Chapter 34 Clover
Clover
The automatic doors are too slow as I step past a few half-sober students waiting on rides. My erratic pulse and the blood rushing in my ears push me toward the check-in desk.
“I’m here to see my husband,” I say, breath ragged, to the worn-down-looking woman behind the counter.
“Clover!”
I whip around at the sound of my name and Julian is rushing toward me from the waiting area. His jaw is bruised and the tux he is wearing for whatever reason is rumpled.
“They sent me out here to wait while they took him for a CT scan. They were being really weird about having me back there, so I told them to call you.” His eyes narrow with meaning. “His wife.”
I nod quickly and turn back to the woman behind the desk.
“Name?” she asks dryly.
“Bennett Graves.”
She sighs through her nose and scrolls on her computer. “Have a seat. Someone will be with you shortly.”
Julian leads me to the only two free seats, next to a guy who apparently superglued sunglasses to his face.
“What the fuck happened?” I ask Julian. “The only thing the hospital said when they called was that he’d been in an altercation and that he appeared to have a concussion.”
He shakes his head, and for a moment, I’m scared he’s going to feed me some sort of bullshit, but then he starts talking. “It was like six on one.”
Julian tells me that they were at 1919 Hemphill and how they were supposed to be in and out. When Bennett hadn’t met him outside, Julian got worried and went back for him. He found him in the basement, the scoreboard shattered, and a whole circle of guys ganging up on him.
“My god,” I say to myself. “What was he thinking?”
“Nothing good,” he says. “I swear, he’s been trying to punish himself for the last two weeks.”
I sink back in the chair, hands covering my face, because I have spent a decent amount of time since he left hoping that he was hurting as much as I have been. “Why were you guys even there?”
Julian grimaces as he reaches into the interior pocket of his jacket and hands me a hospital baggie with Bennett’s wallet, phone, watch, car key, and three rings. One is his Graves signet ring, one is his thick gold wedding band, and the third is … mine. A thin gold band, holding an oval stone.
I take the bag and hold it to my lap, tears forming and throat tightening. “He—he went back for my ring? It’s not even real. Why would he do that?”
The look Julian gives me is almost peeved with one brow shooting up. “Really?” he asks. “You think Bennett Graves gave you a fake ring?”
My cheeks flare just as a nurse opens the swinging doors to the ER and calls out, “Clover Walsh?”
“Over here!” Julian says as he pushes me forward.
I shove the bag of valuables into my tote and head for the nurse. When I look back, Julian is right where I left him. “You’re not coming?”
The nurse answers for him. “Only immediate family and one visitor at a time.”
“Is he okay?” I ask frantically, already forgetting about Julian as I follow her into the chaos of the emergency room.
“He’s awake,” she tells me as if that means anything, but it is a relief I suppose, and I’m suddenly wondering if there was a time when he wasn’t awake.
She walks at nurse pace—which is a different measure than normal human speed, because nurses walk like someone is chasing them down a dark alley.
Barely stopping, she motions to an open door at the end of the corridor and says, “The doctor will be with you shortly.”
When I walk into his room, Bennett is sitting in bed in slacks and no shirt. His chest and face are covered in bruises and the center of his bottom lip is split.
Bennett’s gaze is slow and lazy as he looks me up and down. I realize I left the dorm in exactly what I was wearing. Lilac-and-white-checkered boxer shorts and a sweatshirt Bennett left behind that says Proud Dad with the Wexley seal beneath it. (A birthday present from Julian.)
There is a nurse standing at the computer near the hospital bed and he glances back and shakes his head at me. “Sorry, immediate family only. No girlfriends.”
Something fierce and protective pushes against my chest. “Excuse me, but that’s my husband.”
If I didn’t already have an inkling that Bennett is on pain meds, I would now based on the warm, goofy smile he gives at the word husband. “And that,” he says with entitlement, “is my wife.”
I find myself smiling back at him, and wishing I had the ring on my finger to prove it.
The nurse rolls his eyes and mutters something about babies having babies before telling me, “He’s not allowed to fall asleep for another three hours. And don’t even think about defiling this hospital bed.”
“Gross,” I mumble. I’m guessing the staff at Wexley Medical Center has seen some shit.
