Chapter 4
4
EVE CASSIDY
After many cups of stale hospital coffee and attempting to preoccupy myself with whatever HGTV show is playing on the remoteless TV in the ICU family waiting room, I decide to badge myself into the unit and see if Foster’s out of surgery and in his room yet. Yes, this is frowned upon. No, at this moment, I don’t care. It’s been hours; surely they’re done in the OR by now. I approach the front desk, stopping anxiously in front of a woman I don’t know.
‘Who are you looking for?’ she asks, not even looking away from her computer.
‘Foster—er, Guy Foster?’
He hates his first name – always has. It’s why I’m stumped every time I hear it. I’ve never known him as Guy. In his words, every dude on the planet gets called ‘guy’, so how is he to differentiate the people actually speaking to him from one of the other billions of ‘guys’ on the earth?
The receptionist scans her screen, and a click or two of her mouse fills the silence between us.
‘Guy Foster.’ She nods like his name rings a bell. ‘And you are here because…?’ Her gaze drops to my hospital badge, still attached to the breast pocket of my scrubs, her eyebrows furrowing. ‘You’re from the ER? Didn’t he come in via ER?’
‘Oh, um, yes. Sorry, I’m not here on the clock, I’m off-duty.’ I cover my badge with my hand.
The receptionist looks confused but taps on her keyboard again like she’s writing a novel. ‘Are you family?’
‘Yes?’
She narrows her eyes.
‘I’m his… uh—wife.’ I blurt out only the tiniest of white lies. The sentence is really only missing one word. Just please don’t ask me for a marriage certificate, because I burned that years ago.
Miss Receptionist scans the screen, clicking in and out of the system. ‘Eve?’ she asks.
I nod.
Her pursed-lip smile says anything but ‘it’ll all be OK’. ‘It looks like he’s just arrived in the recovery room so it’s going to be another hour or so.’
‘But he made it through the surgery?’
She glances at the screen again then nods.
Oh, sweet relief, he’s alive. Thank God. My heart stabilizes from its erratic run since seeing his face and for the first time in hours, I feel like I’m back on planet Earth and not just hovering above it watching chaos unfold.
‘Can you make a note to have someone come get me when he’s brought to a room? I’m in the family waiting area.’
‘Will do,’ she says, right as my phone vibrates in my pocket.
I pull it out as I walk back to the waiting room and see Kait’s name flashing across the screen.
‘Hey,’ she says when I answer. ‘What’s going on?’
Really, I’d rather not give anyone a play-by-play of my day right now, but I know she’s not hanging up the phone until I do. Prying is what best friends do best. Plus, I’ve known her too long to lie.
‘Foster is in ICU – here.’
The other end of the line is momentarily silent.
‘Here?’ she asks. ‘As in at our hospital?’
I like how she calls it ours as if we own it, not simply work for it. Kait is technically my sister’s best friend – originally. But the three of us are only a couple of years apart so we’ve become a BFF trio. Jess is home and has no idea what’s going on right now – thank God – because if she did, she’d be blowing up my phone with opinions I’d rather not hear. But Kait is here and works on floor six of the OHSU Doernbecher Children’s Hospital in labor and delivery, and I’m sure she was filled in on what’s happening by Genevieve, who has befriended us both.
‘As in, I had to leave my shift early because I was in the trauma room when he got here.’
‘Holy be-Jesus, Evie. Are you alright?’
I sit back on the couch in the family waiting area and rub a hand over my face. Emotions surface just from considering if I’m alright. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Is he…?’ she asks very hesitantly.
‘He lived through surgery, but I have no idea what his injuries are and I haven’t seen him since they took him to the OR.’
‘Did you really get the call?’
I wipe my eyes, hoping to stop the tears before they flow far too easily. ‘I did and I don’t know why, considering we’ve been apart for five years. He should have changed it a long time ago. How am I supposed to help with this? I don’t even know how to contact his family.’
‘What about Matty?’
‘Don’t know how to get ahold of him either.’
‘Shouldn’t he be here if he was hurt during a ride?’
‘He could be, for all I know, I just haven’t seen him.’
Her silence says so much. She’s choosing her words wisely here as after I left Florida (and Foster), I was a total mess. I thought three months after marriage I’d be floating on cloud nine still, but instead I found myself alone, far away from home, and wishing I’d made other choices while he toured without me. I didn’t get married and change my entire life only to be alone 92 per cent of the time.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to be happy with how much you’ve already helped, and let someone else figure this next part out?’ Kait asks.
‘You think I should leave him when he’s in this condition? Alone? We both know patients who are on their own heal slower than those with support. I once loved this man. No way can I just leave.’
