Catch Me (50 page)

“Babe, we have to eat something,” Nick says finally. My eyes graze over the clock on the wall and the slightly open door, wondering if Father Time will appear through them, not wanting to move in case he does.

“I’m not hungry,” I respond in a small voice.

Darius calls out to somebody—I’m assuming the other bodyguard—when we hear chaotic voices down the hall. He steps out and speaks to somebody, my ears perking up at the sound of my brother’s voice. I want to find the will to stand, to see him, but I can’t, energy doesn’t reside in my body.

“Oh my God,” Nina screeches as she squeezes her way inside, her bloodshot eyes scanning the room before staying on me as she makes her way over and wraps her arms tightly around me. The false bravado I’ve been trying to put on for the past couple of hours falls away from me. Leaning into her, I begin to sob loudly again, letting her rock me as she sobs along with me. Soon I feel my brother’s arms wrap around us, holding us all together.

“They took him to run tests?” Hendrix asks.

I nod, or try to, beneath them, my chest raking in anguish, not allowing me to respond clearly.

“Yeah, CAT scan, MRI. They wheeled him out a while ago, he should be back soon,” Nick responds.

“He’s gonna die,” I cry as my shoulders shake. “He’s gonna die just like Ryan.”

“He’s not going to die!” Nina says adamantly, stepping away from me and drying the tears from her eyes. Her hair is in a messy bun and her face has no makeup, she looks completely unlike herself. “He can’t just die,” she says with a troubled frown as her eyes glisten with new tears. Nina’s dealt with death, but never like this, never actually had to look at it in the face and acknowledge that it can take your loved ones without your opinion or consent.

“He called me last night,” I say, crying again.

Hendrix pulls me into his arms, squeezing me. “It’s not your fault, Brooklyn. This is not your fault.”

“If I would have picked up the phone …” I start.

“It’s my fault,” Nick says, making my head snap to where he’s standing. He pulls on his hair and walks over to me, pinching my chin and tilting my head to look at him. His ocean eyes are turbulent as he pins me with them, making me see them, making me feel them. “If you’re going to blame yourself, you might as well blame me. He called me too, he asked me to go too, so if you’re going to believe it’s your fault, you might as well blame me for insisting we go to bed early. Blame me for telling you to stop looking at your phone for a goddamn night so that you could rest. Blame life for being so short or drugs for having the ability to give you false hope. But I won’t let you blame yourself, Brooklyn, not this time, because whatever happens here, whatever happens with Shea,” he says, his voice breaking, “I’m not losing you.”

I look at the floor, at my feet, at the T’s on my designer flats, training my mind to calm down, my emotions to neutralize, but it’s no use. When Nick clasps his hand behind my neck and pulls me into his chest, I lose it again, bawling into him, letting him soak my tears.

“I love you, Brooklyn. I can’t lose you,” Nick says in a low hoarse voice. “We need to be strong. We need to have faith that he’ll pull through.”

“He will,” Nina cries. “He’ll pull through. Shea’s too much of a pain in the ass to give up.” Her voice waivers and gets lost in sobs, and that’s how the nurses find us when they wheel Shea back in. They don’t even bother to tell us to leave or that there’s a visitation limit. I think our tenacity is painted all over our faces. Until Shea comes back to us, we’re not moving. Flowers and balloons with sentiments are continuously brought in, but we don’t need to bring any of that for Shea because for him, we are the flowers. We are the reminder that we’re here for him. We are the voices of each one of his fans, the ones standing outside of the hospital with signs pleading for him to be okay. And if he would just peel his eyes open, he would see that the family he’s so desperately searching for, the people that would never abandon him, have been here all along.

My eyes open to a darkness that matches my sentiments. Sighing, I inch closer to the edge of the bed, gliding out of Nick’s arms and the plush comforter, unable to lie here any longer. Striding past Nick’s sleeping figure, I notice the indecent time on the clock before my eyes land on Nick again. I should be sleeping in those sculpted arms right now instead of awake and walking toward the kitchen, but it’s no use. The more I toss and turn, the higher chance I’ll wake him and he needs sleep too. Once I serve myself a cup of coffee, I walk over to the massive windows of the guest bedroom and sit on the floor in front of the glass. Lowering my cup from my mouth, I run my fingertips over the condensation of the windows, tracing waves over it to clear the haze outside. The day seems to be waking up as foggy as my mind feels, the beauty of the city wrapped up in clouds of grey.

My fingers brush over my phone, the device that’s become even more of an appendage in the last two days. I’m itching to call the hospital for an update on Shea. The last time I checked was a couple of hours ago, and even though his mother hasn’t left his bedside and the nurse on rotation has my phone number, I feel that I need to call, just in case. The MRI they did yesterday showed a lot of brain activity, which they say is a good sign, but still that little word
miracle
keeps being thrown out there, which scares the shit out of me. It’s not that I don’t believe in miracles, it’s just that I know enough to know they don’t come true for everybody. He deserves that miracle, he deserves a chance at life, at love. But so did Ryan. What is it about survival that makes me feel so guilty? Is it the fact that I feel that even though I’m successful, I feel like I haven’t accomplished enough? Or is because I have things that Ryan never got a chance to have?

After contemplating but not calling, I decide to crawl into the guest bed and see if sleep consumes me here. I feel bad because Nick has been nothing but great to me and I know he’s suffering too, but there’s no reasoning with me when the bleakness takes over. There are no answers I can give myself that will be good enough to numb the pain.

