with all this. The kids—” I choke on the word, their terrified faces flashing in my mind.
“The kids will be here tomorrow morning,” she says.
“No,” I growl. “They will not see me like this.”
“See you like what? Alive ?” she asks, irritation finally leaking into her tone. She slaps the cup on the wheeled table and moves it over the lower half of my body until it’s close to my chest.
And then, she’s silent.
I’m silent.
I’m broken—literally and emotionally.
“Shae, you didn’t ask for this.”
“No, but neither did you. And maybe you forgot when you bumped your head, but we’ve already gone over this. I ain’t going nowhere, Sandoval.”
I shake my head, a small movement.
“You heard the doctor. I’ve got a long road ahead. Fuck, I might not ever walk again! Why would you stay for that?”
“You might not walk? But you very well could. In fact, the odds are in your favor,” she says, each word a point.
“You ask why I would stay for that, like I have any other place I could be. My soul is connected to yours, Storm. I need to be here, and I want to be here. Right here. Right by your side.”
She leans in, placing her cool hands on each of my cheeks.
“And if you never walk ever again or if you start running marathons on the regular, I’m here.” She shakes my head, just a tiny shift. “Forever. All right?”
I search her face, look for any thread of uncertainty or reluctance.
All I see is love in her eyes, almost as much love as I feel for her in my heart.
“Okay,” I tell her, relaxing into the pillows.
“And don’t bring this leaving you shit up again. All it’s gonna do is piss me off, and we’ve got work to do.”
She looks downright surly, and a laugh bubbles in my chest, barely bursting out on a breath.
“There you go. Now,” she pulls the stick out of the cup, and on the end is a beveled pink sponge. It drips water on the counter. “Let me help you clean these teeth, because your breath is kickin ’.”
That causes a full laugh to fill the room.
Shae swirls the foam around my teeth and gums with gentle movements, and when we’re done, she drops the cleaner back in the cup.
“I just had one more thought,” I say, suddenly very tired again.
“What is it, baby?” she asks, yawning with me.
“What if my…” I look down at my lap. “What if my dick doesn’t work anymore?”
She gives me a confused look for a second, then relaxes with a chuckle.
“It works,” she replies. I raise an eyebrow.
“Because that’s one of the first things Dr. Swanson volunteered after updating me on your surgery that first night.”
Well, thank fuck for small mercies.
Shae grabs my hand again, kissing the back of it, and when she lifts my fingers to her lips, her diamond engagement ring glitters under the hospital lighting.
“You’re still wearing it,” I say, awed. I don’t know why, but I expected her to take it off and hide any reminder of our uncertain future.
“And I’m never taking it off, Mr. Sandoval. In fact, I have an idea,” she says, rubbing her thumb over my knuckles with a beaming smile.