Brawler (21 page)

“Or Laney,” Jenna said pointedly.

I nodded, feeling my stomach bottom out. “Or Laney.”

Karen scowled at Jenna as she reached for the call button. “Jenna, that’s reckless and thoughtless of you. What if he’d gone under again? He still might!”

“Mom, he’s sitting right here.”

“And he knows I’m right.”

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, her face falling.

“Don’t be sorry. Be smart about things. How hard is that?!”

“Hey,” I warned, trying to sit up, but my body was too weak. It failed me.

I slammed back into the bed as a rush of nurses came into the room, their sneakers squeaking on the floor. Jenna stepped back to press herself against the wall out of the way. I could see her face, hurt and exhausted, through the shuffling of bodies. She was being blotted out. I was losing her and suddenly the press of people in the room was weighing on my chest like an anvil.

“I’m gonna go,” I heard her say faintly. “I’ll go meet Laney in the waiting room.”

I felt every single step she took as she went.

When Laney arrived it was tearful. She cried and held me, cried and held Karen, cried and smiled at nurses as they took my vitals. It was quite a production. Broadway quality.

I was glad to see she was okay. She looked exhausted, probably from the cold Jenna said she had and the stress of waiting for me to wake up. Karen and Jenna looked it too. We all looked worn out. Wasted. And they kept crying. Even as they laughed and held each other, staring down at me with joy in their eyes, they didn’t stop crying. Their watery brown eyes swam in front of me, drowning me, and I wondered where Jenna had gone.

“How much do you remember, Mr. Coulter?” my doctor asked briskly, settling into a wide stance at the end of my bed with a clipboard in hand.

I glanced quickly at Laney where she stood beside my bed, hovering. She or Karen had been with me for the last few hours, both of them constantly standing at my side and crying. It was making me edgy. Jenna, they told me, had gone to the hotel to sleep. I wished I could have pulled her into this bed and felt her fall asleep there against me, leaking her never ending, impossible strength into me, but I’d kept that thought locked up tight.

“Uh, I don’t know,” I answered the doctor. “I remember noises. Laney screaming. Pain in my right side. On my head. Um… before that just lights. Bright lights.”

“Do you remember anything from the time when you were asleep?”

“They said I was speaking French.”

“A bit, yes. Do you remember why?”

I swallowed anxiously. “I thought I was talking to my mom.”

“It was Jenna,” Laney told me gently.

I nodded vaguely, avoiding her eyes. “That’s what she said, yeah.”

Laney turned to the doctor. “When he started speaking French we brought her in because none of us speak it. She said she could understand him sometimes and that he spoke back.” She beamed down at me happily. “You heard her. You answered her questions.”

“I did?”

Laney nodded eagerly. “Yeah. You were talking to her. She was trying to tell you to wake up.”

“I didn’t know.”

“You thought it was your mother?” the doctor asks, adjusting his glasses as he scribbled furiously over the clipboard.

I nodded numbly. “Yeah.”

“Other than speaking to your mother, do you remember anything else about the time when you were asleep?”

Yes.

“No,” I lied firmly, carefully keeping that constant distance from the memories.

“Leading up to the accident, you remember lights and sounds. Pain. What about before that? How far back do you remember before the accident?”

I remembered the bridal boutique. Jenna in the park. The champagne. More dresses. Dropping Jenna off at the hotel to get changed… I wanted to remember dinner with Laney. I felt angry and uneasy when I tried to think about it, but I couldn’t see it.

“I remember going back to the hotel, arguing about dinner–“

“We didn’t argue,” Laney laughed.

I ignored her. “I got dressed and… that’s it.”

“You don’t remember what you had for dinner? Where you went?”

“No.”

The doctor looked to Laney. “How long of a time frame is that?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Not long. Maybe an hour?”

“That’s alright,” he said, nodding to himself and making additional annotations to my chart. “That’s not a large chunk and it’s not surprising considering the severity of the injuries you sustained.”

“How bad are we talking?” I asked.

He looked up at me with an open, serious expression. “When the truck T boned the cab you were in, it hit on your side. It fractured your right wrist, broke some fine bones in your hand, a few of your ribs, you took some glass to the face, and, of course, the nasty blow to the head. You had a tremendous amount of blood loss, and I don’t know if your family has made you aware of this yet, but your heart stopped while you were in the ambulance.”

