Finding Focus (14 page)

I inhale deeply and blow it out, trying to clear my mind and focus on the task at hand. When I look back up, I see we’re only a few blocks from my apartment.

“Forty dollars,” the taxi driver says, pushing the button to calculate the final fare. I take out a fifty since he was nice enough to help me with my luggage.

“Thanks,” I tell him as I give him the money and grab the handle of my suitcase. Turning around, I glance up at the door of my apartment building. It seems like I’ve been gone longer than four days.

Has it really only been four days?

On the second floor, a dim light shines inside my apartment.

You can’t spend the night out on the sidewalk, Sheridan. Get to stepping.

After giving myself a brief pep talk, I punch my code into the keypad and make my way to the elevator.

Quietly, I unlock the door and ease it open, not wanting to wake Graham if he’s sleeping. I’m not sure how well I can handle seeing him before I get some rest. I’m just worn out and my patience is frayed. Too much has happened to deal with all of this right now and I’m not sure I’ve really had enough time to process the overwhelming emotions.

My head snaps up when I hear someone stand up from one of the chairs at my table.

“Mr. Harrison,” I whisper, surprised to see him here. I was sure he’d have hired someone to sit with Graham.

“Sheridan,” he says with a nod. He places a business card on the table and walks past me toward the door. “You have my numbers. I’ll be in touch.”

And just like on the phone, he doesn’t give me a chance to say goodbye, or kiss my ass . . . he’s just gone.

I leave my suitcase and bags by the door and quietly make my way into the living room. Sure enough, there’s a small hospital-type bed set up by the window.

I walk over and brush Graham’s hair back off his forehead, silently inspecting him without disturbing him. I gently touch the big black brace secured to his leg and then his arm, which is wrapped in a sling and secured to his chest to keep it from moving. He looks worse for wear, but his face . . . his face is serene and sweet. I’ve watched this face sleep so many nights, I’ve lost count. He always looks so young. The hardness is gone, his brows aren’t pushed together, he’s just . . . Graham.

“Oh, Graham,” I whisper, “what in the world happened to you?” I sigh, staring out the window at the street below. “What happened to us?”

Sadness for the person I’'ve loved for so long sets in. I hate seeing him like this. His presence is normally larger than life and he’s always in control. This is so out of character for him, it's unnerving.

A huge yawn forces its way out of my mouth, so I look around and make sure he has what he needs in case he wakes up during the night. I place his cell phone on the small table by the bed and notice a few bottles of pills on the coffee table. Holding them up to the light, I find one for pain and set it by his phone.

I go into the kitchen, fill a glass with water, and set it by the pill bottle. Then I pull the drapes closed on the window, hoping he'll sleep the rest of the night.

Lord knows I need him to.

My body is so tired, I barely make it to my bed before I fall asleep.

“Hello.”

Is someone yelling?

“Is anybody here?” The voice is louder.

Maybe someone is at my door?

I almost yell back, telling them to go away, but then reality hits me. “Oh, shit.” I roll over and look at the time. It’s still dark outside. The clock on my nightstand says it’s almost five o’clock. In the fucking morning. My eyeballs hurt when I blink.

“Dad?” the groggy voice asks, a little louder this time.

“Hold on, Graham. I’m coming.” I fumble around, looking for some sweats to put on.

“Dani?” he asks, like he’s trying to figure out where he is and what’s going on. I’m sure the medication he’s on is making him a bit loopy.

I walk into the living room and vaguely make out his form on the bed. “Don’t try to get up,” I tell him. “Do you need something?”

“I-I just woke up, and it was dark. These pills make me have crazy dreams.”

I take a few steps closer until I’m at the edge of his bed. My eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, but the faint light from the covered window allows me to see him a little clearer. Having no idea what to say, I remain quiet.

“When did you get home? Where were you?” he asks, his voice harboring some annoyance.

I can’t do this right now.

“Can we talk about this after a few more hours of sleep?” I ask. “Did you need something? Like the bathroom or . . . ?”

“Uh, no. I have this fancy bag,” he says, holding up something I assume is a catheter bag.

“Good thinking.”

“Yeah, the nurse my dad hired said I needed to keep my leg as still as possible until the incision heals.”

“So, did you need anything else?”

“No, I just had a weird dream. Couldn’t remember where I was for a second.”

“Want me to turn a light on? Or the TV?”

“Nah, I’m good.” He settles back down into his pillow. “I’m glad you’re home, Dani.”

“Thanks. I’m, uh, sorry you’re hurt.”

That’s about as nice as I can be right now.

“Yeah, it’s not exactly how I’d planned to spend my vacation.”

I want to yell at him—ask him where he was, who he was with, why he didn’t take me with him. Instead, I say, “Sleep well. Yell if you need anything. Oh, and I set your phone right here, just in case.” I hold it up and then set it back down on the table. “And you have some water and your pain pills if you need them.”

“Thanks, Dani.”

The tone in his voice is soft, genuine, and the way his eyebrows pull together as he looks at me lets me know he means for more than just the water and pills. It’s his way of saying thanks for being here—for taking care of him. A glimpse of the old Graham shines through, but as much as I’ve missed this older version of my boyfriend, I’m not ready to forgive and forget just yet.

When I’m settled back in bed, even though I’m dog-tired, I can’t seem to go back to sleep. My mind is swirling with thoughts of what I’m going to actually say to Graham tomorrow, because whether he’s injured or not, I can’t ignore the elephant in the room. He’s going to have to give me something . . . some sort of explanation and reason behind him leaving and not calling. We can’t pretend like our relationship is fine and sweep everything under the rug. It’s making me feel uncomfortable in my own home.

