Chapter Forty-Two
Atlas
"For Wendy Durant?"
I pop up like a jack-in-the-box when a blonde doctor appears in the doorway. My legs feel like they might give out at any second, the adrenaline still buzzing through my veins.
My dad has been in and out of this waiting room for hours, making calls and organizing logistics—to my mom, to Michelle so she can handle the garage this week without me, to the other garages to cover him, to Trace and Taylor so they can run to the house and grab clothes for us.
The second I hear Wendy's name, everything else falls away.
"You must be the husband," she says with an easy smile, reaching out to shake my hand.
I take it, and am rather surprised by her grip strength. She's in dark navy blue scrubs, a badge clipped to it that reads Doctor in bright, bold letters.
"I'm Dr. Carolina King, Wendy's surgeon."
Something in my chest lightens at the doctor's first name. Carolina. Not really a common name.
In fact, I've only met two in my life—this doctor and my sister-in-law.
Is this a sign or just a coincidence?
I'll take it as a sign, a good one at that.
"Is my wife okay?" The words tumble out of my mouth on top of each other.
"Wendy did amazing," she says, her voice warm and confident, like she's sharing news she's excited to share. "They're taking her to her room now."
The euphoric relief that floods my body makes me so dizzy that I have to reach out to steady myself. Dr. King is already there, guiding me to sit back down.
"Go ahead and sit," she says gently, dragging a chair over and settling into it across from me. I rest my elbows on my knees and tuck my head down, breathing deeply. "She's okay, Atlas. She's great, in fact."
My brain latches onto those words, and they settle in deep as I try to get my heart to slow down.
"She's okay..." I gasp, relieved tears stinging in my eyes. "She's okay."
"She's great, Atlas," Dr. King smiles. "The surgery went extremely well. We addressed the internal bleeding first, and once she was stable, I repaired the pelvic fracture. We placed a small plate and a few screws to hold everything in place while the bone heals."
The words screws and plate make my stomach twist, but I meet Dr. King's warm hazel eyes and ask, "But she's going to heal, right?"
"Yes," Dr. King nods. "She's young and healthy, and with proper rest and physical therapy, she will heal beautifully. It will be a long road, but we'll get there."
The tension bleeds from my body, leaving me weightless.
I feel like I could lift a truck without a hydraulic press, run a marathon, and jump over a ten-foot fence, but all I really want to do is see my wife.
I need to lay eyes on her, to confirm to myself that she is alive and healthy.
"Can I see her?" I ask, my whole body tensing to jump up and race through this hospital to wherever she is. ICU or the operating room or behind a thousand locked doors, nothing could keep me out. I'd find her.
The internal compass in my body, which never stops pointing to Wendy, would let me know.
"She's still asleep right now," Dr. King says, softening her voice. "She's under anesthesia and heavy pain control, so she'll be out for a while. When she wakes up, expect her to be groggy—maybe disoriented. That's completely normal, especially with a concussion."
My heart stutters at that.
"Everything is alright with her head?"
"Yes," she reassures me quickly. "We did a CT scan—no bleeding, no swelling. Just a bad knock to the head, which is common with accidents like this. I would expect her to experience headaches and light sensitivity for a bit. With rest, her body will know how to heal itself."
All the air escapes my lungs as her words wrap around me like a blanket.
My wife, my baby.
She's okay. She's going to heal.
She's got some bumps and bruises, but she's alive and breathing and safe.
"Thank you, Dr. King," I whisper, my voice cracking in half. The tears fall from my eyes, and I don't even care; let them fall, let everyone see. My wife is okay, that's all that matters. "Just... thank you so much."
"Of course," she says with a sincere smile, patting my hand. Her expression shifts, like she wants to impart the seriousness of her words. "However, the recovery will be extremely important."
I nod, leaning forward to let her know I'm listening.
"For the first couple of weeks, she won't be walking at all," Dr. King continues. "After that, mobility will come slowly—walker, physical therapy, short distances. This kind of injury requires patience. Pushing too hard, too fast can set her back."
"Understood," I nod.
"She'll need assistance getting in and out of bed, showering, and, yes, using the bathroom. Physical therapy will start early, but it'll be very slow at first. We're not looking just at weeks, we're looking at months."
Dr. King could tell me that I'll need to carry Wendy in my arms for the rest of our lives, and I would do it.
Whatever she needs, I will do for her.
"I can do that," I say instantly, without blinking. "I'll take care of her."
"Good," Dr. King chirps cheerfully, slapping her knees with both hands. A gold wedding band glints from her finger, and the sight of it soothes something in me. "We'll go over everything again once she's awake and more alert. For now, let's get you to her."
◆◆◆
She looks small.
Wendy's always been tall, larger than life in my eyes, as immense and bright as the fucking sun.
But she looks so small lying in this hospital bed. The dimmed light can't hide how bright red hair is against the sterile white of the walls and the sheets. She's still asleep, wrapped under layers of hospital blankets to keep her warm in this cold room.
The blanket over her waist is thicker, and, as Dr. King explained on the way, they put a binder at her hips to keep everything in place as she heals.
There's a bruise at her temple from where her head smacked against the window, a thin bandage above her left eyebrow, and there's a breathing cannula under her nose. Her hands are attached to so many wires—an IV in her hand, pulse ox on her finger—and my eyes track one to her heart monitor.
It's beating in an even rhythm that calms me slightly.
Alive. Alive. Alive.
"Baby..." I whisper, going to her.
Dr. King moves fast, grabs a chair from the corner, and brings it over to me. I nod in thanks and take a seat, my hand hovering over my wife's. Her rings glint from her finger, and the sight of them undoes me a little.
I look at the doctor desperately, "Can I touch her?"
