Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
LUKE
The tears are still rolling down her beautiful face. Now that I’m really looking, I see her face is covered in bruises and contusions in varying shades of black, blue, green, purple, and red. She carefully wipes the tears from her eyes and sniffles while she tries to gain enough composure to speak.
"You didn't have to bring me in here, Luke.
I was almost out of your way. But when you touched me, I just couldn't take the pain of not having you anymore.
If I can just rest for a minute, I'll be on my way again.
Doors are hard for me to get through on my own.
If you don't mind opening it for me, I'd appreciate it," she says as she lays her head back on the pillow and covers her eyes with her forearm.
The tears are still flowing.
“You saw the news?” she asks. Though her tone doesn’t quite sound like a question.
"Only what I saw in the first couple of minutes of the teaser reel. They said it was a minor accident, but you were staying overnight to be monitored." I pause. “Mack confirmed the news was accurate, so I didn’t question it further.”
"It was PR framing so the fans wouldn't panic over the tour schedule." She shrugs, playing it off.
Andi keeps her voice low, but I can hear the disappointment in it. The label cared more about its bottom line than her health and well-being. I'm partly chastising myself for believing it and partly for not recognizing its language sooner.
"Do Mack and Shane know what really happened to you?"
"Yes."
And they didn't tell me.
"Tell me about it. What really happened?"
She moves her arm and looks up at me. Surprise registers in her eyes, along with something else. Leeriness.
"A drunk driver crossed the center line, clipped the motorcycle tire, and we lost control.
The force of the hit threw me off the bike.
That's why I have cuts, scrapes, and bruises everywhere—along with my broken leg, broken ribs, and a damaged spleen.
As I lay on the highway, all I could think about was you.
Thoughts of dying without being able to tell you how I really felt gave me a panic attack.
The paramedic said I was going into shock from internal bleeding, and I was airlifted to the hospital.
"I just got out of the hospital today, and my first stop was here. So now you know."
I'm floored. Pissed off. Relieved. Furious. Grateful.
"Why didn't Mack or Shane tell me the truth about your injuries?"
"I told them not to," she admits.
"Why would you do that?"
"Because I didn't want you to decide you wanted to be with me because of a close call. Intense circumstances cause people to make rash decisions. I didn't want that." Her voice is precise even now, even broken and exhausted. "I needed your choice to be yours."
Slowly sitting up, she winces in pain, and her hand covers her abdomen.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"My incision site is just still sore when I move in certain ways. I'm okay."
Picking up her cast, she turns until the foot on her bad leg reaches the floor and then moves her good leg to join it. "Can you bring my crutches in here, please?"
Her bottom lip quivers, and she pulls both of her lips into a thin line to try to stop it. It doesn’t work. She waits for me to move without looking at me. She just stares at the floor, her face crestfallen, and her normally bright eyes are now flat.
I fold my arms across my chest, inhale deeply to further expand my chest, and take my rigid stance before answering her.
"No. I'm not bringing them to you."
She looks up at me, and I expect her to fight me tooth and nail like she always has. I expect my Andi to tell me where I can shove those crutches. But her feistiness is not what I see in her eyes.
I see defeat. No, it's actually worse than that. I see her acceptance of defeat.
She's broken.
Now I'm broken.
"Okay," she says sadly.
Then she stands on her good leg and uses the bed to steady herself.
As she looks around the room, she contemplates how she'll move from the bedroom back to the door where her crutches are waiting.
She crouches slightly, preparing to hop on her good leg, when I almost lose my shit over her obstinacy.
"Stop," I command sharply. "Sit down."
She looks around, unsure of whether she should do it.
She spent a lot of energy just to get into an upright position, and she doesn't want to do it all over again.
I can see it written all over her face. Her skin has paled in just the last few minutes, and I know she's already spent too much energy way too fast. She can be so damn stubborn.
"Andi," I say, softer, "sit down before you fall down. You're not going anywhere right now."
She looks back at the bed, visibly more frustrated now.
"What's the problem?" I ask.
A tear drops from her eye, and she quickly wipes it away. "I can't sit down without help." Her hand moves to cover her incision area.
"I'll help you," I offer.
"If you'd just get my crutches, I can do it."
"I'm right here, you stubborn girl. Let me help you. Besides, I'm afraid that if I walk away now, you'll pass out and hurt yourself more."
Her shoulders droop in resignation. "Okay," she whispers.
I move closer and carefully lift her, then remain motionless for an extra moment or two, just holding her while I can. She feels so right in my arms, and I pray we haven't hurt each other beyond repair. As I place her back on the bed, it hits me how insensitive I've been over her injuries.
"Did I hurt you when I picked you up before? I didn't know about your incision," I say apologetically.
"No," she whispers with a shake of her head.
"What did they have to do?"
"They had to go in and stop the internal bleeding. Thankfully, my spleen hadn't completely ruptured, so they were able to save it."
"That's good news," I say, unsure of my own words. "Can I get you anything?"
"My crutches."
"Besides that."
"Then no," she refuses. "Yes. The phone."
"For what?"
"To get someone to come get me."
"Travis?" I ask, and I keep the edge out of my voice because I've earned the right to trust her on this.
She shakes her head. "Mack."
"He's busy."
"Yeah, you're probably right. So is Shane. I don't have anyone else to call."
"Shane is on his way back to Atlanta with Katie. Where's your cell phone?" I ask.
"In a million pieces on a dark, desert highway."
"Looks like you're stuck here then," I assert. "When did you eat last? You look very pale."
"I'm not hungry," she stubbornly refuses again. "I can call the front desk and get a room here. If I can just get my crutches, I'll be out of your way soon."
