CHAPTER EIGHTEEN #2
She wanted to adjust his pillow and call the nurse. She wanted to take his hand again and forget the argument. Instead, she stayed in the chair because caring for him would not matter if he refused to believe he deserved it.
“Every time I look at you, I see what happened,” Wes admitted.
Bee went still. “What does that mean?”
“I look at your bruises and think about how close I came to losing you,” he explained.
“So every time you look at me, you're going to see the accident?” she asked.
“That isn't what I said,” Wes replied.
“It's what it sounds like,” Bee said.
“Bee, that isn't what I mean,” he insisted.
“Then tell me what you mean,” she said.
Wes rubbed his thumb against the edge of the blanket. His frustration faded into helplessness. “I don't know how.”
Bee pushed herself carefully out of the chair. Pain pulled across her ribs and side. She reached for the bag beside the chair. The room shifted enough to make her grip the chair until it steadied.
Wes saw the wince she failed to hide. Concern crossed his face before she had fully straightened. “You're hurting.”
“I'm fine,” Bee replied.
“No, you're not,” he said.
“Neither are you,” she replied.
“That's exactly what I mean,” Wes said.
Bee stopped lifting the strap over her shoulder. “No, Wes. That is exactly what I mean.”
He stared at her. “What?”
“You see me hurting and make it your fault,” she said.
“You got hurt while you were with me,” he replied.
“There it is again,” Bee said.
“I can't help how I feel,” Wes replied.
“You are allowed to be scared,” she told him. “You are allowed to be hurt or angry. What you are not allowed to do is turn me into proof that you failed.”
Wes looked at her for a long moment. His frustration gave way to worry as he realized she was preparing to leave. His hand moved against the blanket before stopping near the edge of the bed.
“I don't want you to go,” Wes said.
Bee looked at the hand that had held hers only minutes earlier. “Then stop pushing me away.”
“I'm not pushing you away,” he replied.
“It feels like you are,” she said.
“I'm worried about you,” Wes told her.
“I'm worried about you too,” Bee replied.
“You shouldn't have to be,” he said.
The words struck the last part of her that had been trying to stay calm. Tears burned behind her eyes. Her grip tightened around the bag strap as she stared at him.
“Why shouldn't I?” Bee asked. “Because you're hurt too?”
“I don't want to make things harder for you,” Wes replied.
“I sat beside this bed and held your hand because you couldn't hold mine,” Bee said. “I begged you to stay. Now you're awake. You won't let me stay with you.”
Wes's face changed. The guilt disappeared beneath something closer to pain. “Bee, that isn't what I want.”
“Then let me care about you without making it another thing you have to apologize for,” she said.
“I don't know how to do that right now,” he admitted.
Bee pressed her lips together as the first tear escaped. His answer was honest. That did not make it hurt less.
“I don't know how to stop caring about you because I have bruises,” she said.
“I didn't ask you to stop,” Wes replied.
“You keep telling me I shouldn't have to worry about you,” Bee said. “You don't get to decide what caring about you costs me.”
“I don't want it to cost you anything,” he replied.
“It already does,” she said. “That is what happens when somebody matters.”
Wes went quiet. Bee saw the regret forming in his face. She was too hurt to sit down again. She settled the bag against her side and stepped away from the chair.
“I wanted this so badly,” Bee said.
Wes looked at her. “Wanted what?”
“You to wake up,” she replied.
The tension disappeared from his expression. Bee wiped beneath one eye before another tear could follow. Her voice shook when she continued.
“I sat here and begged you to wake up,” Bee said. “I kept thinking about everything I hadn't told you because I thought there would always be more time.”
Wes watched her carefully. “What did you say to me?”
Bee froze. The confession returned in her own voice. She remembered telling him she loved him and admitting that she had already begun expecting him to be there tomorrow.
“Not now,” she said.
“Why?” Wes asked.
“Because I can't give you that while we're hurting each other,” Bee replied.
“Bee,” he said.
She stepped toward the door. Wes's hand pressed against the mattress as if he wanted to follow. His injuries held him in place.
“Please don't leave upset,” Wes said.
Bee gave him a sad look. “How else am I supposed to leave?”
“I don't know,” he admitted.
“Neither do I,” she replied.
“I'm sorry,” Wes said.
Bee closed her eyes. The apology felt like another piece of the wall between them. “Please stop saying that.”
Wes fell silent while Bee reached for the door handle. Her fingers stayed there as part of her waited for something that would make her turn around. The monitor continued marking the seconds neither of them knew how to fix.
“I'm glad you woke up,” Bee said. “I need you to know that.”
“I know,” Wes replied.
Bee turned back to him. “No, I mean it. I am so glad you're alive that I don't know what to do with all of it.”
Wes's eyes stayed on hers. His voice broke when he answered. “Then stay.”
Bee swallowed as another tear reached her cheek. Every part of her wanted to return to the chair and put her hand inside his. Wanting it was not enough to make the hurt between them disappear.
“I can't stay while you're making me feel like surviving beside you is something you have to apologize for,” Bee said. “I need some time.”
“Bee,” Wes said.
She opened the door before his voice changed her mind. Wes did not call after her again. His silence followed her into the hallway and hurt more than anything else he could have said.
Bee kept walking until his room disappeared behind her. The tears came when she reached the corner. She covered her mouth to hold back the sound while every step away from him felt like the opposite of what she wanted.
Inside the hospital room, the empty chair remained beside Wes's bed. He had spent every waking minute asking for Bee. When she finally came, he had made being beside him hurt more than walking away.
Wes stared at the hand she had held. He closed his fingers around the place where hers had been. The warmth was already gone. This time he had been awake enough to feel it leave.