The Dead of Winter (Seasons of Jefferson: Book 2) (6 page)

I try to distract my mind so I don’t lose it all right now and blow my cover. My cheeks quiver. They begin to pucker as thick, bitter saliva fills my mouth. I’ve got to find something to throw up in. I don’t think I’m going to be able to hold this back much longer. Slowly rising from the bed, I scan the room. My mouth is filling fast. I can no longer swallow. Ready to lose it any second, I find a pink, plastic bedpan on the table stand next to my bed and hold it under my mouth, just in case I’m not strong enough to keep it all down.

Think Caden, think. Clear your head. You can’t blow chunks right now. Mind over matter.
Scanning through my store of memories, I work to replace the horrifying image of Peyton struggling to cut herself out of my truck. Flipping through the last month, my mind stops at the beautiful picture of the two of us holding each other in the lightly falling snow. I’m taken back in time to the night we played truth or dare; the night we carved our names into the green, chipping paint of Mule Bridge. I wrap her in my arms, and see her looking up at me, before she leans further in and giggles into my ear. I actually feel the tickle of her whisper float across my skin. Goosebumps rise on my arms and back. I love her so much. I can’t handle not seeing her for one more second. Maybe if she can just see that I’m here for her and feel how much I love her, it will help her heal.
It’s worth a try.

I sneak over to the edge of the curtain nearest Peyton’s bed, and peek around the thin veil. My eyes follow the white tiles across the floor and down to the foot of her bed. They scan their way up and across the scraggly, tan hospital blanket and come to rest on her face. When my eyes take in the first vision of her since the accident, the tsunami of nerves flares once again. Seeing her pale, lifeless body hooked up to all those machines knocks the wind right out of me. I can’t help but lose it.

The battle of elements within my body causes me to break. A low guttural, rumble grows inside my stomach. As hard as I’ve tried, there’s no way to stop it. I double over. With a deafening growl, the burning, bitter chunks claw their way out of my stomach and up my throat, splashing into the pink container. I pull away from the curtain, making my way back toward the bed. Just seeing the hospital-pink, plastic bedpan makes the wave of vomit worsen. There’s no way I can hold back the sound as I wretch over and over. I pray this thing is big enough to catch it all, but it’s filling up fast.

“Are you okay in there, honey?” I hear Mrs. Carter’s voice as the first wave hits the ground.

I’m busted
.
There’s no way she’s not coming in here now.
“I’m, okay,” I groan. “Just the pain meds.” I try to mask my voice with a low grunt to buy myself some time.

“Can I come help?”

“No. No. No. Please don’t. It’s embarrassing. I’ve got it,” I mumble.

Through my low moaning and groaning, I hear Mrs. Carter pick up the phone beside the door and call for a nurse.
Crap. A nurse? Don’t do it. I shouldn’t even be in here. I’m screwed.

SHE CAN’T SEE WHO I
am. I’ve got to hide my face.
Setting the full bedpan on the table, I crawl back into the bed. The rancid smell overpowers the room and even if she is asleep, I feel bad that I’ve subjected Peyton to it. I tense myself in anticipation of getting my hide kicked by a real nurse or doctor.
Oh Jenna, what have we done?

The door closes, as I listen to Mrs. Carter’s footsteps back away from it. Again, the soft pattering pauses at the foot of my bed. “You’re sure I can’t help you in there?” The inflection in her voice makes her sound as though she feels sorry for me.
If only she knew who she was really talking to.

“Uh uh,” I groan, hoping she’ll go away and let me hide.

I lie in the bed, releasing soft moans. It makes me feel better to release the groaning sounds and break the silence of the room. All the while I think of what I’m going to say to the nurse or doctor who comes to help me. As the door swings open, I tense again, anticipating the worst.
Here we go.
I hold my breath and pinch my eyes closed as the curtain slides open, letting the dim light filter in. That’s when a familiar voice finds its way to me.

“Oh dear, God, what have you done?”

Footsteps grow louder as they approach my bedside. My eyes pop open in fear when her hand unexpectedly comes down on me. She begins to speak again, “Ca…”

“Shhhhh.” I bring my finger to my lips. “She’ll kill me.”

