Page 76 of The Choices I've Made
Jealousy.
Sometimes, it had its advantages.
Thinking back to all the passing glances in Dean’s direction, all the cheesy pick-up lines I’d heard from beautiful young tourists out by the docks, I’d never had an ounce of jealousy with Dean compared to that one instance with Jake.
“I’m happy for you,” I said. “She sounds heavenly.”
He smirked, and I couldn’t help but smile back. A few days ago, I had been scared I’d never see that smile again.
“Look, I’m sorry about how I’ve been acting the last few days. I know it’s been a bit of a roller coaster ride, and it wasn’t fair to you—what I did or the way I did it.”
I nodded, thinking back to that moment when I had seen the hurt in my eyes reflecting back in Dean’s mother’s as she asked for the family ring back. I’d been so caught up in the shock of it all that, when it was all said and done, I’d come to the conclusion that, besides the raw hurt over the way he’d gone about it, the only other emotion I’d felt was relief.
“You just went through something horrible, Dean. No one expects you to be perfect,” I finally said. “And I haven’t exactly been displaying model behavior over the last few days either.”
“No one expects you to be perfect either,” he reminded me.
“Can you at least explain to me why?” I asked, leaning back in the uncomfortable hospital chair.
“Why I thought we should break it off? I thought that would be obvious by now.”
“No,” I said, holding up a hand. “I understand that. Really, I do. Maybe I didn’t at first, but I do now. What I mean is, why did you send your mom after me when I’d just been at the hospital hours earlier?”
He let out a rough breath and attempted to adjust his position in the bed, trying to prop himself up with only one arm. I watched as he struggled, and my heart went out to him. Until his accident, I hadn’t really thought about how much a person used their arm muscles. Not just for lifting, but also for simple movements like holding hands or reaching for something. Every motion and action I performed on a daily basis was a constant reminder of how different Dean’s life was now.
How would I take the news?
How would I handle the loss?
I wasn’t sure, but I knew I didn’t have the foundation or ability to judge him.
So, I did what a friend would do.
I listened.
“When I woke up from surgery and realized I hadn’t died on that ferry, my first thought was elation. I’d survived. Somehow, God had spared my life that day and, Lord help me, if I wouldn’t spend every day after trying to convince him I deserved it. But then I found out about my arm, about the fact that I’d never be able dress myself—or make dinner for my Mom again—without assistance or a damn prosthetic. How every day would be a constant struggle.
“Someone mentioned the wordhandicapped. They were talking about me. I was the handicapped person. And, suddenly, it wasn’t praises I was sending up to God; it was condemnation. I cursed him for leaving me here, broken and useless. I begged him for answers. Why didn’t he just take me home that night because I didn’t want to live like this? I didn’t want to be alive if this was the only alternative.”
“Oh, Dean,” I said, tears falling down my cheeks. I reached out for that one perfect hand once more and felt his large fingers intertwine with mine.
“I’m not gonna lie and say I didn’t entertain the idea of just ending it. It’s been a rough road. I spent hours in this bed coming up with ways I could do it. When you and Jake came to visit, I came up with the perfect plan. I was going to take one of the fishing boats, a small one that no one would immediately miss, and ride it out to the middle of nowhere—one-handed, mind you. When I made my peace with the world, I’d finish off a bottle of pain meds from the doctors and watch my last sunrise.”
I didn’t say anything, but I wanted to. I wanted to tell him how much he still had to live for, how much he meant to those who loved and adored him—like his mom and brothers.
Like me.
But, instead, I let him talk because sometimes, listening was the most powerful thing you could do.
“I sat back in this bed, my prison, watching the two of you, noticing the way you constantly fought the need to look at each other. Touch each other. It only fueled my hate—not for the two of you, but for myself. In my toxic little world, I decided everything revolved around me and for some reason the universe had turned its back on me so I’d do the same to it.
“That’s why you called your mom,” I stated, watching him nod.
“I’m so sorry. It didn’t take but a day for me to realize how crazy I was behaving. I told you I’ve been on a roller coaster. I meant it. It’s a nonstop up-and-down kind of thing with my emotions.”
“And the sexy saint of a nurse? How does she fit into all of this?” I asked.
He let out a long sigh. “She doesn’t. At least for now. I can’t afford to bring anyone else into this mess right now. I feel good today, but tomorrow, who knows? I need to work on getting better, both physically and mentally. And then we’ll work on making lovely Nurse Cora mine.” He grinned a mischievous sort of smile that I recognized instantly.
