Goodbye to You (31 page)

I croak, “Okay. Thirsty.”

“Let me.” A hushed voice comes from the other side of the bed. I turn my head in its direction.

I’m hallucinating.

After the bitch-fest send-off I gave him last night, I can’t believe Shay would show.

Against my wishes. I told him I never wanted to see him again. He figured I was lying.

“Why are you here? Didn’t I tell you . . .” I push to my elbows. At least I try to, but I’m sore, and the multitude of tubes and catheters and cuffs restrain me.

He walks to the bed, pitcher of ice in hand, and scoops a few cubes into a cup. He pushes the button on the hospital bed and raises me a few inches so I can suck on the ice.

Dimples etch his cheeks as he grins. Like the major blow-out last night didn’t happen. “I heard what you said. I don’t care.”

“But . . .”

He crosses his arms across his chest. “But nothing. I told you before you don’t get to make my decisions for me. I love you, and you love me.”

I open my mouth to speak, but he won’t let me.

“Don’t deny it. Love is all that matters. You don’t have this,” he waves his hand between us, “and let it go without a fight. You worry I’ll be disappointed if we get married and have kids and you can’t nurse them. That’s what formula is for. Many women opt not to nurse, and that’s okay.”

“Shay, I—”

He holds up his hand, asking me to stop talking.

“So when we’re ready to start a family, something happens and we can’t conceive our own? We’ll adopt. Lots of kids in foster care need families, or we can adopt a baby. Whatever you want.”

My heart squeezes.

“I can think of a more succinct way to tell you this: Thea, I don’t give a flying fuck.”

Wow. He
does
mean business.

“Shay, be quiet. Yes, I lied, didn’t tell you the truth about the surgery to start, and I lied last night to protect you.”

“I don’t need you to protect me. I’m an adult, not a child, and I can handle the truth no matter what.”

“Never again. You get bonus points for getting by Bennie and Leesh. How’d you manage that?”

“Promised them free drinks at Paddy’s for life if they let me in.”

“Sold out by best friends for shooters.” I shake my head. They wouldn’t give in like that, so I imagine the conversation went much differently, with my friends threatening serious bodily harm if he ever hurt me.

Love them.

Love him.

Life is good.

Life sucks.

I’m sore and semi-sleep deprived.

I knew recovery would hurt, and I left the hospital after two days with a handful of prescriptions to help with the pain.

No complications, and everything looks good, Dr. Beltran says.

It’s all good. Except for these awful drains embedded into the surgical sites to prevent fluid build-up. Those things are a major inconvenience.

I hate sleeping on my back, propped on two feet of pillows. If it weren’t for the painkillers, which make me loopy, I would get no sleep at all instead of the restless sleep I do get.

The drugs make me itchy too. No way could I get hooked on the stuff. I’d scratch my skin raw.

Shay has been great. He’s doing everything for me.

I wish he would stop.

He needs to leave. Go to class.

This is one reason I didn’t want him to know. I thought he’d drop everything, neglect his own responsibilities to take care of me.

It’s annoying.

He pops his head into the bedroom.

“Hungry?”

“No,” I grunt.

“Thirsty?”

“No.”

“Do you need anything?”

“For you to leave.”

His head snaps back. “What?”

“Go.” I cross my arms across my chest, jarring one of the drains.

Owwww.

I drop my arms back to the bed.

“No.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t want you here anymore.”

“Liar.”

“Seriously.” My voice should be dripping with venom, but all I can muster is a squeak.

“Sit. It’s time to check the drains.”

The drains need to be cleared, and the fluid measured twice a day. It is not a pleasant task.

“Once we’re done, I’ll take you for laps around the house.”

More like up and down the hall a couple times, but it’s good for my circulation and keeps the rest of me from getting too sore. I want to go outside, but I’m still too weak to walk far.

I’m going stir-crazy and want to be left alone. I grab a book from the nightstand and throw it at him.

