Chapter 40
Chapter forty
Lance
Shrapnel bits. The explosions shred my eardrums. Innocent people scatter like marbles. Sweat runs down my face, mixed with red, the fallen soldier I carry wails again. Then Dog appears, running to another victim. I open my mouth to scream but…
A flash blinds me, and I sit up, surprised to be in my bedroom. My sheets soaked again—I’ve been having this nightmare for days. The constant buzzing from my dream continues; my cell dances on the side table.
It goes silent, then restarts immediately, frantically screaming to be answered.
“Hello.” I screw my eyes together, then reopen them, trying to bring everything into focus. “Who is it?”
A woman screams through the phone, panicked. The words hit me so fast I can’t understand anything she’s saying. Recognizing her is impossible.
“Slow down,” I say, trying to calm her. “Who is it? And what’s happened that you’re calling me in the middle of the night?”
“It’s Katie!”
“Katie? It doesn’t sound like you.”
“No, you idiot,” she growls. “It’s Amy here. Katie’s in a hospital in New York. Bloody listen to me.”
“Hospital?” Panic swells in my throat, terrified my nightly premonitions are coming true. “What happened?”
“You need to go to her. She’s in a bad way. She’s been hit by a car. I spoke to the doctor. She’s critical. They’ve put her in an induced coma. Lance, you need to…”
“What about Brad?” I snap. My world bending, already torn about running halfway across the globe or staying put. She left. She chose him.
“She’s left him, Lance. She was in the middle of coming home when the accident happened last night.
” Amy tries to catch her breath as she tells me what happened.
“They called me because I was the emergency contact on her phone. When I called him, he told me he hoped she went straight to hell. She walked out on him in the middle of their Christmas Day celebrations.”
Katie was coming home. Everything spins again. The automatic reaction I had to say no, gone. If she was on her way back, perhaps there was a chance for us. Perhaps I could’ve been part of the reason.
“I can’t leave here, Lance,” Amys says. “I need you to go and bring her home when she’s well enough. There’s a flight from Edinburgh Airport this afternoon. I’ll send you the link.”
“But,” I stammer, “what about if she doesn’t want me? What about my kids?”
“Work it out, fast,” she snaps. “This is your chance. I’ll email you.” She hangs up, and I’m left staring at the blank phone in my hand. This is your chance. If Amy thinks Katie would want me there, her best friend, then this is my opportunity.
The clock tells me it is five in the morning. What time is that in New York? 1 a.m. Do I take the risk and go to America to reconcile with the woman I love? What if I lose her before the plane lands?
She’s critical, that’s what Amy said. But if these are her final days or even hours, I want her to know she’s not alone. I want her to know I love her. And if she pulls through, I want to be the first person she sees. She needs to know I’m with her, no matter what.
YOU HAVE 1 NEW MAIL
The message pops up on my screen, and I click it open.
Hi Lance,
I’m sorry I was so sharp on the phone. I’m worried.
Katie has no one in New York. She’s lying in a hospital bed.
There’s a flight at 16:55 from Edinburgh, there are a few seats available.
Katie’s in New York Community Hospital, the intensive care department.
Her physician is Dr. Reed. I’ve attached a link to nearby hotels as well.
Please do this for her and yourself.
Much Love, Amy xoxo
My sole foot hits the cold laminate floor, startling me.
I really must get a rug. This house is freezing at night.
My prosthetic leg sits next to my bedside table; I attach it with ease.
It amazes me how normal living like this feels now.
My restrictions around my disability diminish each time I conquer a new challenge.
I pace around my room, picking things up and putting them down again as I go over the implications of what I’m about to do. I’ll need to take David with me—he has a passport. Hannah can return to her mother’s for a few days. Not that she’ll like it.
With the decision made, I throw clothes into a suitcase. New York is cold in December, I think. I’ve never been, but every Christmas movie I’ve ever seen has every building dripping in snow. Hannah appears at my bedroom door.
“Dad, what are you doing? It’s the middle of the night. You’ll wake David with all that racket.”
I laugh at her matronly tone; it lightens my mood, which is plummeting by the second.
“I need to go to New York.”
“New York?” she squeals. “Why?”
