Chapter 24 #2
They had Cole in the bed. They had given him something—I hadn't caught the name of it; I'd been crying, and the doctor had been talking fast—and he'd gone under within a few minutes of being settled.
He'd been mostly under in the ambulance, too.
They had told me, in the ER, that the painkillers were strong because the pain was bad.
They had told me what was broken. Three ribs on the right side.
A dislocated shoulder, reset. A kidney they were watching.
A cut on his eyebrow they had closed with seven small black stitches.
They had told me he was going to be fine.
I was sitting in the chair beside the bed. I had his hand in mine. The good one. The shoulder they had reset was the other side.
I let myself look at him.
I hadn't let myself look since the gravel.
In the ambulance, I'd held his hand and looked only at his face.
In the ER, I'd been pushed out into the hall while they worked, and then I'd been brought in to a settled man in a bed, and I'd cried and held his hand without looking at the parts of him I didn't yet have the courage for.
Now he was asleep, and there was no version of looking at him that would hurt him.
I looked.
The bruising was already setting in along his jaw and down the side of his neck.
The cut at his eyebrow. The shape of his ribs under the hospital gown, taped, the tape visible where the gown had shifted.
The sling on his left side. The IV at the back of his hand—the same hand I had been holding, only the IV was at the wrist, and my hand was in his palm.
A small bruise at his temple I hadn't noticed before.
His mouth was relaxed in a way it never was when he was awake. He looked younger.
He looked like a man somebody had hurt on purpose.
You deserve everything you get.
Nicholas's voice came through me as if he had said it in this room.
I’d known when he said it. I’d stood at the counter with my hand flat on the wood for an hour afterward, and I’d told myself a story about what he had meant.
He had meant this.
He had meant Cole in a bed with three broken ribs and a kidney they were watching and tape across his chest. He had meant Sean running across a gravel lot with a baseball bat.
He had meant a girl named Quinn, I'd met at a barbecue, stepping out of an ambulance to find her cousin on the ground.
He had meant me in a chair beside a hospital bed with a man's hand in mine I had not earned the right to hold.
He had meant for me to see it.
I shut my eyes for a beat. I made myself open them again.
I made myself put the bakery away. I made myself put Nicholas's voice away.
I put the thought in a small box at the back of my head where Cole could not see it from the bed.
I put the box where I would find it later, when he was asleep, and I was alone, and the lights were off, and I could afford to take it out.
I leaned forward.
I kept his hand in mine.
I waited.
After a few minutes, he stirred.
His head turned a fraction on the pillow. His eyes moved under the lids. The corner of his mouth pulled.
"Cole."
His eyes opened.
He found me.
He didn't move his head. His eyes found mine and stayed there.
"Hi."
His voice was thick.
"Hi."
I leaned closer. I had his hand in both of mine now.
I started crying again. I hadn't planned to. The crying came up on its own.
Cole's good hand, the one I was holding, came up against the weight of my hands, and his thumb came across my cheek. The thumb caught a tear and stayed.
"You're okay."
"I'm okay, Cole."
"S'all that matters."
"Don't say that."
"It's true."
"Cole."
"You're okay. I'm fine."
"You're not fine."
"M'fine as long as you're—"
He stopped. He had to stop. The breath caught.
"Don't talk. Just—don't talk."
"Yeah."
He kept his thumb on my cheek. He looked at me the way he was looking at me. I let him look.
After a minute, he said, slowly: "Thought you were the one who was gonna be hurt."
"I wasn't."
"Good."
"Cole. I thought I was going to lose you."
He almost smiled. The corner of his mouth.
"Tessa. Takes a lot more than that."
I didn't laugh. I had been about to, and I didn't.
He saw that I didn't. He let the almost-smile go. His thumb stayed.
"Where's Noah?"
"Sam's and Jamie's."
"Okay."
"Cole. When they took you in—I called Jamie from the ER. I told her what happened. I asked her to keep him tonight."
"Yeah."
"I didn't want him to see you. Like this. I was scared it would—"
I had to stop.
"I was scared it would do something to him. To see you with the bruises."
Cole nodded. Small. He was watching me.
"Jamie said he's been at the window for an hour."
The almost-smile came back. Different this time.
"Yeah."
"He's been asking for you."
"Bring him."
"Cole."
"Bring him. Let him see I'm here. Let him see I'm fine."
"You're not fine."
"He needs to see I'm here, Tessa. He needs to see I didn't go anywhere."
I closed my eyes for a beat.
Of course, he needed that. Of course, Cole had thought of that. Of course, the man in the bed with the kidney they were watching had thought, before he had finished waking up, of what a nine-year-old boy at a window needed to be able to sleep tonight.
"Okay."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I'll call Jamie."
"Good."
I leaned forward. I put my forehead against the back of his hand for a second. I straightened. I wiped under my eyes with the heel of my other hand.
He was watching me.
"Tessa."
His voice was thin again. The drift was coming back. The painkillers were pulling him.
"Yeah."
"Stay."
His eyes had closed.
"I will."
His hand was loose in mine.
I sat with him.
I meant the room.
I meant tonight. The chair beside the bed, the lights staying on, the hand staying in mine.
I didn't let myself mean anything else.