Try to throw it at him. I can’t lift my arms above my shoulders, and my range of motion is limited by the stitches and the shooting pain. The book hits the floor with a resounding thud.

“Why won’t you go?” I sob. I’m hideous and gross and must smell awful, but I can’t tell anymore.

He stuffs his hands into his pockets and leans against the door jamb. “You need me.”

“No, I don’t.” I jut out my lower lip.

“Yes you do. Even if you don’t want me here, I’m not leaving,” He pushes off the door frame and grabs the measuring vial and log from the dresser. “Unzip your jacket.”

I open my mouth to say no. He glares at me. I clamp my mouth shut and comply. He sits on the edge of the bed and unscrews the cap from one drain bulb.

It makes the most disgusting sound when Shay squeezes the fluid into the measuring tube before replacing the cap.

So gross.

I pull up the earbuds lying in my lap and listen to music while he does it.

Squiiisssh.

I turn the music up louder.

Then he’s all done. I pull the ear buds out.

“Ready for your walk?”

I shake my head. “I don’t want to get up yet.”

“Okay. I’ll come ba—”

“Stay.”

He holds out the gunk-filled vials. “Let me dump these.”

He rushes to the bathroom. The toilet flushes and the water in the sink runs.

He returns, and the mattress sinks under his weight.

I lean into him, his clean, woodsy scent a comfort.

The tears start, and I can’t stop them. Nothing in particular is wrong, but I’m overwhelmed and held it all in for so long, the tears surge like waves crashing on the beach.

“Shhhhh.” He strokes my hair, kissing my temple. “It’s okay.”

“I-I know. I c-can’t stop.” I snort, sucking in the snot threatening to run on my lip.

“Let it out. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

I’m lucky. I’ve survived the surgery and these first few days at home all because I met and fell for a beautiful boy with a mischievous smile while on vacation.

Best trip ever.

I sob again and thank my lucky stars. The stars I wished on the night we met.

“All done on this one.” He examines the measuring tube. “Forty ccs on the left.”

He screws the cap back on the bulb, then jots the number in the log. He unscrews the cap from the drain bulb on the other side and repeats the nasty process.

One more thing to confirm how stupid I was being, worried about him running away. He’s proving he can take the worst.

More than Bennie, for sure. She nearly vomited the day she needed to check the drains because Shay was running late.

She played field hockey, so minor injuries don’t bother her too much, but this post-surgical stuff is nasty. She considered dropping out of the exercise science program when she had to take biology. Identifying the organs of a dissected pig— not her strong suit.

She’s great with bringing me food and queuing up our current binge-worthy show on Netflix and hunkering down to keep me company. As far as bandage changes or wound checks?

“That’s what your doctor boyfriend is for,
chica
.”

Boy, does he continue to deliver with taking care of the icky stuff even I can’t handle, even though my body produces the yuck.

After the first few days, the pain hasn’t been as bad as I expected. Surgery was a full week ago, and I’ve weaned myself off the narcotics. Just ibuprofen a few times a day.

“You ready?”

Time for our evening walk. I can move more than twenty feet at a time now, and the activity is good for my circulation after spending my days like a big lump in the bed.

Plus, there’s something enchanting about a crisp fall evening snuggled in a hoodie holding hands with your boyfriend while colorful leaves shower you.

And speaking of showers, I get to take one tonight!

I’m over those pre-moistened towelettes and sitting in a shallow bath with the drains taped on isn’t comfortable. Dr. Jacoby’s office told me to keep the drain sites covered in plastic and to attach the drains to a lanyard, so my hands are free.

I zip the sweatshirt, slip on my shoes, and head out the door.

It’s darker tonight since Shay got back late.

He stopped at his place and picked up clothes while Bennie helped me make room in my closet for him.

I even cleared out a drawer in the dresser.

I cling to his sweater-clad arm and glance at him. The chunky gray wool along with his day-old stubble make him look more like a model than on the night we met. He looks like he could step straight out of the pages of a fall/winter clothing catalog.