‘I know, but this is a slippery slope, Eve – you have no idea who’s in his life now and things may get super awkward for you before they get better if you stay.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Love- dddd . Past tense, darling. Really, harsh as this may sound, he’s not your problem any more. He didn’t even show up at your wedding reception.’
‘That is a technicality. He tried to make it, his face via iPad made it, but his flight got changed last minute.’
‘OK, fine. What if he has a girlfriend now? Or a wife? Or children? What will you do if they walk in and see you there?’
‘Children? God, are you trying to kill me?’ I ask, planting a hand on my thumping heart. ‘You’re worrying about nonsense. I already know he’s single as a pringle. I googled him as I sat here in the ICU waiting for him to get out of surgery. Only one other woman besides myself was listed as one of his partners and they broke up publicly a year ago. Her name is Gia.’
‘He’s got a thing for girls with three letter names, eh?’ she asks with a slight chuckle. ‘Well, I’m sorry for being a worry wort. I forgot he was famous and Google knows all. What about his family? Shouldn’t they also get ‘the call’?’
‘If they were in his paperwork. But considering he’s a grown man who probably no longer has his parents listed anywhere for anything, I’m not holding my breath.’
‘Hi.’ A brunette woman dressed in navy scrubs, with a stethoscope around her neck and a badge with her photo, and the name ‘Chelsea – RN’ attached at the breast pocket, steps into the doorway of the waiting room. ‘You’re here for Guy?’
‘I gotta go,’ I say to Kait, hanging up before she can even say goodbye. Slippery slope or not, I’m going in. My heart won’t say no.
‘Foster,’ I correct Chelsea. ‘He never goes by Guy.’
‘Oh! Good to know! And you’re his wife?’
‘Yes.’ I don’t even feel guilty saying it at this point.
She looks at my scrubs, lifting a single eyebrow. ‘I recognize you. Don’t you work here?’
It’s a big hospital but if we work the same hours, it’s possible to meet in the halls or cafeteria. I don’t know this nurse, but that’s not to say I’ve never spoken to her on the phone or run into her at some point.
‘I do,’ I say with a nod. ‘Trauma ER.’ I pull my badge from my pocket to prove it.
‘Oh, you poor thing – you were there when he came in?’
‘I was.’
Her bubbly persona fades and she frowns. ‘Well, come with me. He’s just been wheeled in from recovery. You must be worried sick,’ she says, touching my shoulder with concern.
‘You have no idea,’ I mumble, glancing at each room we pass, fear building in me.
What am I about to walk into? It can’t possibly be as bad as it was earlier but that doesn’t mean he’s not still struggling. I have no idea what’s really wrong with him at this point, other than what I heard in the ER, and none of that sounded promising.
Chelsea stops outside a room, sanitizing her hands and pointing to the wall where the dispenser is for me to do the same. As I lather my hands until they’re dry, I glance at the wall of glass separating us. The curtain within the room is pulled, so I can’t see him just yet, but I hear the medical machinery beeping steadily enough that I know he’s stable.
‘I know you see a lot of horrifying things, but brace yourself, it’s always different when it’s someone you love,’ she warns, slowly pulling back the curtain, stopping me in my tracks. My steps falter, and I have to steady myself against the doorframe, my breath catching in my throat. Despite our painful separation, my now stunned heart is telling me the connection is still there, like an unbroken thread binding us together.
‘Freaking. Hell.’ The words tumble out of my mouth without trying.
I approach his bed slowly, my heart galloping through my chest. His hand lies limply at his side, and I hesitate before gently placing my own over it. The contact is electric, a stark reminder of the bond we once shared. His skin is cool, and I squeeze his hand lightly, willing him to feel my presence, to know he isn’t alone.
‘Foster,’ I whisper, leaning into him and speaking in his ear, my voice trembling. ‘It’s Eve, again. Surgery’s over. You’re doing great,’ I say, glancing at the numbers on the monitors. All of those words feel inadequate, but they’re all I have.
I scan the room, taking in the array of medical equipment – the IV drips, the infusion pumps, the tangle of wires and tubes – all working to keep him alive. I struggle to maintain my composure, my professional mask slipping in the face of personal crisis. Chelsea was right, the years of training and experience as a nurse couldn’t shield me from the raw, aching vulnerability of seeing someone I once loved in such a critical state.
Tears well up, but I blink them back, knowing I need to be strong – for him. For the person I once promised to love and protect. I speak again, my voice steadier this time. ‘You got this, Fost.’ No response as I plant my lips on the side of his forehead.
Standing, I glance at Chelsea and another nurse I don’t know who’s also in the room, documenting something on the computer near him.
