Page 20 of The Choices I've Made
“Will he be able to hear me?” I questioned as I followed her into the room.
Several other nurses were around, but I barely noticed them.
All I saw was Dean.
“Honestly, I don’t know, but I like to believe so,” she replied before ushering me over to him.
A quiet sob tore through my chest.
He was battered and bruised but clean, hooked up to several monitors with wires everywhere. The cuts and gashes on his chest and legs had been bandaged and cared for, his ankle set in a cast.
I couldn’t look.
I wasn’t ready.
But I had to.
I had to be strong for him.
Fighting back tears, I took a step forward and grabbed his left hand, his only hand.
“Hi, it’s me,” I said lamely, not knowing what else to do. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but I wanted to let you know, I’m here for you. We all are.”
I took a deep breath. “I made your favorite today,” I said, sort of rambling, forgetting that it was well past midnight and a completely new day. “Peach scones. Mr. Lovell loves them, too. I think I forgot to mention, he and his wife were visiting this week. They’re some of our regulars. You may remember them from way back. Anyway, he asked about you—or about my fellow, as he phrased it. He wanted to know if you were worthy of me—or maybe vice versa. I don’t know. Anyway, I’m not sure why I said that. Maybe I should just shut up.”
“No, keep going.”
My body froze instantly. Even after a decade, I recognized the rough cadence of the voice behind me, and who it belonged to. I remembered every word he’d said to me. From the shy hello in the schoolyard when we were no older than five to the unrelenting determination as he’d promised me the stars.
My breath faltered.
“Jake,” I breathed out in a whisper.
A hundred different memories flooded my mind all at once as I fought to turn around. The first time I saw him—not the boy who had pulled my hair and called me names, but a man, full of possibilities and purpose. Our first kiss—an awkward meeting of lips that still, to this day, made my stomach flip every time I thought of it.
Broken promises and heartache as I’d watched him walk away, knowing I’d never be enough for him.
Squeezing Dean’s hand one last time, I took a deep breath, steadied my thoughts, and turned around. At first, I was almost surprised by how much he’d changed. Dark blue scrubs covered his tall, lean body. His dark brown hair was shorter, and there was definite stubble across his chin and jaw.
But he was still there.
The boy with eyes as blue as the sea and a heart as big as the ocean.
“He’s stable,” he finally said, his voice taking on a professional quality that I recognized from whenever I’d visited his father at the clinic. “The surgeon who tried to save his arm, he was good; I can vouch for that. But it was just too late after the amount of time it had taken the paramedics to reach us,” he said, letting out a deep breath. “There was nothing he could do.”
“Us?” I asked in confusion.
“Dean and I were on the ferry together. We sort of ran into each other beforehand. I’m here for my father’s funeral. He left me his practice,” he explained.
“Are you okay?” I asked, taking a step in his direction before stopping myself.
Before remembering who I was.
Who he was.
He held up a hand of reassurance. “I’m fine. I don’t know how or why, but other than a few bruised ribs and some superficial cuts and scrapes, I got out of there nearly unscathed.”
“Lucky you.” I deadpanned.
