Chapter 44
forty-four
PRESENT DAY
brANDON
The night wind is black, but I rev my motorcycle and speed into the void.
Stubborn spring snow left from winter edges the sidewalks, but the roads toward the hospital are clear.
Icy wind slaps my bare arms, but I don’t care.
I’m numb everywhere inside and out. If it weren’t for the two small arms clenching my middle to ground me, I’d believe I’m not here at all.
But Kate insisted on coming with me to the hospital, and I wasn’t going to take the time to fight her off. Although it did take half a second to convince her to take my jacket, I still feel her shivering against the curve of my back.
Or maybe that’s just me.
I slam my fist against the handlebar as another red light forces us to stop.
The hospital operator didn’t tell me what happened or how hurt my mom is. Only that she’d been admitted after a bystander witnessed a car getting t-boned on Stafford Avenue. I try to dissect that location, mapping it out in my mind to check for nearby bars, but I can’t remember.
I hit the handlebar again as a tear threatens to slip beneath my visor.
I’m going to kill Chaz if my mom dies.
Oh gosh, what if she dies? My shoulders crumble beneath the thought, and I start to quake. She can’t die. She’s the only family I have.
I hate the father I never knew. I hate him more right now than I ever have. Why couldn’t he have stayed with my mom? Why wasn’t I enough?
Kate moves against my back, and the corner of my eye catches her typing against her illuminated phone screen before she shoves it back into her bag and huddles against my body. I wrap my hand around her knee, rubbing up and down her thigh to try to warm her up.
At this rate, we’re still twenty minutes from the hospital.
I curse as the reluctant tear escapes beneath my visor.
Twenty minutes turn into thirty before I finally kill the engine and we rush to the emergency wing. The male receptionist appears barely fazed by my panicked questions, replying in a monotone so calm I want to shake the words out of him faster.
All I hear are the terms “operating room” and “unconscious” before my world tilts. The man keeps talking, but I’m stumbling away into a cloud of delusion. Because that’s all this is. Delusion. I’m imagining things. This isn’t real. It can’t be.
Kate’s voice is firm in the background as she talks to someone, but I can’t quite remember who. Her voice feels like silk across my brain, and I force my lungs to expand. She is the only thread keeping me tethered to reality. The only person I trust to help me navigate this moment.
I feel a hand wrap around mine, and a gentle tug leads me forward. Kate’s steps are small but confident as she weaves us through hallway after hallway until we arrive at a waiting room.
I pull up short, blinking hard.
The waiting room is almost empty, save for a group of people who stand when I enter. Eric Sanderson’s bald head reflects the overhead light, a pajama-clad Heidi by his side. Julia, Tuck, and even his sisters are here.
“I hope it’s okay I texted them,” Kate murmurs.
A whimper escapes on my breath as I step toward them, and they rush toward me.
I’m passed from embrace to embrace—Julia sniffling, Tuck squeezing my back, Heidi crying—until I end in Eric’s embrace.
He holds me like a father holds a son, strong, firm, and unwilling to pull away.
I sag against him, and the tears I’ve been swallowing for what feels like hours burst from my eyes.
He rubs my shoulder, not flinching away from this embarrassing display of emotion. Only holds me. Shows up for me again and again, despite biology not requiring him to.
By the time I’m able to speak, my voice is hoarse against Eric’s ear.
“Was… Was she drinking?”
His mouth is a grim line, but he shakes his head. “We don’t know, son. She hasn’t been confiding in Heidi, and the docs wouldn’t release any information to us once we showed up a few minutes ago. No officers have shown up yet, though.”
“They would’ve told you if she was dying, right?” I whisper.
Tired lines emphasize his brown eyes. “No. Because we aren’t technically related.”
The reminder only serves as a punch to the gut.
Eric must feel me tense, because he squeezes my shoulder again.
“I’ll go hunt down a doctor who can come tell you more.
All the receptionist said is she’ll be wheeled out of surgery and into one of these recovery rooms in a few hours if she’s stable.
” He strides away, but Kate stops him. Her small frame still drowns beneath my leather jacket.
“Keep us updated, please,” she says.
Eric nods, pulling her into a quick hug. “Thanks for taking care of our boy.” He turns on his heel, heading back toward the emergency entrance.
Heidi is a crumpled mess of tissues, red edging her nose and eyes.
“Come sit, sweetie.” She pats a seat beside her, and Julia claims my other side.
I’m bathed in a harmony of hushed consolation, but I’m unable to relax.
Unable to prevent horrified flashes of a future without Mom’s hugs or sassy comebacks. One where I’m utterly alone.
I squeeze my eyes shut, slumping over on Heidi’s much shorter shoulder. I don’t remember exhaustion pulling me into sleep, but when I come to, Heidi is making soft snoring noises as she leans against Eric, who is also asleep. His search for information must have been unsuccessful.
Tuck and Julia sit adjacent to us, passed out on a loveseat. His arm cushions Julia’s head. Her long limbs stretch sideways on the couch as she reclines against his chest.