‘What, uh—’ My mind is not moving the way it usually does considering it’s now clouded with every moment I’ve ever spent with this man. ‘—What injuries did he end up having?’
‘Might be easier to talk about the injuries he doesn’t have,’ the nurse at the computer says with half a grin.
Chelsea is checking his monitors but glances at me. ‘Well, let’s see.’ She props a hand on her hip. ‘He has a deranged left shoulder, his left wrist is fractured, and he’s got many broken ribs on both sides. He also has a collapsed lung, ruptured spleen, a bruised liver, and multiple internal injuries that surgery just repaired. No brain bleeds, luckily – thank God for helmets. And his cervical spine looks good – but bruised. As you probably know, the next forty-eight hours will be his biggest challenge, but we’re keeping him as comfortable as possible. If he stays stable for the next few days, the doctor will extubate before he has another surgery on that shoulder and wrist.’
Jeesh. He needs more OR time? Oh, God this is bad. So, so bad.
My gaze meanders to the many wires and tubes that are everywhere. It’s terrifying from this side of it. He’s shirtless – which I’ve always enjoyed – but his left arm is strapped to his side, probably to stabilize both his shoulder and wrist until they do the surgeries she mentioned. Machines on either side of him beep with different patterns. His dark loose curls are a mess, and he’s dirty, as is usual with his career choice, but his face is perfect – besides the tube taped between his lips. To quote Chelsea, thank God for helmets.
‘Wow. OK. Typically, he’s a way better rider than this. I can’t believe this has happened.’
For years, he’s tempted fate with every ride he takes. It only ever gave me a mini heart attack watching him mid-air doing a death-defying stunt with a two-hundred-pound bike hovering nearby. Which is why, since we broke up, I haven’t really kept up with him because who does that after someone breaks your heart? No one willingly stresses themselves out. I made a clean break.
‘Keep talking to him,’ Chelsea says. ‘He can hear you.’
That’s sort of what I’m afraid of. Sure, it was a clean break, for me. However, when we parted, I didn’t exactly leave things on a good note. In fact, I only left a note. He didn’t question it. And until today, besides his yearly FB comment, we’ve never spoken again. So… I have absolutely no idea how this is going to go down. Will the sound of my voice flatline the poor guy? It hasn’t so far.
‘We’ll be back to check on him in a few, or when something starts beeping,’ Chelsea says, motioning between her and the nurse now logging out of the computer. ‘If you need me, press his call button,’ she says while washing her hands. Then they exit the room, closing the curtain and door behind them, leaving just him and me in the scariest place I’ve ever been.
I spend a moment looking him over – something I didn’t allow myself to do earlier. Five o’clock shadow, present. That’s his ‘look’. God – and his home gym – blessed this man with strong shoulders, muscley (but not ‘overdone’) arms, and an oh sweet six-pack. Maybe I can’t see that part now, with his arm stabilized across his mid-section – but a girl never forgets a body like his. He has a single scar through one of his dark eyebrows that looks intentional, but it’s from the first fall he ever took on a bike when he was four. And though I can’t see them now, his eyes are such a light blue they look like sea glass – it’s the first thing you notice about him. The man is devastatingly handsome. Seeing him like this, even though I see this kind of thing daily, is terrifying.
‘Didn’t quite land this one, eh?’ I ask, holding his hand gently in mine.
No answer. Not even a grin. I heave a sigh. ‘I don’t even know what to say, Fost.’ My voice cracks, which surprises me as I’m pretty emotionless these days. ‘And no, I’m not crying. I just—God, you’re so broken that I’m scared. I’m also certain I’m not the girl you want to wake up to, so give me a hint somehow. Is there someone I can call for you? Your parents? Matty? A girlfriend Google doesn’t know about? Blink once for yes.’ I sniffle, wiping away tears with my free hand.
His eyes stay closed, not even a flinch. He’s still as a corpse, with a mechanical lung keeping him this side of the earth. What do I do? I glance around the room again, spotting a bag with the words PERSONAL BELONGINGS on a nearby chair. Surely, his phone is in there, and I can call his family; it’s the least I can do.
I dig through the bag. In it is his riding gear that I cut into shreds so I could get it off him – we won’t tell him I did that personally because that’s going to piss him off. He’s very protective of his gear. I push aside his boots. Gloves. Socks. Underwear… and at the bottom of the bag are his wallet and cell phone.
I grab the phone and tap the screen on. It’s locked with a passcode. Great. I haven’t talked to this man in years. How am I going to figure this out? I flash the phone in front of his face, but nothing happens. Either the intubation tube is confusing it, or he doesn’t use Face ID. What about his thumb? Gently, I lay his right thumb over the reader. Still locked.