“It’s Katie,” I say, my voice level as if me running off across the world is completely normal. “She’s in the hospital. There’s no one there to look after her.”
“What about her boyfriend?” she hisses. Katie’s bad news in Hannah’s opinion.
After I returned from London, she decided she hated her.
I tried to keep my hurt from my daughter, but I did a terrible job.
She’s fully aware of how broken I was after that fiasco.
Guilt balloons inside; my daughter’s been subjected to far too much adult drama in her young life. It’s damage I’m not sure how to undo.
“She’s left him, Hannah. She was coming home when a car hit her. I need to go. She’s in a bad way. I know you don’t understand, but, please, this is something I must do.”
Her shoulders bob, then she grimaces.
“Well, I suppose that means I’ve got to go back to Mum’s house?” she says, sullen, sticking out her bottom lip. I gather her in my arms and kiss the top of her head, the way I’ve done since she could waddle.
“It’s only for a little while, until I sort things out. Once I’m back, you can come home, but I don’t know how long this could take.”
“What about David?”
“I’ll take him with me.”
“But could Amber not look after him? Isn’t it a long flight for a baby?” I ignore her questions and continue to pack. Her eyes bore into me, watching my every move. “I’m coming too.”
That makes me stop, turning to face her.
“No, you’re staying here with your mother. You have school. This is not up for discussion. Now go and pack whatever you’ll need. I’ll call her in a few hours. I need to leave for the airport by ten.”
“No…”
“Hannah.” My tone drops. She loses the teenage confidence she’s been practicing. “I said no. You stay here. I’ll be back for you. I promise.”
The door slams as she stomps off. With Hannah, you are better off just shutting the conversation down and not getting into a debate. She’ll rarely take no for an answer, but I can’t deal with her and a baby on this trip. David wails, woken by the noise. Fucking great.
***
David’s strapped to my chest as I sit in the departure lounge.
He’s sleeping soundly; I hope he stays that way.
I don’t look forward to an eight-hour flight with a screaming baby, and I’m sure my fellow passengers don’t either.
The announcement blares over the speaker system that it’s time to board.
I grab my carry on and head down the ramp.
Finally, we settle in a window seat at the back of the plane.
It was the last one available. Worried glances flick over from other passengers when they clock David on my chest; I smile back.
In the past, that was me, rolling my eyes on seeing someone traveling with young children, hissing at them under my breath as if they ruined my flight.
Even though I had Hannah, we never traveled anywhere out of Scotland.
Thinking about it, I realize she hasn’t even been on a plane.
That’s a situation that needs to be rectified.
The cabin doors close, and I relax back in my chair.
My son’s quiet snoring is soothing on my chest. As I kiss the top of his head, the woman in the seat next to me beams.
“I love to see a father with his son,” she whispers. “He’s beautiful. What’s his name?”
We chat for the duration of the flight, and the time passes swiftly.
David wakes occasionally to be fed but falls quickly back to sleep.
A few trips are made to the onboard changing facilities after a nappy explosion stinks out the plane.
But overall, the flight goes smoothly, and we land in New York on time.
After collecting David’s car seat from the hire desk. I catch a cab directly to the hospital, even though it’s the middle of the night. The lights of New York whisk past the window, but I don’t take the time to view my surroundings, fully focused on getting to Katie.
The driver pulls up outside the hospital.
It looks exactly like the buildings I’ve seen in American TV series.
A large overhang extends from the front door of the building with the words NY COMMUNITY HOSPITAL written across the front.
The square brown building stands proud; I wonder how many lives the heroes in this place have saved over the years.
I hope they can at least save one more.
The one most important to me—Katie.
Neon signs to the intensive care department blink as I walk along the corridor.
My vision blurs under white light as I scurry with a baby in my arms and pulling a suitcase.
Perhaps I should’ve gone to the hotel first, but I had to see her.
Every mile I watched disappear on the airplane flight tracker only made me more nervous, my desperation to be by her side more severe.
A man sits behind the reception desk, dressed sharply in a suit with a tie. He flicks through papers on the desk, ignoring me. I clear my throat. His gaze wanders upward.
“Can I help you?” he asks. I bite my tongue, the rage rising in the back of my throat.
