Chapter 45
“I think maybe I could rock a side shave,” Cassie says, coming from the bathroom with her hair parted right at the shaved section of her hair. It’s already grown out a little less than an inch and usually the rest of her hair covers it. “I guess it’s growing on me.”
“You can rock anything, babe.”
This earns me a tiny smile, but I hate that it never reaches her eyes.
Gripping the hem of her pajama top, she works to lift it, but only manages it up halfway before she sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth.
Bruises from the seat belt are still angry and purple across her chest and torso, making movement sometimes difficult for her.
She squeezes her eyes shut, waiting for the pain to pass.
“Hey, whoa. Let me help.” I take over, slowly lifting her shirt, careful not to scrape the incision on the side of her head.
“I’m tired of feeling helpless.”
The crack in her voice guts me. I hate seeing her like this, so defeated. I know Austin told me I’m not to blame. I’ve doubled up on my therapy appointments, and Ben says the same thing. I’m working on it. There are times I fully believe it. This though, is not one of those times.
Setting the shirt on the bed, I rest my hands on her shoulders as gently as possible, ducking my head to meet her eyes.
“You’re not helpless. You’re healing. Those are two very different things.”
“It doesn’t feel different.” She drops her gaze to the bruise across her abdomen.
“It hurts to dress myself. I lose words mid-sentence. They had to put me on…on…” Her eyes narrow as she searches for the word.
I know what she’s thinking, but I don’t rush to fill in the gap for her.
They prescribed something for panic attacks.
We learned the hard way the other night that storms are now a trigger for her, and it is prime storm season in Alabama.
“See what I mean?” Her chin starts to tremble and a tear rolls down her cheek. “I’m not myself anymore.”
“You’re three weeks out of brain surgery, Cassie.
You’ve been cooped up in the hospital while your body overcomes monumental trauma.
Remember they told us as you heal there would be times your brain would struggle to keep up.
You’re not supposed to be yourself yet.” I keep my voice even, though everything in me wants to crack.
“But you will be. Maybe not the same version, but you’ll get there. ”
“What if I don’t? What if this is it?” She sweeps a hand up and down. “What if I can’t do my job? How am I supposed to—” She stops and squeezes her eyes shut. “How am I supposed to focus on what my clients tell me when I can’t even focus on my own words?”
And there it is. It’s not just the pain, the headaches, the brain fog. It’s that she might lose the career she’s worked so hard for.
“Then we’ll figure it out together. For now, you rest. You give your brain the same patience you’d give one of your clients.
” I notch a knuckle under her chin, lifting her dropped gaze, back to me.
“What would you tell a client? If they were on the other end of a session saying the exact words you just said to me?”
She’s quiet for a long moment. Her jaw works, and I can see her turning the question over, the therapist and patient within both fighting for dominance.
“I’d tell them that healing isn’t linear,” she finally says, her voice small. “That I need to be kinder to myself and that setbacks aren’t the same as failure.”
“Bingo. And you bet your cute ass I’ll remind you of that until you also believe it.
” I grab a clean shirt from her suitcase.
It’s an old button-down of mine, worn soft over time.
And I’m glad I thought to bring it after seeing the struggle removing her pajama top. “Arms in,” I say, holding the shirt up.
She slides one arm in, then the other and I move in front of her to button her up.
“I love seeing you in my clothes,” I tell her, pressing my lips to hers.
This time, when she smiles, there’s light in her eyes, and because I can, because she’s alive standing in front of me, I kiss her again, teasing her mouth with mine.
In a silent question, my tongue brushes lightly over the seam of her lips and she opens, melting into me.
I’m enveloped by her sweetness, her taste, everything I thought I might never have again.
I should kiss her every hour for the rest of our lives to make up for every second I wasted where my lips weren’t on hers.
“Transport,” a voice booms, followed by a knock on the door.
Cassie drops her forehead to my chest, muffling what sounds almost like a giggle. “Give us a sec,” I call out.
She looks up at me, cheeks flushed, lips pressed together to keep from laughing. There’s my girl.
“Come in,” I say, once most of the pink is gone from Cassie’s cheeks.
The door swings open and an orderly wheels in a chair, cheerful as hell for someone who just ruined the best moment I’ve had in weeks.
“Your chariot awaits,” I say with an exaggerated flourish to the waiting wheelchair.