It’s Nurse Sarah. I’m pretty sure I have her wrapped around my little finger. Thank God it’s her and not that cranky, old biddy that comes in after visiting hours are over. There’s light at the end of the tunnel after all. I send up a prayer of thanks for this one.

“Sarah,” I mouth. “Please. Help. I’m sorry, I just had to see her.”

She closes her eyes and drops her shaking head as she pulls her hand up and pinches the bridge of her nose. I’ve really put her in a bad position. She knows, as well as I do, that I’m not supposed to be anywhere near this room. I stare up at her with a pleading and helpless frown, hoping against all hope that she can get me through this. When Sarah finally bends down to me, she whispers in my ear, “You realize you could get me in a lot of trouble for this, don’t you?”

I nod my head slowly, acknowledging the risk I’m asking her to take by covering for me. I feel the desperation plastered across my face, and I’m sure she can see it. Raising my eyebrows apologetically I whisper, “Sorry, Sarah.”

With her eyes steeped in contemplation, Nurse Sarah studies my face. I hold my breath anticipating her next move. Finally, she looks as though she’s arrived at a decision. I watch as her head nods thoughtfully, and she disappears behind the curtain.

“Ma’am,” I hear her say to Mrs. Carter, “I’m really sorry, but I’m going to need you to step outside for just a few minutes. I have to take care of a … uh ... situation in here. He had more than one little accident. It’s very embarrassing for our young patient, and I don’t think he’d want you to see the extent of the damage he’s caused.”

I hear Mrs. Carter gag. “Yes, I thought I smelled something.” Her voice grows stern. “I know you’ve got to take care of this mess, but my daughter is the primary concern here. I’m sure you know the circumstances that put her in this hospital. I don’t want her left alone for a second.”

“I’ll make sure to look out for her. I promise.” There’s a brief pause. “Oh, and since I can’t leave the room, would you mind running down to the nurses station in geriatrics? They keep extra diapers there, and I’m sure he’ll be needing them again tonight.” She’s raising her voice and enunciating every word. It’s clear to me that the extra care she’s taking with her words is for my benefit.
She’s paying me back for pulling her into this. Diapers?
How
embarrassing.
“I’m sorry for asking you to go, ma'am, but we’re short-handed, and I don’t want to take any chances leaving her alone.”

“You’ve got it. It’ll give me something to do while you clean up this awful mess.”

“Take your time. I promise I’ll keep good watch over your daughter. I’ll be right here mopping and changing the sheets.” She pauses again. “Our patient also needs to take a shower. You’ll definitely want to get a little fresh air while we’re taking care of all this. Give me about a half hour or so.”

“Thank you, Nurse.” I listen to her footsteps as Mrs. Carter walks out of the room.

The clanking metal sound of the curtain rips across the ceiling. “Wow,” I smirk at the sight of Sarah’s proud face. “Did you have to make it sound like I crapped my pants? That’s so humiliating.”

“Well, I bought you a little time, didn’t I? It’s all I could think of to get her out of the room for a while. You can say ‘thank you,’ you know. Now quit feeling sorry for yourself and get on over there and see your girl.”

Feeling grateful, I bow my head. “Thanks, Sarah. I owe you one.”

“I know. You can pay me back by getting over there and showing that pretty, little girl of yours some love. I’m a sucker for hospital romance. Now go.” She tilts her head toward Peyton’s bed, urging me to make use of my limited time.

As I struggle to swallow the lump in my throat, I stand up to make my way to Peyton. The fear of seeing her up close for the first time since the accident is terrifying. I’m a nervous wreck.
I already lost the entire contents of my stomach just glancing at her from across the dimly lit room. What makes me think that I’ll be able to endure the sight of her up close? I’ve got to do this, and I don’t have much time.
Get over there, Caden. Now.
I convince myself to shuffle my feet across the floor.
Left. Right. Left. Right.

I’m slow in my movement, but I’m doing the best I can to fight the combination of nausea, painkillers, and straight up fear. My pulse quickens as I zero in on the floor beneath the bed. When my thighs are nearly touching it, I shakily grab onto the cold metal rail and work up the courage to look up. Painstakingly, I force myself to find her closed eyes.

