Forgotten Promises (The Promises Series Book 2) (8 page)

We’ve got your back. Will call later

From: TJ

No offense man, but who cares about your wrist ;) Tell me about the nurses! Any hot ones willing to give you a sponge bath??? Send pics—of nurses, not you!

From Drew

TJ - You’re a dick!

From: Jackson

The asshole’s still on form, you ain't missing much here! Later Bro.

I smile down at the screen and for a fleeting moment, I actually feel like everything is normal until mom walks in and shatters the illusion. Her worried look is one I’m used to. She wears it a lot.

“You okay?” I ask, placing my phone down and giving her my full attention. There’s a long pause and I know I’m not going to like whatever’s coming next. I brace myself and wait for her to say what it is that’s so blatantly bothering her. I can feel my shoulders begin to tense, and the silence is deafening. This is how it’s always felt between us—strained and uncomfortable. I’m beginning to get agitated with this weird standoff we seem to have entered, and I’m about to tell her to just spit out what’s wrong when she sits and decides to finally speak.

“I need to talk to you about your father, Ethan. He’s in a bad way.”

“So speak,” I clip out. I don’t mean to be short with her, but he’s my least favorite subject and she knows it. I watch as she wrings her hands together, working up the courage to carry on. She’s spinning her wedding ring around on her finger, something she does when she’s upset.

“He sustained a cervical spinal injury, the first two vertebrae in his spinal column have been shattered by the accident.” She pauses again, no doubt giving me a chance to absorb the information and ask questions. When I make no attempt to comment she elaborates. “Do you understand what that means, Ethan?”

“Not really, no,” I tell her, shrugging my shoulders.

“He’s paralyzed,” she begins. “From the neck down. The doctors have told me that the damage he’s done means his skull and spine are not connected. They need to operate, but he’s not strong enough at the moment and the surgery is dangerous.”

Her eyes are glazing over as she holds back her tears. I can’t figure out if they’re meant for him or me. I know I should be displaying some sort of emotion, but I’m not. I feel completely numb. Her words are swirling around in the whirlwind that is my mind, but it’s not stimulating any reaction and I know it’s not normal. I pretty much detest my father; I have for as long as I can remember now, yet I’m not happy by this news. I’ve wished him dead on more than a few occasions, as messed up as that is, but paralyzed…that’s somehow a fate worse than death. At least it would be for me. I can’t think of anything in this world more cruel than being trapped inside your own body. I’m not sad either, though; my emotional state regarding my dad is about as damaged as his back, only there may be a chance that the doctors can help to fix that in some way; whereas, our relationship is so fractured, so broken, there’s no putting it back together.

“What’s the survival rate for the surgery?” I ask as a melancholic curiosity takes over. My voice shakes slightly as I speak; I clear my throat and look away, but Mom catches it. She moves closer and puts her hand on my shoulder, offering a comfort that I don’t want and in truth, she can’t really deliver. I stand, forcing her hand to drop as I move to look out of the window and her sigh is audible.

“From what the consultant told me, 50/50 at best.”

I nod, contemplating her answer. The room feels colder than normal; the air conditioning unit is humming in the background providing an eerie theme to our conversation. I cross my arms to try and conserve some heat, and then let them drop immediately as the pain spears through my wrist. I’m no longer hooked up to the machines like before. I’d become accustomed to the steady, monotonous beeping and now that it’s gone I miss it. The constant din gave me something to focus on other than reality. Now all I’m left with is the sound of my own voice in my head whispering that I might finally be free.

“Can I see him?”

She looks shocked at my request and eyes me carefully.

“It’s just…I don’t know; it doesn’t feel real.”

“I’ll ask one of the nurses, sweetheart. I’m sure it will be okay, I’ll go find out.” Her voice is soft and low like she’s talking to a little kid, or maybe like she feels sorry for me. I almost want to laugh in indignation. She must think this news is upsetting me. Doesn’t she realize when it comes to Frank Jamison I’m dead inside? Any love I harbored for him was beaten from me long ago.

“Thanks,” I huff as she walks out of the room.

“You answered! Dude I’ve been calling for days. How are you?” Jackson’s voice echoes around the empty room as I place his call on speaker.

“Good, man. Sore and shit, but alive! I’ve been given the green light to come home tomorrow. Blair was told she’d be released today, Mom said, so I’m not sure if she’ll be heading home yet.”

“Yeah, Brie mentioned something about her being allowed home. How are you two?” His voice is laced with hesitation, and something else I can’t place. Like he knows something that I don’t.

“Honestly, it’s weird. You know my memory is screwed at the moment, right? I don’t know. I’ve spoken to her a few times and I have all these pictures and messages on my cell from her, but I can’t remember a damn thing about her. It’s pretty fucked up.”

