Page 665 of One More Kiss

Chapter6

“We should move allthese flowers to your new room at Milo’s house.”

Only half listening to my mother rambling on behind me, I’d probably agree to anything she said right now. A gum snapping, platinum blonde LNA is pointing down to the clipboard in her hand and asking me to “initial here, sign here.” Behind her, my dad and Milo are indiscreetly having a hushed conversation I am desperately trying to catch.

It's been two weeks since I woke up and didn’t know where I was. Fourteen days of not remembering a single moment of the last six years of my life. To say that it’s been both a psychological and physical roller coaster of difficulties is putting it mildly. I’ve broken down crying at least once every day.

Poor Milo has been on the receiving end of most of my breakdowns. He hasn’t wavered in patience once. Yesterday, he held me as I cried after watching the footage of our engagement for the hundredth time. I know it’s me, but I still feel like I’m outsider looking in. I’m doing everything the doctors have ordered. I’m listening to stories, I’ve spent time with Milo and Hannah—the best friend I also don’t remember—but nothing is changing. Nothing is bringing my memories back.

Not that spending time with Milo is an inconvenience. He stops by every morning before practice and spends every night with me. I can see why I fell for him in the first place. He’s charming, he’s funny, and it certainly doesn’t suck looking at his handsome face. We’ve spent hours looking through photos and he’s told me countless stories.

As if that wasn’t enough, as soon as I got the okay, he brought me tacos… from five different restaurants and a food truck.

“It is so convenient the hospital has an outpatient program, and they were able to get Jenny as your daytime attending nurse, don’t you think?” Mom asks. “I just adore her.”

“Yeah, Mom,” I agree. “It’s great.”

Despite my physical recovery being non-existent, all my brain scans came back without any indication of concern, and I’ve now been forty-eight hours off all pain medication, earning me the clear from Dr. Chaudhary to move on to the rehabilitation phase of my recovery.

Seconds after the word “rehab” was mentioned, Milo put the option of me moving in with him and continuing with private one-on-one therapy on the table. The same Milo that took a red-eye flight back home only hours after coming off a Super Bowl loss and who hasn’t missed even one of my physical and specified occupational therapy sessions. Never once losing his patience or composure through all of it.

After forty-five minutes of going back and forth, he convinced me I wasn’t going to be a burden. When my mom jokingly asked my dad if he if wanted to draw straws to see who would tell Lennon, Milo offered to pay off the rest of my lease so that Lennon would still have a place to stay for the next three months. When he knew my mom and dad were heading to my apartment to pack up some of my stuff, Milo brought Lennon to brunch to tell her she had three months to figure something out.

I wouldn’t say that I’m surprised Lennon turned out the way she did. My parents always babied her, but I was shocked to find out she lives with me. Even more so because of the fact I haven’t seen her once since I came out of the coma. I know she was here before I woke up. She’s the one that called Milo.

She’s also the reason my dad and Milo are being so secretive right now. I only know this because when my parents came in the room, Milo asked my dad if they could “have a word about Lennon situation.” Leave it to my sister to get herself into something when I’m stuck in the hospital. Whatever it is will have to wait.

As I sign my name on the last page of the discharge papers, Milo joins us.

“We’ll have to find a place for all these flowers,” he notes as he bends down to kiss the top of my head.

“I was just saying that. My mom laughs, looking between the two of us adoringly.

Despite how it happened, my mom couldn’t be more pleased things are progressing with Milo. I know this because she’s told me no less than one hundred and eighty-nine times since Milo left yesterday morning to begin setting everything up for my impending arrival.

“He’s one of a kind, Lochlyn.”

“You sure got lucky with that one, Lochlyn.”

“You know, so many other guys would have jumped ship by now.”

“Milo’s one of the good ones, Lochlyn.”

And I do know exactly how lucky I am. His presence and his patience are two things I don’t know what I would do without at this point. Knowing that I’ll see his face every morning, no matter how hard the day before was, gives me something to look forward to every day. His faith in me is enough for the both of us right now, which is great because there have been days that end with none of my own.

And his team? I’ve never felt more supported and more a part of something than I have in the last week and a half. With my permission, Milo started making updates on his social media, grabbing the attention of players, wives, fans, and his sponsors. My parents’ hotel room was paid for by the player’s association. After confiding in Shauna, Milo’s assistant, who is also an angel walking on earth, that the only reason I didn’t want an abundance of visitors was because of my appearance, she had a custom wig made for me express shipped to the hospital. Not only that, but she also brought me half of Sephora and helped me get ready every day there were planned visits.

The hospital billing specialist informed me that the owner of Milo’s team called the hospital and demanded all of my balances be billed directly to him. There was even a crowd funding page made by one of Milo’s fans to help with my hospital bills. Shauna acted on my behalf and reached out to them saying everything was taken care of and to donate every penny of the seventy thousand dollars raised to the local animal shelter instead.

Six players and their wives sent me massive flower bouquets. Fruit bouquets were sent from my work and my aunt in California, and Milo’s coach ended up at the nurse’s station because you can only eat so many chocolate covered pineapples and strawberries.

They say you never know who is down for you until you’re down yourself. The small army behind me makes me feel so loved and supported. But none of those people can get me walking again. According to Dr. Chaudhary, that’s entirely up to me.

Which is bullshit, by the way. If it were up to me, I would be fucking flying out of this place instead of being pushed out in a damn wheelchair.

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