I shook my head. “No. No, they hadn’t told me yet.”

“I understand why they wouldn’t. It’s a lot to take in. I want to be honest with you, though, because it’s been brought to my attention that you’re a very physically active young man.”

I held up my casted hand, saying dryly, “I won’t be winning any Gold Medals any time soon. I know.”

The doctor didn’t smile. “Not only that, you’ll find yourself weakened. Your body will take some time to recover from something so traumatic. Your mind as well.”

“Why my mind?”

He cleared his throat. “Not only did your heart stop in the ambulance, but you coded while here at the hospital due to swelling on your brain. That’s twice you were deprived of oxygen. It doesn’t do good things to the brain.”

“But he’s awake and alert,” Laney protested, taking my left hand in hers. “He knows who he is and who we are. He’s fine.”

“Only time will tell how affected he’ll be by the lack of oxygen. Maybe only a little, maybe in quite a few areas of your life you’ll find yourself stumbling over previously simple tasks. We really don’t know.”

“What?” I asked irritably, pulling my hand from Laney’s. “As in I won’t be able to tie my shoes?”

“Possibly,” he answered bluntly. “Or you could find it difficult to locate your favorite restaurants. You might forget phone numbers. Birthdays. Books you’ve read.”

“Or I might forget details in cases I’m taking to trial?”

“You’re an attorney?”

“I was.”

“And you could be again. As I said, we don’t know and we can’t know how much you’ll be affected until you begin to live your life again. Only time will tell.”

“How much longer does he need to stay here?” Laney asked. “When can we take him home to California?”

“I want to run a gambit of tests, make sure we’re out of the woods, but I don’t see it taking longer than a few days,” he replied. “He’ll need to meet with specialists once he’s home. More tests, a lot of checkups, physical therapy, but I don’t see why you shouldn’t make a strong recovery.”

Laney smiled happily down at me and I grinned back, relieved that I’d be getting out of that bed and out of that room.

A few days turned out to be a week, but soon Jenna was sitting in the corner of my room making all of the flight arrangements to get us back home.

“Don’t be silly, Kellen,” Karen scolded me. “You can’t go to your apartment alone. What if something bad happens?”

“Like what?”

“Alien invasion, World War Three,” Jenna commented absently, her eyes still on the screen. “The release of a new iPhone.”

“Jenna,” her mom sighed irritably.

“Another
Expendables
movie,” I smirked.

Jenna pointed at me excitedly. “Good one! Yes!”

“You too are impossible,” Karen groaned. “I wish your father was here.”

“He’ll be at the airport to pick us up,” Jenna assured her seriously. “He’s borrowing a van.”

“Good.”

“Why a van?” I asked, wondering just how much luggage they all had.

Jenna glanced nervously at her mom before returning her eyes to the computer.

“For the wheelchair,” Karen answered plainly.

“What wheelchair?”

“They rented you one,” Jenna said softly. Her shoulders slumped as she looked up at me. “They wanted to have one waiting for you at the airport to get you home.”

“I don’t need a wheelchair,” I replied coldly.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t know,” Karen interrupted hotly. “He’s barely walked since he woke up and he was out for weeks. The doctors agree with me that he doesn’t have the strength to walk around airports all day. It’ll only wear him out and he’ll never heal.”

“Mom, he’s right there,” Jenna said, and I suddenly remembered her saying it before.

“I’m aware of where he is, Jenna.”

“Then don’t talk about him like he’s not in the room.”

“I’m not!”

She was, but this was the same shit on a different day. She’d never change and Jenna would only end up being yelled at. I couldn’t take it.

“Karen,” I said calmly, “I appreciate the concern, but I can walk. I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

She chewed on her lip for a second, staring down at me. I knew what I looked like. I was smaller than I’d been in years. My body was shrinking out from under me. My skin was pale, my nose had been busted yet again, and there was a cut on my lip that wasn’t going to heal all the way. She and Laney had mentioned plastic surgery to fix it when we got home, but I hadn’t even addressed that. I’d only listened and watched an episode of
Wipeout
on the TV behind their heads. When they asked me what I thought, I pretended to be zoned out and unable to hear them.

