Chapter 41 Steven
Chapter forty-one
Steven
The waiting room is packed. Mondays are usually the busiest in the ER. A sea of people crowd each corner, some sick, some merely impatient, all talking over one another, but all I can hear is my hammering pulse.
“Hey, Dr. Jones.” A young man with a familiar face smiles at me. “What’re—”
“Where is she?” I cut in, already leaning over the check-in desk.
“Who?”
“Emma Jones,” I grit out. My fists clench at my sides, nails biting into my palms as he fumbles urgently with his keyboard.
“Right this way.”
He hits a button, and the automatic double doors sweep open. I’m already moving, barreling through, muscle memory dragging me down the familiar halls. Right, then left, each step sharper, faster.
Jessee, the nurse from my accident, is posted at the station. Her eyes widen the second she sees me wild and frantic. Her expression flips from surprise to concern when I reach her.
“Dr. Jones—”
“Where is she?” I demand, scanning every face in the hall. No one answers, and rage boils in my chest. Jessee tries to slow me down, but I move past her, feeling more frantic by the second.
“Where is my wife?”
The room goes quiet around me, the anger and desperation clinging to me like sweat.
“Steven.”
I turn to see Ellie standing at the end of the hall, shaking, her fear mirroring mine.
“What happened?” I rush over to her.
“Some kid was texting. He wasn’t looking and hit her on the driver’s side.” Her voice cracks. “I saw the whole thing. It happened so fast. I’m so sorry.”
“El, where is she?”
As badly as I want to console her, my focus is elsewhere. I need to find my wife. I squeeze Ellie’s shoulders as she points to the room in the corner.
I don’t hesitate. I don’t even knock. I’m not wasting any more time.
I throw the door open, and my chest caves in. There, in a hospital bed, is Emma. My Emma. My wife. A black eye blooms against her skin, and a gash runs along the side of her face. Her eyes are already locked on mine, like she’s been watching the door, waiting on me.
I’m by her side, on my knees, feeling every drop of blood in my body turn to ice.
“Hi,” she says, smiling meekly.
“Are you—” My voice and everything inside me threatens to shatter.
“I’m fine. Just some bumps.” She gestures weakly to her bruised, swollen face. “They took a scan. Everything is clear.”
Relief crashes through me like a wave so hard my head falls into her lap.
And then, the dam breaks. Tears, laughter, whimpers, the air in my lungs, everything.
All the emotions I’ve likely been holding in for months come pouring out at once.
The fear, the guilt, the incessant need to hold it together all comes undone.
“Hey,” she murmurs, rubbing my back, my arms, kissing me wherever she can reach. “I’m okay. It’s fine.”
“Are you sure?” I choke.
She lifts my face. “I am.”
Her hands trace my wet cheeks, my trembling jaw, my lips.
Her green eyes sparkle under the harsh hospital lights, taking me in, like she’s trying to really see me, memorize me.
After a moment, a slow smile spreads across her face, drawing my gaze to the small gash on her upper lip.
I brush my thumb near it, aching to fix what I can’t.
“What happened?” I ask, my eyes still on her lips.
“I was in a hurry. Neither of us were paying attention.” She scoffs at herself.
“Where were you going?”
“To wreak havoc.”
I blink. “What?”
“I was going to fight with you.”
“Oh.” I straighten. “What kind of fight?”
“The kind of fight where I let myself be mad at you.”
I arch a brow, and she shrugs, now picking at a tear in the blanket draped over her legs. “You know those big movie moments where the girl rehearses all the things, where she knows what she’s going to say, and it makes the guy tear up with joy and anger and excitement?”
“Sure.” I smile encouragingly, though I can’t even remember the last movie I watched.
“It would be like that,” she says excitedly. “I was going to tell you how I get mad at you. But I also get scared. That loving you feels like standing at the edge of a cliff sometimes. It’s beautiful and exciting, but terrifying too.”
Her gaze drops to her hands as she twists her fingers and starts tapping her thumbs together. I encase her hands in mine, and misty gaze comes back to me.
“I was going to tell you that, since the accident, I’ve been too scared to accept the truth.”
“What’s the truth, Emma?” I ask.
“That I am completely, madly, stupidly in love with you. And I never want to lose you.”
A smile breaks across my face, and I kiss her hands.
“Steven, I don’t want to breathe in a world that doesn’t have you in it.
I want to feel everything, even the bad stuff, and I want to feel it with you.
Some days, we are at our best, I know that.
And some days…” She sighs, rubbing at her brow.
“Some days, we are at our worst. But every day, forever, I will still choose you. I want this life, all of it, with you.” Her voice trembles under the weight of her words, as if simply saying them is enough to break her.
Then she laughs at herself. “Dramatic, huh?”
“Maybe a little.” I wink.
“I’m so sorry.” Her eyes search mine, searching for any semblance of forgiveness.
“It’s fine. We are fine.”
I cup her face in my hands, drinking her in.
Every inch, every curve, every bruise, every imperfection that comes together to make her her.
The depth of her green eyes, the freckles sprinkling her nose, the tiny wrinkles fanning from her eyes.
The way she looks at me now. Alive, excited, new but still so familiar.
It’s the way she looked at me in a dimly lit room next to a dartboard.
The way she looked at me when I knew I would love her for the rest of my life.
“I love you, Emma Jones.”
A happy sound escapes her, lighting up her whole face. “I love you too, Steven Jones.”
Then I kiss her, deeply, almost desperate.
Like I need her to breathe. She responds with equal intensity, her hands tangling in my hair and pulling me closer.
Her grip on me makes me lose my balance, and I bracket my arms on either side of her.
She sinks into the bed, tugging me down, biting her lip as her fingers play with the collar of my shirt.
“You can’t do this to me right now,” I moan, feeling heat coil deep inside me.
“Then get me out of here.”
I laugh, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head. “I’m on it.”
“Good boy.”
Her eyes flash a dark, dangerous green, and that warmth spreads lower, making it impossible to think straight.
“You’re trouble,” I tell her.
And trouble she is. She can’t keep her hands to herself the entire drive home.
Her hand slides, tantalizing, along the edge of my thigh. She traces a finger gingerly along the seam of my pants, daring to go higher before she giggles, embarrassed, and drifts back down.
“Are we sure we shouldn’t be worried about your head?” I tease.
“You know…” She bites her lip. “I was going to pretend I didn’t know who you were.”
“Ouch.” I clutch my chest, feigning offense.
She laughs, a loud, unfiltered laugh. It’s infectious and spreads through me like sunlight, warming everything it touches. She is pure sunshine, every part of her.
“This is corny,” I say as we pull into the driveway, “but can I do something?”
“Okay?” She eyes me skeptically.
I jump out and cross to her side, guiding her up the porch steps. But before she can reach the door handle, I slip an arm behind her knees and lift her, pulling her tight against me.
“Just in case it never comes back to me,” I whisper, cradling her so close I can feel her breath hitch against my ribs. “I want to remember it this time.”
Her smile blossoms in approval, and then, I carry her over the threshold of our home. Husband and wife. Feeling more alive than ever. Breathing in the miracle of still being here and still being together.