"Of course," Dr. King encourages, gesturing for me to do so. "Talk to her, too. I've found it's soothing to patients to hear their loved ones' voices."
With her permission, I take my wife’s hand in both of mine. It's cold, so I close my fingers around it and bring it to my lips to kiss.
Her vanilla scent, while swallowed by the sterile smell of antiseptic, is still there. Faint, but there, and that is like a channel of energy flowing into my body.
Dr. King smiles before stepping out of the room, closing the door with a soft click to give us some privacy.
"Hi, baby," I murmur, pressing another kiss to her fingers. "I'm here."
I reach one of my hands up and brush a stray, red curl away from her beautiful face. Even now, even pale and bruised and broken, she's still so damn beautiful it makes me ache.
"I'm not going anywhere," I promise her, then huff a laugh. "You'll be lucky to be let out of my sight after this."
I wait. I know she's not going to say anything or move, but I still wait, my hand on her face, careful of the wires.
My finger brushes against her cheekbone, "You were quite sneaky with those papers. I'm sorry you weren't able to give them to me your way. I had to snoop through your purse to find them."
I sit back in the chair and take her hand again, my thumb brushing against the diamond engagement ring and wedding band.
I should upgrade these in honor of our fresh start. My eyes trail to the wedding date on my finger, her name tattooed across my chest, feeling as though it's buzzing.
"Thank you," I croak, my eyes stinging as the tears threaten to escape.
"I'll never take this second chance for granted, baby.
Never. I promise. You just focus on getting better, and I'll handle everything—just like you've been for so long.
I'll do a good job. Not as good as you, but those are big shoes to fill.
But, I promise—I will take care of everything. Just... come back to me. Please..."
I sniff and am unwilling to let her hand go, so I use my shoulders to brush away the tears falling from my eyes.
"Atlas," my dad says as he stands in the doorway, his face relieved when he sees Wendy.
Dr. King stands next to him, but says softly, "Just a couple of minutes. Visiting hours are almost over. Atlas, they'll bring in a cot for you to sleep in if you wish."
"Yes," I say instantly, nodding. "Please."
"Hi, sweetheart," my dad says, stepping close on the other side of the bed. He gently lays his big hand in her hair and smiles, shaking his head. "You tough girl."
"The toughest," I rasp, pressing another kiss to her fingers.
"I'm gonna head home. We'll bring the boys by tomorrow to see her, but I'll let them know she's okay—"
"I'll call them," I cut him off, glancing up at him with a shrug. "I promised them."
My dad looks at me in a way he hasn't in quite a while—he looks proud of me. That fills me with warmth. He nods once before bending to press a kiss to Wendy's head, and then comes over to do the same to me.
"Everything will be okay, son. Alright? Don't worry about work or anything but Wendy right now."
I nod, not taking my eyes from my wife's face. My dad quietly exits the room, turning the lights down on the dimmer by the door before he goes.
The only sounds in the room are the machines' beeps and my breathing. I pull my cellphone out of my pocket and see that it's almost ten, the boys should be fast asleep, but I know they're not.
I know they're waiting for me to call.
So I do.
Liam picks up before the first ring is even done. "Daddy?"
I squeeze my eyes closed. The sound of his worried voice calling me Daddy hits me right in the chest.
"Hi, son," my voice is thick, and I swallow to clear my throat. "Is your brother with you?"
"I'm right here, Daddy!" I hear Noah chirp, his voice stressed and wobbly. "Is Mama okay?"
I smile and give a watery laugh, "She's going to be just fine."
Liam sighs in relief, but Noah cheers, and I hear his small footsteps running and calling for my mom. "She's okay, Mom-Mom! She's okay!"
"Can we come see her?" Liam asks quickly, his voice so hopeful. "Can we talk to her?"
"She's asleep. She's gonna be sleeping for a while, but Pop will bring you tomorrow.
You're going to stay there for a while, okay?
Until we can get Mama home," I tell my oldest, my voice dropping low and firm.
"Please watch out for your brother if he has nightmares.
I'm going to stay here with your Mama, but you can always call me, alright? The second you need me, you call."
"We'll be okay, Daddy," Liam assures me, and his teenage voice, deepened by puberty, sounds so old and wise now. "Stay with Mama, I got Noah. Don't worry."
My boy. My little man.
"I'm so proud of you, Liam."
"I love you, Dad," Liam says, before adding. "Tell Mama I love her. Even if she can't... just tell her, okay?"
"I'll tell her. Is Noah there?"
"Noah!" Liam calls, and I hear steps running back before Noah's voice comes through the phone.
"Daddy, I told Mom-Mom, she just talked to Pop. We can really come see her tomorrow?"
"Yes, buddy. Tomorrow. Mama needs to rest tonight, but I promise you can see her tomorrow."
Noah gasps, excited. "Oh! I'll paint her a picture!"
"I'd bet she'll love that," I smile at my baby boy, picturing his little ginger self bouncing in excitement. "We can hang it up in her room here. It'll make her so happy. Why don't you go do that and then head to bed? The sooner you get to sleep, the sooner you can see Mama."
"Okay, Daddy. Tell Mama I love her!"
"I will," I promise. "I love you, boys. Goodnight!"
"Goodnight!"
I wait until they hang up before slipping my phone back in my pocket. Wendy hasn't moved an inch, only her chest rising and falling as she breathes.
Still, I don't fall into my own mind. I don't dwell on what-ifs. My wife is alive and breathing, my sons are with my parents, safe.
All is well for now.
I smile and lean forward, gently running my fingers over the soft skin of Wendy's face.
My chest feels ready to burst at the moment with all the love inside of it. I lean down to press a long kiss to her forehead.
"You raised some good boys, baby."