After three weeks of tests, scans, and rehab, Cassie is finally busting out of this joint today.
She winces as she lowers into the chair, but bats my hand away when I try to help her. She adjusts and sucks in a deep breath.
“You good?”
It takes a second, but she nods. While the transporter moves her to the hall, I grab her bag, her shattered phone, and the last bunch of flowers from the table. They’re wilted now, but Cassie insisted we weren’t throwing them out.
Cassie’s mom is in the patient pickup area behind the wheel of the Toyota Corolla she bought with her own money. Beth, she corrected me after I called her Mrs. James for the second time. She’s been splitting her days between shifts at the diner, Cassie’s hospital room, and her new granddaughter.
Three weeks of sitting in a tiny hospital room, taking turns when needed with Cassie, will bond you to someone. She doesn’t talk much, but somewhere between her bringing us home-cooked meals and me walking her to her car at night, we’ve built a friendship.
Tyler, ever the businessman, has a rental she’s staying in, but after seeing her with the baby, I have a feeling she’s here for good.
“Ready?” she asks once we’re in.
We’re both in the backseat like two kids, but I wasn’t sure how Cassie would handle riding in a car again.
“Take us home, Mom.”
Mom’s car rattles down the gravel drive, passing Liam’s parents’ house and slowly approaches ours. But something is different. Cars line the edge of the drive and none of them belong to Liam. I spot the new Subaru Austin bought for Penny, Tyler’s Volvo, and my aunt’s Lincoln.
“What’s going on?” I ask, looking from the cars to Mom in the rearview mirror, and over to Liam.
“I know how much you’ve missed them. Plus, you haven’t met your niece. But I gave them strict orders. One hour, then it’s out the door.”
A lump rises in my throat. My friends and family visited during my hospital stay, but only in short intervals. And I still haven’t met my new niece. I get it, though. Bringing a newborn to a hospital is asking for it.
Josie’s son is throwing a ball for my sweet Mutt on the side of the house.
On the front porch, Josie and Penny stand on either end of a hand-painted banner that reads: Welcome Home, Cassie in a font so perfectly drawn, only an artist like Josie could have achieved it.
And right as Mom cuts the engine, my aunt steps out onto the porch.
Liam opens my door and offers his arm, steadying me as I step out. The pain reliever I took right before discharge must be kicking in, because there’s only the dullest ache from the movement.
Then everyone is moving at once and my brain struggles to keep up.
Josie is at my side, arm looped gently through mine, saying something about my hair.
Penny is reaching for my hand, eyes glassy, and Jay is yelling something to Josie about Mutt and a shoe.
Voices layer over each other and the sun is too bright and there are so many faces at once.
My eyes clamp shut as pressure builds at the base of my skull.
This is all so much. Too many words, too much to process. Just too much.
Air. I need more air. Liam’s grip tightens while I gasp a breath. Then another.
The voices die down almost immediately. I hate this. I hate it so much. These are my friends. My family. And I’m happy to see them, I am. It’s my brain I can’t control. And that’s fucking terrifying.
My eyes are still closed when I feel two hands cup my face. Warm palms with lotion that smells like childhood and safety. I don’t need to open my eyes to know who’s there.
“Sweetheart, if this is too much, just say the word.” Her voice is familiar, soothing, and I grab onto the thread of it. “We will all clear out of here so fast you won’t know we were even here.”
I open my eyes to find Aunt Ashley, her steady gaze studying me the way it has my entire life. Like she can read every hurt I’m trying to hide. Behind her, Josie and Penny have taken a step back, giving me room to breathe.
“I’m okay,” I say, and this time I almost mean it. “Just give me a second.”
“Take all the time you need. We’ll be inside when you’re ready.”
Everyone crosses the yard, until it’s Liam and me, alone in the driveway. I'm still trying to fill my lungs with enough oxygen when he steps in front of me, blocking the sun from my eyes.
“Breathe with me.” Liam’s voice is low, almost hypnotic. “Can you do that? Just like you did for me that night on my deck.” He takes my hand and presses it to his chest so I feel the rise and fall of it.
Closing my eyes, I take in a breath through my nose.
“Out through the mouth. Slow.”
On the exhale, my jaw relaxes. I didn’t even realize I was grinding my teeth together.
“Again.”
We stand like this, my palm to his chest, breathing together three more times until slowly, so slowly, the pressure at the base of my skull lessens and my heart rate slows.