I go to sit in the armchair beside his bed, but Bennett pats the side of his mattress with one hand. The other is held against his body in a sort of awkward way like it might be injured.
“What the hell were you thinking?” I ask him as I hover at the edge of the bed.
He pats the space next to him again more insistently. “I’m surprised you even answered your phone.”
“Ah, there it is,” I say as I sit down beside him and kick off my strawberry-print slippers before putting my feet up.
The constant static in my head that I’ve been living with for the last two weeks quiets the moment my skin touches his.
I’m left wondering what fight could have been worth losing this.
“I was starting to think the pain meds had made you docile.”
“You’re the one who wants a divorce.” His words slur over the last syllable.
For the first time this semester, I finally have the upper hand. He’s seen me make a drunk fool of myself and has nursed me back to health, and now it’s his turn to lose his inhibitions and embarrass himself.
He drops his head down on my shoulder and with our height difference, I can’t imagine he’s that comfortable, but I just lean back and let it happen.
“I stole your ring back.”
“So I heard.”
His chest shudders with a huff. “I think they gave it to Julian. He’s probably already used it to propose to a paramedic.”
I don’t bother telling him that I actually have both of our rings, because that might lead to a conversation about them that he’s in no condition for. And me? Well, I’m just a coward.
“I also heard about your little fight with the scoreboard.”
“It was a real donnybrook. Not with the scoreboard. Just all the assholes I ran into afterward. The scoreboard stood no chance against me.”
“What the hell is a donnybrook?”
“A brawl,” he says, like I’m ridiculous for not knowing. “It was on my SAT.”
“I can’t tell if this proves or disproves that you have a concussion.”
He shrugs and reaches past me for the Jell-O on his tray.
“I got it.” I take the cup and tear back the foil lid before handing it to him with the plastic spoon stuck inside.
He takes a bite and then holds a spoonful out for me.
I side-eye him, but he’s just watching me expectantly, so I open my mouth and take the gelatin peace offering.
“Maybe I should get the shit kicked out of me more often.”
“We might not want to make a habit out of that.” I should be mad at him for doing something so violent and stupid and then getting caught up in a fight on top of that. But some very basic part of me wishes he’d been able to put the other guys in the hospital.
“I’m guessing you had a run-in with Tate.”
He scoffs. “More like he had a run-in with my fist.”
“What a big tough guy you are,” I tell him in a baby voice.
His normally charming smile is a little lopsided. “I threw the first punch,” he admits.
“That must have felt good.”
“Felt great.”
Bennett finishes off the rest of the Jell-O as the doctor comes in, scrolling through one phone with another in his other hand. He’s short with a head of black curly hair.
“Graves?” he asks without looking up. “Bennett?”
Beside me, Bennett nods, but the doctor still hasn’t looked up, so I answer for him. “Yes,” I tell him. “That’s right.”
“Next of kin?” He glances up to me briefly, the bags under his eyes dark and heavy.
“She’s my wife for now,” Bennett provides as he yanks my hand into his lap, my arm pressed against his bare side.
The doctor pauses at that, but lets it go. “I’m Dr. Roshan. Your CT scan came back clear. You’ve got a sprained wrist and two broken ribs. The split lip and the bruises should heal in the next few weeks, but I’m going to recommend you take an anti-inflammatory.”
“So, he’s okay?” I ask eagerly.
“Anyone who gets in a six-on-one fight is not okay, but physically, he is fine. We’ll keep him here for another two hours of observation.” He scrolls through something on his phone.
“He had open-heart surgery as a baby, though,” I tell the doctor. “For a congenital heart defect. Doesn’t he need to be observed or—”
Dr. Roshan nods. “We did see that in his records. We ran an EKG and everything appears to be fine.”
“You’re sure?” I ask.
“I’m sure.” He gives me a patient smile before continuing. “Looks like one of the nurses dug up your emergency contact info from the files the university shares with us and someone left a message with your mother.”
Bennett groans, tossing his head back against his pillow. “Fuuuuuuck me.”
That elicits a laugh as the doctor backs out the door.
“Moms.” He shivers. “Fear in the hearts of men and all that. Push the nurse call button if you need anything. But for the love of god, use it sparingly. My staff’s patience is running thin tonight.