I ease my head off Heidi’s shoulder, cracking my neck, and that’s when I see her.
Draped in Tuck’s red UCI hoodie he must have donated to her, Kate is perched like a hawk in the closest chair to the nurses’ station.
My leather jacket blankets her tiny gym shorts and is topped by a magazine.
One she’s not even looking at, though she turns the page every so often.
Dark circles tinge the skin beneath her eyes as she watches the nurses.
My heart swells.
Her eyes flit to me as if on routine, seeming surprised to find me awake. But then her fierce gaze probes deeper into mine as if she’s trying to dig out each of my worst case scenarios and assassinate them all.
A tired smile tugs the corners of my mouth.
Kate glances once again at the nurses’ station before she closes the magazine and slides my leather jacket off her legs.
I move to stand as well but hesitate once I notice the hospital-grade blanket draped over my own gym shorts.
I swing my confusion to Kate. A slight blush deepens her cheeks as she approaches.
“Sorry,” she whispers, glancing at Heidi and Eric sleeping beside me. “You only had your workout stuff on, and the nurses only gave me one blanket.”
I stand, draping the cotton blanket around Kate’s shoulders.
Words replace themselves one by one on my tongue, each incapable of communicating what I’m feeling. What am I feeling? Fear for my mom, of course. Trepidation at life without her, and anxiety over our lives together if she has relapsed.
I don’t know if I can handle it all again.
I crumble against Kate’s shoulder, and she holds me fiercely against her small body. Her hands stroke through the hair on my neck as she whispers something against my chest. But I don’t understand. I can’t understand any of this.
“Mrs. Roberts?” A doctor with a tight bun and heavyset middle approaches us, but to my surprise, Kate turns to her and replies.
“Yes? Did you find out anything more about my mother-in-law?”
I blink at Kate, convinced my ears are still warping sounds.
She mutters out the side of her mouth, “They wouldn’t tell me anything unless I was related, so I lied. Guess I’m your fake wife now.”
“That’s a big leap from a fake girlfriend, Kate,” I murmur, though I can’t ward off a small grin. The tenacity in Kate’s pinky finger is more than most will have their whole lives.
“Shut up and act like we’re married.”
She circles to face the nurse like she rules the roost of our very fake household. “Can you update us?”
“Yes.” The doctor tugs at her worn green scrubs.
“The surgeon, Dr. Muegller, has been drawn into another operation, but everything went well. Your mother-in-law is stable. Her vitals took a dip during the anesthesia, but she should be waking up within the hour. Her ribs are bruised but will heal. However, the lower-leg surgery was far more intense than the initial x-rays suggested. Dr. Muegller was pleased to report that although much of her tibia bone was shattered on impact, he believes she’ll make a full recovery. ”
I sag against Kate’s embrace but keep my eyes on the doctor. “Thank you,” I choke out.
“What recovery room will she be in?” Kate thinks to ask, and gratitude has me pulling her tighter against me.
The doctor taps the screen of her tablet. “Fourteen.”
“Thank you,” Kate says. “Is he alright to wait beside her as she wakes up?”
The doctor bobs her head, turning to me. “That will be fine. She’ll be wheeled through that hallway there, so keep an eye out and you can follow them in.”
Tears leak from my eyes against my will as the doctor leaves us. My mom is still alive. She’s going to have a hard recovery, but she’ll live. Relief pounds in my chest.
Kate rests her cheek against my muscle tank, not deterred by the dried sweat that I’m sure has turned fragrant by now.
“She’s going to be okay,” she murmurs as she rubs small circles across my back.
My eyes find the wallpaper over Kate’s head as my gaze slides out of focus.
“What if she was drinking, though?” Is she gonna recover only to find a court case and another DUI? “I can’t…” My voice cracks. “I can’t lose her, Kate.”
Kate pulls back, face stern, though her eyes are soft.
“Don’t talk like that, Brandon. We don’t know for sure.
And from what you’ve told me about her, she’s one hell of a strong woman.
Just imagine what it takes to commit to recovery day after day.
To turn your life around while being a single mother?
That’s not weakness, Brandon. That’s strength.
And if she’s overcome that multiple times, don’t you think she deserves credit? ”
My tears stall as my face flushes warm. I’ve never viewed alcoholism from that perspective before.
My brain delves deeper into memories. At such a young age, it was impossible to look past the amber-colored bottles ruining my life. The ones stealing my mom day after day. Impossible to forgive for the evenings I spent alone or under the supervision of a neighbor.
But for the first time, I see the woman showing up for my wrestling matches, slightly worse for wear and chronically late.
The woman busting her butt working longer hours after AA meetings, selling houses to make ends meet.
I watch each hard-earned day pass, her green eyes growing brighter and brighter.
My mom’s not strong.
She’s a damn warrior.
A hospital bed rattles in my peripheral vision, an IV bag standing guard over a messy pile of black waves tangled on the pillow. A whimper escapes my throat.
The last thing I register is Kate’s fingers falling from mine as I dash away.