“I worry,” Karen whispered now, her eyes going watery.

I
worried too – I worried we were on the brink of another crying session, so I smiled at her brightly. “I know you do. But I’m fine. Really. I’ll prove it to you tomorrow. Deal?”

She grinned and sniffed sharply. “Yes. Deal. I’d love to see you prove me wrong on this.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Good.”

It didn’t happen. I was weaker than I thought and the next day when they took me to the airport I was exhausted before we even made it past the ticket counter. Karen and Laney watched me like hawks, searching for signs of weakness so they could swoop in and help me. It was irritatingly thoughtful. Every time Laney touched me to help me, I felt the urge to shake her off. My skin itched with annoyance and I felt that old familiar caged feeling creeping in around me.

“Jenna, help me find someone who works here,” Karen told her on the way to our gate. “We need to get him a wheelchair. Or have them come by with one of those golf cart kind of things to take him to the gate.”

“No, I’m fine,” I lied, wishing it was true.

I was sweating. I was breathing hard. I was woozy, and all from walking. It was humiliating.

“Baby, you’re exhausted,” Laney cooed, running her hand up and down my arm.

I put my hands up in the air, knocking her touch away and pleading for them to give me room. Both Karen and Laney looked at me with wounded eyes, making it all a million times worse. “Just give me a minute, okay?” I asked as gently as I could. “It’s hot in here, that’s all.”

“You know what you need?” Jenna asked with a small smile. “
Crème glacée
.”

I smiled gratefully at her. “
Oui.
”

“What?” Laney asked.

Jenna pointed back up the terminal to where a Baskin Robbins glowed in the distance. “Ice cream.”

“Oh, okay,” she said awkwardly. “I’ll go get it for you. What flavor do you want, baby?”

I shrugged, throwing out the first thing I thought of. “Cookie dough.”

Jenna snorted.

“What?” I asked her.

“Nothing.”

“What’s wrong with cookie dough?”

“Nothing, other than the fact that it’s made with chocolate chip cookie dough.”

“Right,” I muttered, remembering I hated chocolate chip. “Shit.”

“Language,” Karen scolded.

I sighed, counting to ten and begging God above to give me the strength to make it through that airport without shouting at someone.

My palms began to itch.

“I have to pee,” Jenna suddenly proclaimed loudly, casting me a pointed look that screamed,
Go with it!!!

“Me too,” I agreed immediately.

“Okay, well, why don’t Kel and I go pee and Laney, you and mom go get everyone ice cream. Strawberry?”

I did not give a shit. I was already on my way toward the Men’s Room where they would never try to follow me. “Sounds good to me,” I hollered.

Jenna caught up to me, putting her hand through my arm. “I don’t have to pee,” she confessed quietly.

“Me either.” I glanced over my shoulder to make sure we were alone. “Thanks, by the way.”

“No worries. I’ve grown up in it. I know a smothered look when I see it.”

“Was it obvious?”

“Not to them. They only want to help.”

“I know that,” I admitted reluctantly. “But too much help can start to hurt after a while.”

“Amen to that,” she said heartily, lacing my arm through hers and surreptitiously letting me lean on her a little.  “Let’s ditch ‘em. We’ll take the moving sidewalk and get some ground under our feet. Effort free.”

“They’ll be mad.”

She grinned at me, her eyes bright and full. “You get used to it.”

We rode sidewalk after sidewalk with me leaning against the railing and her leaning into my side to support me. It didn’t feel half as emasculating as a wheelchair. When we were close to our gate and there was an empty bank of chairs near the sidewalk, we stepped off and took a seat. I immediately slouched down in my chair, spread out my legs, and rested my eyes.

“I put money on your phone first,” I predicted lazily, feeling comfortable for the first time in days.

Jenna scoffed. “No way! You’re the invalid. They’ll call you first.”

“But I’m helpless. I’m ‘baby’,” I said scathingly, pulling my baseball hat down low over my eyes.

“She’s always called you that.”

“And it’s always bothered me.”

“Why haven’t you ever said anything?”

“Never seemed worth the fight.”

“And it does now?”

I opened my eyes to look at her from under the bill of my hat. “A lot of things do now,” I said deeply.