“I’m here to see Katie Clark,” I tell him, aiming for polite, obtaining barely civil. “She was brought in overnight after a car accident.”
“Are you family?” He looks away to paperwork in front of him.
“She’s my...” I pause. What is she? Deciding not to take a chance on being rejected, I lie. “She’s my partner.”
“Room 348.” He looks up. “She’s still unconscious but stable. You can go in and see her.”
“Can you say that again?” I whisper. His eyes narrow.
“You can go…”
“No, the stable part.” My voice catches. Relief blooms in my chest. The receptionist smiles for the first time since my arrival.
“She’s stable, sir.” He points down the corridor. “You can go sit with her.”
The hospital room is old but clean. Katie’s lying on the bed, propped up on pillows in a half-seated position. Her eyes are closed, and from here she looks perfect, not a bump or scrape in sight. It’s almost impossible to believe she was in any collision at all.
I stand next to her, placing one hand on her arm as I press a kiss to her forehead.
“I love you, Katie Clark. Please come back to me. I miss you,” I whisper, hoping she can hear me.
My ass aches after sitting in the hospital chair for what feels like hours, praying she wakes up.
Nurses and doctors come and go, giving me basic updates on her condition, but telling me not to expect her to open her eyes any time soon.
It could be days or even weeks. The trauma her body has taken will take months to heal.
A traumatic brain injury, that’s what the doctor called it.
“But there’s no visible bruising on her head?” I said.
“There doesn’t have to be. Katie’s head was forced backward and forward violently. Her brain was shaken inside her skull.”
He paused then, giving me a moment to consider his update. It seemed unreal.
“The good news is we don’t see signs of structural damage.” He glanced to the notes on the clipboard in his hands. “We’re confident she will wake—and heal. Her memory should come back. But it’ll take time. The brain essentially has put itself into a protective shutdown while it gets better.”
“So, she’ll be okay?” I asked for what felt like the thousandth time. His mouth almost turned into an encouraging smile before catching himself. Doctors are trained for realism, not false hope.
“There’s no guarantees. And when she wakes, she may be disoriented. Repeat herself. Struggle to focus.”
“Of course…” Not that I knew anything about brain injuries, but it seemed the right thing to say. Even though what he was saying was positive to a degree, the uncertainty was still terrifying.
“And her ongoing recovery is likely to be challenging with fatigue, emotional episodes, possible headaches. However, we’re in a wait and see situation. Some patients experience very little; others, it takes more time.”
“Whatever she needs,” I mumble. All the time praying that when she does wake up, Katie even wants me here. That she doesn’t immediately ask for him, the bastard who’s controlled her for months. “I’ll be here for her.”
“None of this means she won’t recover,” the doctor adds.
“We expect progress, not perfection. And right now, from the scans and tests, we see progress. It’s good news.
” He made for the door then, no doubt off to see his next patient.
As he reached the threshold, he stopped and turned back to face me.
“The hardest part often comes after the hospital,” he said, voice soft but firm. “When everyone expects her to be fine, but she isn’t yet.”
Then he left, his white coat swishing behind me, one click of his polished shoe at a time.
I’ve seen men come home from war with physical injuries that they recover from. But it’s the mental anguish that’s hard to heal. The fear of mortality thrust upon them when they least expected it.
Every inch of me hopes Katie can cope with whatever lasting issues this accident leaves her with. And I’ll plead with her until she lets me be the support she may need. This time, I won’t allow her to push me away. I’m here to stay—however she’ll have me.
According to the police, who keep appearing at the hospital to get updates on her, the driver had been five times over the legal alcohol limit.
Katie had been pulling her case across the road toward a cab sitting on the other side.
He’d swung round a corner at high speed and plowed straight into her.
Witnesses said she had been flung onto the hood of the car, traveling a few meters before falling onto the road. Her lack of visible injuries on her arms and face is bizarre. Somehow, she protected herself or got lucky. If luck can even be considered part of any of this crisis.
The panicked driver reversed and then took off in the opposite direction. Police chased him for twenty minutes before he crashed into a lamppost. The nurses told me she wasn’t expected to survive the ambulance ride, but she did.
My Katie is a warrior. My warrior. And I’m here to support her every step of the way. Whether she wants my support or not.