When the charcoal clouds begin growing inside of me, letting the darkness saturate all the light I know is there, I shut down. I don’t do it on purpose, it just happens. And I hate it. I hate that it happens. I hate losing the wind that normally sails me through the days. I hate losing myself in the stillness of my sadness. Because that’s all I become—sadness.

I turn on my side when the door clicks open and Nick appears in the room only wearing basketball shorts. His chest is glistening, his hair is wet, and the smell of the men’s Dove body wash he uses hits me, letting me know he just showered. He doesn’t say anything as he makes his way over and sits beside me on the bed. Letting out a breath, he begins to run his fingers soothingly through my hair slowly, twirling the ends.

“You have to get out of here, babe,” he says, his eyes in pain as he looks at me.

“For what?” I ask, humoring him, even though I don’t want to hear his answer.

“Because I need you,” he states simply, ruffling the hair on my scalp and laying beside me, turning our bodies toward each other.

Tears well up in my eyes. “I’m so scared,” I admit in a whisper, looking into his eyes.

“Me too,” he answers back, then grabs my hand, holding onto my fingers and running them over his side, where his song notes lay. “I have something to show you.”

He circles his arms around me and pulls me from the bed with him, walking me to the living room. I groan and shut my eyes when the sliver of light coming through the blinds hits me. Nick chuckles knowingly as he sits me on the couch and grabs his guitar.

“You wrote it?” I ask, my eyes darting to his tattoo.

“I did,” he responds, tilting his head as he strums the chords of the guitar to a song I haven’t heard. The sound makes my throat close with emotion.

“Yes, I’m someone new. That doesn’t mean I’m gonna hurt you. Yes, I’m a mess, that doesn’t mean I’m trying to fix you,”
he croons softly. His raspy voice makes me want to close my stinging eyes, but the intensity he’s looking at me with makes me keep them open.

“You could stay in the darkness, let the dark become the day. I say don’t wait, come over here. I know I wrote these words,”
he smiles slightly, pausing,
“and that might mean I’m gonna love you. If you should know anythiiing, it’s that you light me up. You light me up. You could say that you’re too scared, but I’m just as scared as you, please, just see me through, come over here. I’ll be heeere, when you’re ready for me. I’ll be here when you’re ready for me. I’ll be
here when you’re ready for me,”
he finishes, letting his voice drift with the strums of the guitar.

I feel like he’s singing to the darkness that resides inside of me, the one that doesn’t let me just be sometimes, and that makes me cry harder.

Nick puts the guitar down on the floor beside him and catches me when I throw myself into his arms, cocooning myself into a ball as he holds me and kisses my head, repeatedly telling me how much he loves me.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper when I finish crying. “That was beautiful. Which verse are your notes on?” I ask, wiping my tears away with the backs of my hand.

He holds my face and kisses my lips softly, deeply, then picks the guitar back up and sings, “
You could say that you’re too scared, but I’m just as scared as you, please just see me through, come over here.”

Through tears, I smile. “That’s a great line,” I whisper.

“It’s Paige’s song now,” Nick says as he puts the guitar down.

“Chaplin?” I ask, perking up just a little. God, I love that woman’s voice. I wonder how she sounds singing the song.

Nick makes a face at me, seemingly reading my thoughts. “Yes, and she sings it better, but I wanted to play it for you.”

Leaning forward, I kiss him chastely. “You sing good too,” I say, letting him wrap his arms around me.

The phone rings shortly after, making me jump out of his hold and run to it, sliding my finger across it. “Hello?” I say, frantically.

“He’s awake!” Maria says, laughing, crying, and yelling at the same time.

I gasp loudly, my heart beginning to beat quickly again. “He’s awake!” I announce to Nick, screaming with a smile. “Does he know where he is? Does he remember you? Can he talk?” I ask Maria these questions all at once and then cut off her answers by telling her we’re on our way.

I arrive at the hospital feeling as if I’m walking on clouds. I don’t see anybody, hear anybody, but this time it’s because my heart is bursting with gratitude. I thank God a gazillion times and tell him that I knew he would come through for me, then promise that I’ll make it to church every Sunday from now on, and hope I make good on my word. I have to figure out what religion I am before deciding what church I’ll end up in, I guess.

“BK,” Shea croaks when I walk into his room.

Rushing to his bed, I throw my arms around him, sobbing as I rock him, just like I did to my best friend all those years ago. This time in between I love yous, I say thank you and I’m going to kill you for almost killing yourself as Shea laughs and cries with me.

“You promised,” I say hoarsely, not caring that I sound like a belligerent toddler.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Shea responds sheepishly.

“I almost want to kill you for putting us through that shit,” Nick chimes in, scooting a chair beside Shea and me.

Shea’s shoulders slump as he looks at Nick. “Sorry, bro. I fucked up.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Nick says leaning forward and putting his arm around Shea, hugging him tight before letting go to sit down again.

“I’m going to get help,” Shea says, nodding his head. “I am. They’re keeping me here longer now that I’m awake. I didn’t try to kill myself, Bee. You know that, right? I wouldn’t do that.”

I let out a long, relieved exhale. “But you still almost died. You did die, Shea. They had to pump your stomach. Do you know how fucking scared I was? All I could think about was-”

“Ryan,” Shea finishes, holding my hand in his. “I know, Bee. I’m sorry.”

The three of us sit there for a while: Shea holding my right hand, Nick holding my left, and me thanking God for giving us the opportunity to have second chances, because not everybody is this lucky. Nick gets up suddenly and tells me he’s going to get us coffee. I smile thankfully before placing both of my hands over Shea’s.