"You're obsessed with the crutches. You're fine right where you are. If I bring them in here, you'll just try to walk to the door again. Clearly, you're in no condition to do that, and I can't just stand by and let you get hurt. Why aren't you in a wheelchair, anyway?"
"I didn't want one." She shrugs. "And I want my crutches nearby because I'm totally helpless without them."
"You need rest, and you need someone to take care of you. Being totally helpless may be a good thing for you, so you'll learn to lean on someone else for once."
“My track record of depending on others isn’t great.”
ANDI
My energy is completely spent, and I have no reserves left. If Luke told me to leave now, there's no way I'd physically be able to do it. Even as strong as I am, I can't deny that I'm in over my head.
I need help.
I need Luke.
As I look up at him, my heart overflows with love and longing. When he held me, I wanted to grab on to him and never let go. His scent, his touch, his warmth, and the security I feel when he holds me cocooned me. When he released me, it broke my heart all over again.
"You're right," I concede.
"I'm sorry. What? What did you just say?" he asks incredulously.
"You're right. I need someone to help me and take care of me.
" I look down as my chin quivers again. I want that someone to be Luke, but there are things between us that are still unresolved.
There is no resolution in obligation. There is no reconciliation in pity.
I came here for a reason. I need to make sure I do this right, even broken and exhausted and held together with hospital tape and stubbornness.
"I just need to arrange transportation to get back home. "
I think of Travis briefly—he dropped me at the elevator and said he'd be downstairs if I needed him.
"Travis was with me in the accident," I say. "He wasn't hurt badly. He stayed until he knew I was stable."
Luke's jaw tightens slightly at the name. Not the old jealousy—something different. Complicated. Then he nods slowly.
"He's a good friend," I say clearly. I need Luke to hear that. "That's what he's been this entire tour. A good friend. Nothing more, nothing less."
The room is quiet.
"I know," Luke says. And I hear in his voice that he wholeheartedly believes that.
"Luke." I look at him directly, even from the bed, even broken. "I came here because I had things to say. Things I carried from Phoenix and further back than that."
He doesn't move. He's listening.
"I'm not here because of the accident. I was coming anyway.
Travis and I were on the way back when the driver hit us.
" I pause. "I was coming to tell you I understand why you made the arrangement without talking to me first. I understand the logic and the love in it.
And I need you to understand—fully, not just intellectually—that the logic and the love don't make it right.
You can't protect me by deciding for me.
That's what they do. That's the machine's method, and when you used it, even for me, you handed them something. "
His throat moves.
"I'm not saying this to reopen the wound," I say. "I'm saying it because I need us to be clear about it before we can actually put it behind us. And I need us to put it behind us, Luke. Because I am so tired of this year."
He crosses the room in three steps and drops to his knees in front of the bed.
The sight of him—this big, controlled, hard man on his knees in front of me—absolutely undoes me.
"I know," he breathes. "I know what I did. I knew it when I was doing it, and I told myself the results would justify it, and I was wrong." He looks up at me. "I have been wrong about the best things in my life before. I'm getting better at recognizing it faster."
"Yes," I say. "You are."
"I'm sorry, Andi."
"I know you are."
A tear rolls down my temple, and I don't stop it. He reaches up and wipes it away without being asked, and I let him, which is its own kind of admission from me.
"I still think it kept you safer," he says. It's not a defense. It's just honest.
"I know you do." I look at him. "That's what we have to work on."
He leans his forehead against my hand, where it rests on the bed.
"Tell me we're not done," he says. His voice is low and stripped of everything except what it means.
"We're not done," I say. “I wouldn’t be here if we were done.”
He exhales.
We stay like that for a moment—him on his knees, me on the bed, both of us a little broken, the room quiet around us.
"I still think you should have told me," he finally says.
"I know. And you should have told me about the arrangement." I look at him. "We have to stop protecting each other from our own information."
"You’re right," he agrees.
"Okay." I shift slightly and wince, which kills the gravity of the moment. Luke is immediately on his feet, trying to figure out what he did wrong, until I catch his expression and realize I'm going to laugh despite everything.
"I'm okay," I say. "It's just the incision. I moved wrong."
His face goes through three emotions in about two seconds.
"You're a disaster," he says, but his voice has changed.
"I know." I smile. "Get my crutches."
"No."
"Luke."
"In a minute." He carefully sits on the edge of the bed. He reaches under his shirt and pulls the dog tag necklace out from where it rests against his chest. The heart-shaped hole in the center. "You have the other piece," he says.
"I do," I say. It's still around my neck. I never took it off, not once, through any of it. Not even during my surgery. I’m sure the operating room staff removed it once I was unconscious, but I was adamant about keeping it on while I was awake.
He looks at it for a long moment. "That's the entire story," he says quietly.
"Yeah," I agree. "That's the whole story."
He carefully, slowly, reaches out and covers the heart pendant where it rests against my collarbone with his hand. Like he's checking to see if it's still there.
"I have to ask you about something," he says.
"Okay. I'll tell you whatever you want to know."
"I saw a new tattoo on your back at the concert the night before my fight. Want to tell me about it?"
"It's pretty self-explanatory." I smile. "It's a pair of boxing gloves, hanging by the strings. Above them are the words 'Crazy for You.'"
"That song was dedicated to me?" he asks. "Every time?"
"Every single time I sang it," I tell him. "You are the love of my life."
He covers his face for a moment with one hand. When he drops it, his eyes are red.
"Get some rest," he says.
"My crutches."
"In a minute." He doesn't move. "I will give you a lifetime of love, Andi. You'll never regret choosing me."
"I know," I say.
And I do.