Think, Eve, think . What are some of the most important things to this man?
Motorcycles. Possibly not after this, though?
Doughnuts. Should I look up Voodoo Doughnut’s phone number? I don’t think so…
His birthday? Maybe. I tap it in, but his phone buzzes no.
My birthday? I should be concerned if this one works, but enter it anyway. Buzz. No go.
Wait, what year was he fifteen? He’s thirty-five now… so twenty years ago would be 2004. I tap in the numbers, and his phone magically unlocks. He won his first title that year. Fifteen is his rider number. He considers it lucky – I’m not so sure at this moment.
I tap on his list of contacts, scrolling for some cutesy candy nickname he’s given a new girl, or for his parents. I come across his mother first – Donna Foster. I stop at her name, hesitantly hovering my index finger over her listing. We’ve only briefly met and I didn’t feel like she loved me. She was not happy to hear we’d eloped after thirty days either. Nope, can’t call her. I scroll again, landing on Matty’s number.
‘Foster?’ he says, confusion in his voice.
‘No,’ I say. ‘It’s Eve.’
‘Eve?’
The glass door slides open and Matty walks in, phone still to his ear. Our eyes meet. A look of puzzlement is plastered on the older man’s face. ‘Eve?’ He drops his device after spotting me. ‘Why, uh—why are you here?’ he asks.
I lift my shoulders. ‘I didn’t plan to be, but I work here,’ I tell him. ‘I was in the ER when he came in. I’m also shockingly still his emergency contact.’
‘Really?’ he asks, frowning at the sight of Foster. ‘I didn’t know you two were involved again. He hasn’t mentioned it.’
‘He wouldn’t, because we’re not.’
He lifts a curious eyebrow. ‘Keep talking,’ he says, now across the bed from me, inspecting the parts of Foster that are injured.
‘I didn’t even know he was in the city. We don’t talk any more.’
Matty’s eyes are on me and he looks… interested, to say the least. ‘When’s the last time you two actually spoke?’
‘When I left Florida,’ I admit, sheepishly. ‘Actually, not even then, really, so I guess just before I left?’
‘You haven’t talked to him in five years?’
I shake my head, glancing down at Foster, my heart stuttering painfully. Tangled, messy emotions swirl through my head, confusing me almost to tears. I sniffle hard, looking up at the ceiling to will them away as I plant a hand over my mouth to stop it from quivering because that’s when I’ll lose it.
‘How bad is it?’ he asks, nervousness in his voice.
‘He’s critical. They’ve got him sedated into what we call an induced coma until he’s been stable for a minimum of forty-eight hours. Mostly internal damage, except his left arm. No brain bleeds. No serious spinal injuries.’
He shakes his head, closing his eyes painfully. ‘Damn it,’ he mumbles, now looking at Foster with worry.
‘Was it as bad at the track as it was here?’ I ask after pulling myself together.
Matty nods, frowning at the same time. ‘Worst crash I’ve seen in a while. I don’t know what happened, but I’ve got my suspicions.’
Really? I want to ask what those are, but he continues speaking.
‘But Foster’s tough as nails. We both know that. He’s healed broken bones so many times he’s pro. Even survived a broken heart once.’ His gaze meets mine and I feel instantly guilty. ‘He’ll pull through – eventually.’
Message received. ‘Should I go?’
Matty is like a second father, a trainer, a coach, and a best friend all wound into one for Foster. He’s who should be here – especially after his broken heart jab and his protective fatherly persona. I get it. I hurt this man. But I didn’t leave with a whole heart either. The breaking was mutual.
A soft smile creeps up on Matty’s face. ‘Nah, I think you should stay.’
‘ Why ?’
That I did not expect. Truthfully, I figured whoever might show up for him would hate me with the fire of a thousand suns, just like Foster probably does.
Matty shrugs. ‘He was distracted at the track today and considering the date, I have a feeling that distraction may have been you.’
‘ Me ?’ My head almost can’t comprehend this news. I never even had the chance to know if he saw my thumbs up on his message. My memory distracted him?
‘You know our boy believes in signs – what do they call it? Fate? And considering his distraction and the fact that he ended up here with you as his nurse, that seems fateful. I think he may have something to say about that when he wakes up.’
I feel a slight squeeze on my hand, and I nearly jump out of my skin as I jerk mine from his. I’d forgotten I was even holding his hand.
‘Swedish meatballs!’
‘What?’ Matty asks.
‘He squeezed my hand!’ I say, repeatedly tapping the red call button. ‘He squeezed my hand,’ I say again, softer, feeling instantly like a weight is lifting slightly from my soul. He’s in there. And he can hear me.