SIX MONTHS LATER
The past sixmonths have been a grueling process of rehabilitation and physical therapy. I’ve worked tirelessly to regain my mobility and strength. It wasn’t easy, but I am determined to get my life back.
To live for her.
“We’re gonna miss you,” Mrs. Payton tells me, pushing away a tear.
The old nurse has been one of my best gossip buddies over the last six months, and I will miss her too. However, I know there will be enough physiotherapy appointments in the future for me to see her more than enough.
“I will miss you too, but honestly, I’m more than ready to go home.” I’m so giddy it has turned into anxiety.
I could puke.
“Oh, I believe you. Almost eight years gone, I hope you’ll still recognize it after all this time,” she muses.
If she only knew.
But still, I wasn’t there for six months, so maybe some things did change. But if they did, I’m sure it’s for the better.
It’s already evening since the doctor who had to approve my discharge from the hospital took so goddamn long. I texted Sloan and the guys the minute he told me I was free to go so they could start the forty-minute drive, but I packed my stuff way faster than anticipated. The only thing I’m leaving here is my poker deck, which I gave to my roomie, old man Paul. He kept me company and demolished me with his poker face time and time again.
Sloan sometimes played a game with us, and she was convinced that Paul was cheating. I just say I found my master.
I already said my goodbyes to him, and now I can’t wait inside any longer. I don’t care if I have to stand outside for another twenty minutes.
I have to get out of here.
I hug Mrs. Payton one last time, pull my bag over my shoulder, and start to hobble down the hallway.
Okay, maybe not a twenty-minute wait.
Seven years in a coma can do a lot to a person. My muscles have atrophied, and my memory is a little fuzzy.
Just not when it comes toher.
I could never forget a second of the time I spent with her.
It is like starting life all over again. Day by day, I pushed my body to its limits, slowly relearning how to move, walk, and do even the simplest tasks. Now, I can do almost everything again, maybe just a little slower than before, and I’m so fucking grateful for the progress I’ve made. Sloan has been a crucial part of my recovery, pushing me when it got so hard I wanted to give up and celebrating every small achievement with me.
She and my brothers have spent all their free time at my bedside.
I fucking love them for it.
My parents came home for the first three months too, and it was so damn good to have them back. They left again to sell theirhouse and arrange their move back to Lubec, having bought themselves a small house, not wanting to be away from us any longer.
My crutch clacks on the linoleum floor of the hospital hallway as I make my way to the exit. My left leg is still stiff. My therapist told me I could regain more mobility with a lot of work. If not, I’m okay with that. If this is what I walk away with, I can count my lucky stars.
And it feels a little like the karma I deserve.
Hunter calls himself and me the hobble bros, and I fucking love it. The fact that I can walk at all is a miracle, considering the circumstances. I could have died, never woken up again, or woken up with severe disabilities.
I count my blessings every day.
And one of those blessings should be outside waiting for me in a few more minutes.
Just as I think it, the door a few feet from me opens, and Nash, North, and Hunter come in, laughing with each other.
Finally happy again.
