Standing outside Ash’s private room, I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and muster up my mental strength before I knock. There’s no answer, but the nurse warned me he might drift in and out of consciousness because he’s heavily sedated.
I poke my head around the door before I enter to find him staring into space. I bite my lip and swallow down the pain in my throat as each injury and bruise across his body registers in my head. His eyes follow me across the room as I take a seat beside him. “How are you, man?” I take a moment; the silence hanging between us. “Look, if I can do anything to help?—”
“Thanks, but unless you can bring him back, there’s nothing you can do.”
Fuck. His hurt is unbearable to witness. “You know I’d take that pain away if I could.”
He sighs. “I’m sorry. That was a shitty thing for me to say.”
“It’s understandable.” Another moment of silence follows. There’s never been a time when we had nothing to say, but this is different. Ash is grieving.
“Why did we go running? Why did I agree to it?”
“Don’t blame yourself, Ash. It won’t do you any good.”
“I can’t help it.”
“Scott wouldn’t blame you. He went out running every morning, so it doesn’t matter if you were there or not. Itdoesn’t change anything. This isn’t down to you.” His eyes meet mine, but he doesn’t respond. “How’s Cal doing?” I ask.
“Not so good.” He rubs his hand down his face. “Can you do me a favour?”
“Anything. Name it.”
“Could you be around for her? She’s so conflicted. One minute she’s kissing my face and thanking God I’m still here, then the next, she’s crying for Scott. She needs to look after herself and our babies.”
“You know I’m here. For both of you.”
Ash attempts to reach for the table, but he winces while lifting his arm.
“What do you need?”
“Can you get me some water? My mouth is dry.”
“Sure.” I lift his head a little, bringing the small glass to his mouth, and he winces again. “Do you need more painkillers?”
He shakes his head as it rests against the pillow. “Shit, no. I’m already drugged up to the eyeballs. Those things knock me out, but what I really want is to know what’s going on. My girls need me.”
“Don't worry. I’ve got them, whatever they need.”
His eyelids flutter as he fights to keep awake. “What about Angie? She needs you too.”
My stomach twists at the mention of her name and what she’s lost. “You really think she wants me around?”
“She needs as many friends as possible.” His weary eyes try to focus and his voice weakens. “Scott would want us to take care of her. You and me.” His eyes are shut by the time his last word leaves his mouth and he finally gives in to overwhelming tiredness. While he drifts off to sleep, I’m left to wonder if he’s right about Angie. I’m not so sure she would want me around at all.
CHAPTER THREE
ANGIE
Whoever the hellis banging the shit out of my front door needs to understand something. My husband died a week ago, so unless they’re here to tell me this whole thing is a sick prank, I’m not interested.
Rolling over, I realise the likelihood of that happening is zero. Instead, I’ll stay here, safe in my bed with my husband’s things around me and his scent on my pillow. This is all I need.
This morning, I picked up a message from the coroner’s office telling me I could arrange his funeral, and this afternoon, I can collect his belongings. If I do what they want, it means I’m accepting he’s gone and the simple truth is I’m not ready.
The banging continues. Why won’t they leave me alone? Don’t they get it? My entire world has fallen apart, or is this just a process to them? I wonder if any of these people have a heart at all.
“Angie, it’s me. Open the door. Please?”
