My body quaked with emotion as I moved to take Fray’s position. The jerking motions of compressions splattered a few of my silent tears onto his body.
We rotated for a full four minutes, squeezed like sardines on the bathroom floor. He hadn’t revived. Then we heard the commotion of the front door opening and Carl’s confusion.
“In the back! Back here!” I yelled. I exited the bathroom to allow the EMTs access. Two guys picked Pat up and moved him on the floor in the bedroom, while another prepped a shot and jabbed him in the leg. Another readied an AED.
One minute later, Patrick took a breath. And so did I.
* * *
I hated hospitals. Doctor shows even gave me anxiety. I rubbed the imaginary pain in my thigh and turned back to Pat. I needed to hold it together. If I left now, he’d be alone.
And let’s be real. There was no way I was leaving him. I could get over the flashbacks—they would wane.
The paramedics and Fray—who conveniently happened to be one himself—had loaded Patrick into the truck after he gained consciousness. They let me ride along, too. Fray continued his day off, but passed me his number so I could update him on how Pat was doing.
Pat was sleeping. The doses of Narcan had induced two rounds of vomiting I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. It was a little awkward sitting beside him. I didn’t know how much privacy to allow, or whether I should stay at all. Even though my brain was undecided, something anchored me to his bedside. While he’d turned his face into the bedpan the nurses were holding, I sat on the other side and rubbed his bare back and lifted his hair off his sweaty forehead.
This precious man had tried to take his own life. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. One thing was certain; he needed me. Pat’s family was gone and he seemed to have few friends, so I stayed. We’d both get over the awkwardness of it eventually. I massaged his back, tucked the covers around him, wiped his forehead, and held the water cup. When those duties didn’t keep me busy, I settled as close beside him as the uncomfortable metal chair in his room would allow. We watchedLove It or List Itand he drifted in and out of sleep.
The whys nagged at me. What was so terrible in his life to make him want to end it all? I didn’t judge. I’d begged fate to take me dozens of times. Those moments were black, lonely places. My heart hurt for Pat. I had no idea what he was going through, but somehow I did understand. Providence was the only thing that stayed my hand in my own darkest hours.
I studied Pat while he slept. What had life dealt him? Dark circles under his eyes gave his face a gaunt, haggard appearance. Judging by his stubble, he hadn’t shaved since he left for Colorado, and it had been awhile since he showered. Even now, truly at his worst, he was handsome. Dark lashes swept the top of his cheekbones, and women would kill to have his complexion. His thin lips were their former pink color, and I wished I could see them pressed into his usual barely-there smile.
I rested my hand on top of his, remembering how he had so tenderly held my own hands while I panicked in his truck. I leaned forward, pressing my lips to it. The gesture surprised me, and my heart started racing. I was feeling something for Pat that wasn’t concerned-neighbor status. I cared about him. It was becoming pretty evident to me “casual” was going to be difficult. I wanted to know everything there was to know about Patrick Moore.
Whose idea was casual anyway?
I took a few deep breaths to settle down. Pat needed a friend right now. I was going to be there for him, like he was for me. Returning a favor, that’s all.
I tried to make small talk a few times when he was coherent. He only nodded, so we sat there. After a while, I rested my head on the railing of the bed, and the post-terror exhaustion overcame me, too.
* * *
The door clicking open jerked me out of sleep. Drool on my chin and a pressure scar on my forehead proved I must’ve been exhausted enough to fall into a deep sleep, despite being upright. I dried my face with the back of my hand. Patrick’s eyes fluttered open. Hopefully he hadn’t seen me drooling.
Yet another attendant had arrived. A clipboard was tucked under her arm, and she didn’t move to check Pat’s vitals this time. She sat on the rolling stool and rolled up to his bedside. “Hey, Patrick. I’m Lisa, your caseworker. We need to do an evaluation so we know what to recommend to Dr. Knight.”
I hadn’t even considered the fact he might be examined by a mental health professional. A flush climbed my cheeks. I shouldn’t be here for this.
The nurse turned to me. “Are you a family member?”
“Just a friend. I don’t have to stay.” I rose and shouldered my purse, moving toward the door. “I need a walk anyway.”
The door clicked behind me and I walked into the bustling hallway of the emergency room. What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall in there! I sighed, hoping he would tell me a little about what was going on. A nurse pointed me toward vending.
* * *
“Do you want to stay with me? Just for tonight?” The idea of leaving him alone was more than I could bear. How would I sleep not knowing if he was okay?
“No.”
“There isn’t anybody to keep an eye on you.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Pat—”
“Fray and Carl are there.”