The sun glares through my curtains, beating against my eyelids. I blink open my eyes and glance at the clock, relieved I was able to sleep in so late. I take my time sitting up, preferring to stretch across my bed and revel in how good it feels to be back in my own space, until a sound from the living room pulls me out of my reverie.

Oh, shit. Graham.

I jump out of bed and throw my door open, stopping when a woman’s voice coming from the living room catches me off-guard. “Mr. Harrison—” she says before Graham interrupts her.

“Call me Graham.” I hear the syrupy tone in his voice and it makes me bristle. I’ve always hated when he pours on the charm like that. Especially, when he does it with other women. She’ll be a pile of goo before she leaves.

When she giggles and sighs, my eyes practically roll out of my head.

I walk farther into the living room, making my presence known.

“Good morning,” I say, smiling.

“Hello,” the lady says, looking a little startled to see me.

“I’m Sharon.” She glances back at Graham. “I’m the nurse
Mr. Harrison
hired,” she says, distinguishing between Graham and his father. “I’ll be here once a day until Graham begins physical therapy.”

“She came by yesterday and helped get me set up.” Graham smiles up at her like she’s Mother Teresa.

“Well, that’s great.” I try to sound positive, but I know my tone is clipped.

I need some coffee.

She turns back to Graham and continues talking as if I’m not even in the room. “So,” she begins, tucking the blanket around his legs gently, “I’ll be back tomorrow to clean this wound again. The immobilizer must stay on. You
must
stay off it for the next seven to twelve days, depending on how quickly the wound heals. After that, you’ll be able to start some minimal physical therapy. Remember to call if you have any problems with the catheter. Anytime the bag gets to this level,” she says, pointing it out on the bag, “it must be emptied.” She glances over her shoulder at me. I nod my understanding. “I’ve left detailed instructions here,” she says, patting the folder on the end table. “A nurse is on call twenty-four hours a day . . .” she pauses and reaches into her bag, “but this is my personal number, and I don’t live far from here. So if you need
anything
, don’t hesitate to call.” She doesn’t look at me, only at Graham. I don’t miss the sparkling smile he gives her in return. He’s eating this shit up with a spoon.

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

“Thank you, Sharon,” Graham says, his dimples out in full force.

I huff a deep breath and walk to the kitchen to make coffee, hoping I can find some alcohol to mix with it. I’m going to need something strong to make it through this day.

A few seconds later, the door shuts and I assume Sharon let herself out.

“Can I get you anything?” I call out to Graham, forcing down my irritation. “Are you hungry?”

“No, I’m fine. Sharon brought me a bagel and coffee.”

Of course she did.

I finish making a pot of coffee and remember I threw out almost everything in my refrigerator before I went to Louisiana because I didn’t want it to go bad. I settle on a granola bar out of the cabinet, but the entire time I’m eating it, I’m wishing I were sitting in Annie’s kitchen, eating a big plate of her breakfast.

I definitely need to go grocery shopping.

When the coffee is ready, I pour myself a large cup and walk back into the living room. As much as I loved Louisiana and being there, I really missed my comfy chair and bed. I curl up in my oversized chair and pull the coffee mug to my lips, inhaling the nectar of the gods. The aroma immediately soothes my frayed edges and calms me.

“So, where were you?” Graham asks, accusation in his tone.

I pull the mug back to my lap and wrap my hands around it.

I guess we’re doing this now
.

“Well?” he asks.

“I can’t believe you’re asking
me
where
I’ve
been.”

“Well,” he says slowly, “you were gone when I got here. I-I thought you’d be at the airport . . . or at least waiting here for me.” He has the nerve to look hurt. The fact that he expected me to be home waiting, like the faithful girlfriend I’ve always been, makes me even more defensive.

“I called you,” I say, point blank, staring at him. “I called you every day and you never answered.”

“The reception was shit, Dani.” He tries to sit up a little straighter in his bed and a look of frustration crosses his face.

“I left messages, as in more than one. You never even called me to tell me you made it safely to wherever the hell you were. You didn’t even call me after you got hurt!” Tears sting my eyes and I take deep breaths, trying to keep them at bay. “If nothing had happened to you, who knows when I would’ve heard from you.”

“I was going to call you as soon as I got good reception.”

“That sounds good now,” I murmur, picking at the imaginary lint on my pajama pants, unable to look at him.

“It’s the truth.”

I laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

“What the hell is this all about? You act like I did this on purpose!” he yells, pointing to his leg. “Where were you that was so important you couldn’t be here for me when I got home?”

I shake my head, trying to keep my temper in check. I want to beat some sense into him and make him hurt like he’s made me hurt.

Well, I guess karma kind of did that for me.

“I’m still pissed you went somewhere without me,” I tell him truthfully. I’m tired of him thinking my feelings don’t matter. They fucking matter.

“I told you. I just needed some guy time . . . a breather.” He huffs, running a hand down his face, his annoyance obvious. “Everything is stressful around here. I just needed away from it all for a while.”

His choice of words makes me pause. “Guy time?” I ask. “But you were
alone
, right? Or at least that’s what you said.”

“No—I mean, yeah. I was alone, yeah . . . but it was just
me
. . . doing
guy
stuff. You wouldn’t have liked it anyway.”

“Yeah, Graham. I would’ve hated it!” I yell, throwing my hands in the air. “Getting away from all the stress and the city. That sounds horrible!” Like my life hasn’t been stressful. I now know a few days away from this place gave me a completely new perspective.

“I just figured you’d want to stay and look for work. You can’t stay unemployed forever, you know. That savings account of yours will run dry one of these days.”

Thank you, Captain Obvious.

“Did you even call the list of magazines and newspapers I left for you . . . or my dad?” With that question comes the condescending tone he loves to use when we talk about work. “I know you didn’t call him to ask for any leads.”