Thump
. In one big free-fall, my heart nearly drops out of my chest. My lungs deflate instantly at the horrifying sight. My entire body crumbles from the inside out. A slight whimper escapes my trembling body. I can’t stop shuddering.
Get it together, Caden
. The shaking is so bad, I’m pretty sure the tremors might register on the Richter scale. My anxious nerves slap and splash at the residual bile that has tried so desperately to settle in my stomach. I’m glad it’s empty, or I could lose it all over again.

Looking down at Peyton’s motionless body is horrifying. Tears well up and beat at the back of my eyes. She is barely recognizable. Her face is pale and bloated. Her blackened eyes are nearly swollen shut. Traces of iodine line the turban of white bandages that form a band around her swollen head.

My God
.
This is worse than I imagined. I want to erase the horrifying image I see lying before me. Is this the same girl who stole my heart with her contagious smile? There’s a small resemblance. It has to be her.
I move closer to the bed so I can get a better look. I need to see if there’s any recognizable piece of her lying in the wreckage before me, to discern even one of her beautiful features. I know they are hiding somewhere beneath her swollen black eyes and pale, puffy cheeks.

She’s too lifeless. Buried beneath the mound of blankets, I can’t see the rise and fall of her chest. It sends a wave of panic through me. Careful not to tangle myself in the IV line and monitors, I wiggle my way through the maze of tubes and machines. I have to touch her. I need to feel her heart beating. I need to feel the breath coming from her soft, pink lips. Leaning in slowly, I allow my cheek to delicately graze the tip of her nose and mouth. At the same time, I gently set my hand on top of her heart.

For the briefest instant, I can’t feel it beat. It’s at that precise moment that a fierce spike of adrenaline rushes through me. I envision myself weeping at her graveside. I can’t handle the thought of her lifeless body, surrounded by the silk, padded lining of that box.
I can’t live in a world where her heart doesn’t beat. Wake up, Peyton. Wake up
. I pray over and over, leaving my hand on her chest, wishing it to jumpstart her back to life. Pressing a little harder, I concentrate on the stillness of her body beneath my fingertips. And then I feel it. A tiny thump.

The monitor above her head, sounds a tiny blip, breaking the silence of the room. I jump reflexively. The sudden panic attack brought on by Peyton’s missing heartbeat has me feeling dizzy. I need to sit down. I struggle to find something to hold onto before I pass out. Placing my hand on the bed, I steady myself as I slowly move toward the chair. I can’t breathe. I gasp for air. I’ve got to calm down and fight this rush of adrenaline before I pass out. I feel the sudden increase of my heart rate as I look down at my girl, bandaged, unrecognizable, and fighting for her life.
Why did I let her sacrifice herself? I shouldn’t have let her get in that truck with me. It was dangerous. I knew that. I’m a selfish bastard. This is all my fault! It should be me in that bed. What have I done?

I stare at the monitor, and then back to my girl. Leaving my hand on her chest, I check to make sure that the small zig-zagging lines followed by the long green line, are truly connected to her beating heart. They are moving so slowly. I watch the tiny, digital heart blink on and off, on and off.
So slow
.
I wonder what 38 means? Is that okay?

Maybe if I just talk to her, maybe if she hears my voice, I can convince her … God, please help my Peyton.

When I start to speak, my voice comes out in a whisper. I pull the chair right up next to her bed, sitting down and leaning into her so I don’t have to raise my voice.

“Peyton, if you can hear me, I’m right here, babe. I’m so sorry.” My shell of a voice cracks as it quickens and raises pitch. I shake my head and pull my hand up to wipe the tears that are starting to slip from my eyes.
Get it together.
You don’t have much time.
“Peyton, I’m sorry that I let us go over the embankment. I know better than that. I should’ve veered the other direction. I can’t bear the thought of you stuck out there while I was passed out on the bank. I couldn’t even get to you. I hate myself for this, Peyton. I’m weak. It kills me inside that I wasn’t the one to save you. I let you down.” I have to reach for the Kleenex on the table. The snot bubbles are suffocating. I can’t breathe. I can’t talk.