“Ready?” he asks, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
I nod, and Liam guides me inside, his hand a steady pressure on the small of my back.
The moment we step through the door, all eyes turn toward me.
I can feel them all recalibrating, lowering their voices, slowing their movements, like someone punched the volume button the second I stepped in the room.
My fingers gravitate toward my ear for my hoop earring, but they aren’t there and it takes me a second to remember they were removed for surgery, along with my dermals and nose ring.
Then Penny’s voice cuts through the quiet.
“Cassie, would you like to meet your niece?” She gestures to Austin, who I now see is wearing a baby sling.
He supports Lizzie’s head with one hand, unclips the sling with the other, and lifts her out like it’s nothing.
Three weeks of practice has turned my brother into a baby-wearing pro.
Lizzie scrunches her little face, drawing her legs up and letting out the tiniest squeak I’ve ever heard, before falling right back asleep in Austin’s hands.
Liam sits and pats the spot for me. Easing down next to him, his arm settles across the back of my chair, a reminder that he’s here if I need him. Nodding at my brother, I make gimme gestures with my hands.
Austin places her in my arms and I realize just how tiny she still is.
So fragile, this little life I’m holding is.
An ache blooms in my chest, nose burning, at the thought that I could have missed this.
This warm little weight in my arms. Liam at my side.
My family surrounding me. I could have missed all of it.
“Hi, Lizzie,” I whisper, tracing a finger along the tiniest hand I’ve ever seen.
“I’m your aunt Cassie. I’m sorry it took me so long to get here.
” Her fingers curl around mine on instinct and I’m done for.
Completely and utterly done for. I trace a pinky across her tiny rosebud lips and she squirms on my lap.
“I see you have your mama’s hair,” I ghost my fingertips across the auburn-colored fuzz on her head and her little lips pull up in the cutest smile I’ve ever seen.
She squirms again and lets out a series of toots so loud for someone so small.
“I see you got that from your daddy.”
Austin drops his chin to his chest. “Guilty.”
Josie snorts, breaking the tension in the room and like a chain reaction, everyone is laughing. Real laughs. Sounds that are hard earned. Sounds that heal.
I try to focus on every conversation I have over the next hour. Truly, I do. But with my niece asleep on my lap and my focus slipping, I’m left drained. It pains me to hand Lizzie back to Austin, but I can’t risk dropping her with the fog of fatigue settling in.
“All right.” Liam looks at the time on his phone. “Everybody out. Time’s up.”
Goodbyes come with hugs and vows that I’ll call if I need them. Austin, with Lizzie strapped to his chest again, presses a kiss to the top of my head.
“Love you, baby sis.” His words are thick with emotion he’s obviously fighting. “More than you’ll ever know.”
“Love you too, Aussie.”
Mom is the last to leave. She pauses at the door and turns back to me. “Call me if you need anything. No matter the time.”
I’m the first to move, wrapping her in an embrace that sends a dull ache radiating across my chest, and I don’t care. I hold on tighter. Six months ago I didn’t have a mom to hug and a little pain is a small price for this.
Liam and I stand in the doorway watching her leave and we don’t close the door until her car is out of sight.
The door clicks shut and the house goes still.
Mutt trots over and rubs his snout against my shins.
He probably wants me to pick him up, but I don’t have the energy to even attempt bending down.
“Bed,” I breathe out. It’s the middle of the day, but I don’t care. The nurses told me to get plenty of rest and that’s what I plan on doing.
Liam looks just as exhausted as I feel. Three weeks of sleeping at a hospital is hardly sleeping at all, and now that everyone is gone and he doesn’t have to hold it together for an audience, I can see he’s running on fumes.
Mutt leads the way, claiming his spot at the foot of the bed.
He’s probably happy to be home, too. I’m sure he’s spent this time at Greg and Lisa’s.
Liam pulls back the comforter and I crawl in, still in his button-down, still in everything but my shoes.
The sheets smell like cedar and citrus and him, and I almost cry from how good it feels to be somewhere that isn’t a hospital bed.
Liam climbs in next to me, and I can tell by his slow movements he’s trying not to jostle me. As soon as he’s settled his hand finds mine under the sheet and my eyes drift shut. I’m almost asleep when I hear Liam’s low voice behind me.
“Welcome home, angel. Sweet dreams.”