“Yeah, I can imagine. Look on the bright side, though…she’s hot, and you get to do over all your firsts with her. First date, first kiss, first fu—”

“What the hell dude,” I interrupt. “That’s the most pussified thing I’ve ever heard you say, shit…you know you sound like Drew,” I laugh.

“Fuck you, I do not sound like Drew!” I can hear his smile in the tone of his voice. “Anyway, how’s your old man?” he asks tentatively. He’s been my best friend since kindergarten and knows our relationship sucks ass. That’s all he knows though, or, at least if it isn’t, he never brought it up, and I’m thankful for it.

“Not good. I’m waiting on my mom to come back and let me know if I can see him…he’s paralyzed.”

“Shit…” I hear him blow out a long breath. “Like, what? He’s not gonna walk again and stuff?”

“No bro, more like he’s not gonna move again. He’s a quadriplegic—can’t move from the neck down. His spine and skull are not connected or something like that. He needs surgery.” Saying it out loud doesn’t make if feel any more real. The numbness is still firmly in place.

“I don’t know what to say…that’s, that’s…Jesus, I mean are you okay?” I think about his questions for a beat too long. “Ethan? You still there man?”

“Yeah, I’m still here. Look dude, my mom’s about to walk back in so I’ll talk to you later,” I lie.

“Okay, later then. Call me if you need anything…at all, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I reply as I end the call and lean back on the bed closing my eyes. I know full well that I won't call him or anyone else for help. I never have before in the last eighteen years, and I don’t plan to start now. Blair’s face flashes behind my eyes and I get a weird sensation in my chest. I don’t know how or why, even, but suddenly I feel like if I did want to call anyone, I’m pretty sure it would be her.

“You can go in dear,” the lady at the nurse's station prompts as I hover at the door to my father's room. Mom smiles at her and opens the door, slipping inside quietly. I’m frozen to the spot; the door’s cracked, and the room is dark. He’s lying with tubes and wires protruding from every available patch of visible skin. There’s a ventilator pipe, at least that’s what I’m assuming it is, bandaged to his throat. His face is ashen; I can’t make out his eyes clearly from here, just shadows that look to have sunken into dark pools of anguish against his uncharacteristically pale skin. The blood rushes in my ears, and I’m suddenly dizzy. I spin on my heels, fully intending to make a retreat when the lady from the desk appears at my side and leads me to a bench seat in the hall.

“It’s a lot to take in. Do you want me to get you a glass of water?” She smiles.

“No, I’m good. Thanks. Just a little dizzy.”

“You know, the wires and machines look scary and intense, but it’s still him in there, under all of them,” she offers. I don’t tell her that’s what I’m afraid of.

“The pipe in his neck…is that for him to breathe?”

“Sorry, I can’t discuss that with—”

“I’m family,” I interrupt. “He’s my dad.”

She gives me a sad smile, a pitying smile.

I hate pity.

“It’s not a ventilator; it’s a suction drain. Your father's lungs are filling with fluid, and the pipe drains that for him.”

“Can he still talk?”

“He can. Why don’t you go in and say hello? I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you,” she says standing. She’s an older woman, small with greying blonde hair, and I feel like I should be the one helping her, not the other way around. I follow suit, and she pushes the door open to his room. Mom’s standing at the foot of the bed with her head slumped into her shoulders.

“Get him out,” he whisper-shouts and Mom’s head spins around. She has tears streaming down her blotchy red cheeks.

“I said get him out of here!” he shouts louder this time. Mom’s face crumples and I’m roused from my momentary paralysis by the sensation of being pulled back through the door and back out into the hall. The lady, doctor, nurse—whatever the hell she is—looks briefly horrified before her professionalism kicks in and her face smooths over.

“I’m so sorry,” she says quietly. Mom appears, and the lady backs away. We both silently take a seat back down on the bench. I know the answer before I even ask the question, but it doesn’t stop me from confirming it.

“He blames me?”

Her silence speaks volumes; I watch as she squeezes her eyes tightly shut. She looks as though she’s in physical pain. I don’t wait for anything else. I have my answer. I’m moving through the ward and barging through the main doors, sending them crashing into the walls, causing a thunderous boom before I let go of the breath I’m holding.

My numbness has morphed into something else.

Ice.

I feel a glacial bitterness descend as I move through the building as fast as I can. Suspended in a surreal state, I look down and realize I’ve taken my cell from my pocket and my thumb is hovering above the call button. I stop in my tracks, take a deep breath, and then another, and then another. My chest is burning and I feel like I can’t breathe properly. I look back down at the display and don’t think, I just press call.

“Ethan?” The sound of her voice is my oxygen. I draw in a long breath through my nose, dousing the fire in my lungs. I pause and close my eyes; my shoulders relax and drop.

“Hi, Blair.”