We had a handful of frat guys come in earlier after shooting off firecrackers from a turkey fryer and they got caught trying to steal boxes of grippy socks. ”
“Well, look at that,” I tell Bennett once Dr. Roshan is gone. “You’re not even the most interesting patient in the ER tonight.”
“I am very interesting,” he says. “Hey, is that my sweatshirt?”
“No,” I blurt. “Yes. But you left it and we’re still married, so isn’t it communal property or something?”
“Looks better on you, anyway.”
He pulls me to him with his good arm, my cheek resting against his warm chest.
“Maybe we shouldn’t—the doctor just said you have two broken ribs. I don’t want to put any weight on you.”
“I don’t care,” he says.
“Why did you do it?” I whisper. “The scoreboard.”
He’s quiet for long enough that I look up to make sure he’s not asleep, but his gaze is focused on the small window at the top of his door. “I needed to know I could be good.”
“Bennett.” I take his chin in my hand and force him to look down at me. “Bennett, you are good. Do you hear me?”
“If that’s true, then why aren’t we staying married?
” His words are fuzzy, like they’re sticking to the roof of his mouth, and I notice that the drip of pain meds they have him on is nearly empty, but the question still chips away at my heart.
He makes it sound so simple. But can it really be that simple?
Is there a world where we just do this damn thing and give it a go?
Will we ruin our chances of being truly happy if we don’t take a step back?
“Let’s watch TV,” he says.
I grab the controller attached to the bed.
He eyes the nurse call button mischievously and presses down on the red circle before I have a chance to yank it away.
“Bennett!”
“What?” He’s too pleased with himself as he wiggles his toes. “I didn’t get any grippy socks.”
We spend the next two hours watching old episodes of Baywatch on the tiny grainy television suspended in the corner. When the nurse gives him the all clear and says the doctor will be in to discharge him as soon as he can, Bennett falls asleep the minute the door shuts behind her.
It’s with him practically curled around me and his left wrist in a black brace that Sydney finds us.
She opens her mouth to speak—likely to demand answers—when she sees that he is passed out and instead slumps into the chair beside the bed.
“I’m so sorry you had to deal with this,” she whispers, shaking her head.
“I got in late last night and didn’t realize my phone was still on airplane mode.
I couldn’t believe how peaceful things were.
” Under her anorak, she wears jeans, clogs, and a baggy white T-shirt that probably costs more than I make in a week.
There are bags under her eyes and new lines that I don’t recall spidering out from the corners.
I give her a weak smile as I slither out from under the weight of Bennett’s arm and step into my slippers.
“You should go get some sleep,” she tells me as she takes in my appearance. “I saw Julian out in the waiting room. He says Benny hasn’t been staying at the dorm.”
I shake my head, my arms wrapped around my middle.
“Did you talk to him about the—”
“Yeah. It didn’t go very well.”
“He’ll come around.” She offers me an unconvinced smile. “How about you call me over the break so we can get your housing sorted?”
“Actually, I—thank you, Syd. Really. It means a lot that you were willing to help, but I’m applying for a three-person shared dorm room with two of my friends. It should be more affordable, so I won’t need to take you up on your offer.”
“Oh, sweetie, I’m so glad you’ve found some girls to room with you, but I’d still like to—”
“No.” It comes out firmer than I mean for it to, but in the case of Sydney, that’s probably for the best. “I … it’s important to me that I do this on my own.”
She studies me for a moment, and I can practically see the opinions forming in her head. “I told Julian to make sure you get home okay.”
“Thank you.” I have the distinct feeling that I am being dismissed, though she probably thinks of it as being relieved.
I take my bag from where I left it on the counter next to the sink and turn back to Bennett. There is so much I need to say, but he is asleep, and needing to say something isn’t the same as knowing how to say it.
“You’ll tell him I said bye?”
She pulls me to her for a hug and a kiss on the head. “Of course, Clo. Go get some sleep.”
Bennett is still wedged against the bed rail, maintaining the space I left empty. “Okay.”
When I step out into the hallway, I stand there for a moment, my back pressed against the wall, trying to find the courage to walk back in there so that I will be the first thing he sees when he wakes up.
But Sydney is here now. He doesn’t need me, especially when he might not even remember me being here in the first place.