I take a step back when it seems like he’s had enough and tip my head in the direction of the waiting room. “Come on.”
FIFTY-FIVE
VIOLET
Just after theturn of the clock, when visiting hours begin, Colson’s status changes from in surgery to recovering from the anesthesia. It isn’t long after this that his surgeon meets with us to discuss his progress. They repaired the break in his leg and collarbone with plates and pins. However, his collarbone went as far as shattering into microscopic pieces which was what took them so long to operate. They had to irrigate the area and clean it thoroughly before suturing him closed.
Now he’s back in his own room, recovering from what they gave him during surgery and taking his good ole time doing so.
I watch the lines rise and fall on the monitor he’s hooked up to as I sit across from his hospital bed. There’s a steady beep that comes and goes, and every so often his blood pressure cuff fills, hissing out a stream of air. My gaze bounces between the monitor screen, watching as his heart rate stays at a steady rhythm, and his beautiful, battered face.
My heart jackknifes with every glance. The doctor was right, his face is terrifyingly black-and-blue. I can barely stomach taking in his eye, the skin around it heavily swollen and tinged a deep berry shade. His entire left side is beat-up, reminding me too much of his torso when he came to me that one night.I expect he’s most likely bruised all the way down, but as my eyes drop to his hospital gown and the thin white blanket that’s pulled up past his hips, I push the thought as far away as it’ll go.
It grips me by the throat, trapping the air in my lungs, making it impossible to get enough oxygen in my body. I wish I could take it from him. All the pain, all the hardship. Seeing him in this condition does odd things to my extremities, making them restless and feel as though they have anchors strapped to them. It’s hard to swallow the intermittent sips of water I drink between finishing my coffee.
I want to reach out to him, skim my finger over the edge of his hand, but I’m keeping my distance for reasons linked to my own self-preservation. I haven’t seen him awake yet. He was too sleepy when he was still in the recovery unit, and I happened to step out before he came to for a few minutes, allowing Sebastian and Bess to be with him since visitors were limited in that section of the hospital.
I’m afraid if I touch him, he’ll wake up, which is stupid because Iwanthim to wake up. I want to see life in his ocean-blue eyes and to watch the corner of his mouth tip up in that smirk I’ve always loved.
But I’m also terrified of what he might say, how he might look at me, and what my reaction will be to all of that. Guilt finagles its way in again when I think about his text I never responded to. I’m trying to hold myself up and give myself the boundaries I need. After Webber and the debacle with my own father, I need more stability. I need what we had before the teeter-tottering aftermath of his mom’s death.
However, a relationship is the last thing he needs and wants—something he has made very clear. Not to mention, he’ll have months of healing and physical therapy to focus on to gain back his strength. His energy doesn’t need to be tied up with me, even if I desperately want to push it all away and have just that.
His uninjured leg shifts and his head rolls to the other side of his pillow. He’s propped up in a comfortable position that allows him to see most of the room.
There are bandages on the leg they fixed and what looks to be a splint there. A sling, looped around his left arm rests on his chest. An IV is set on the back side of his other hand. His fingers twitch when his groggy eyes peel open. My stomach flips. Hell, my heart and brain do, too. I’m a complete mess as I watch him come to, suddenly wishing I wasn’t the only one in the room.
Finn and Everleigh are out in the waiting room, marking time until Sebastian and Bess return with breakfast. So far, Bess has allowed Finn to stick around, though I’ve seen the way she keeps an eye on him, assessing to see if he’s here because he actually cares or for another reason. He saw Colson when he was still in recovery, when it was way more unlikely for him to wake up and notice him standing there. He has yet to step in this room. I don’t think he will, too worried about what Colson might say or do.
Colson’s eyes blink sleepily. I watch as his throat bobs with a swallow, his face twisting into a grimace when he has a hard time with it.
I’m quick to stand and move over to his side, because if there’s one thing I’ve always struggled with when I’m around him, it’s giving him space. I drag the chair that’s next to the bed closer until my knees smoosh against the cool, hard plastic. My hand reaches out on its own, my internal conflicts fading into the space behind me.
“You’re awake,” I manage to get out without choking on my own sob-filled cry.
Colson tilts his head to face me, his lips perking up in the tiniest purse. “Vi,” he breathes out hoarsely, like he’s in more pain than just the physical kind. Like his heart is screaming from the hell it went through. “You’re here.”
I breathe out a sigh, tears threatening to blur my vision. I can’t keep them away. My eyes fill with the unraveling burn of emotion. “Of course I am,” I tell him, my voice cracking on those four short words. “Where else would I be?”
“Anywhere else,” he murmurs, lifting his non-injured hand around mine before giving it a weak squeeze. “Fuck, you got prettier.”
A soft chuckle moves up my throat, and a tear slides down my cheek. “I look the same as I always have.”
“Mmm, don’t cry,” he whispers, letting go of my hand to wipe the wetness from my cheek. I have to lean closer so he can reach. “I hurt,” he groans, still a little out of it. “My entire body hurts, Vi. Make it stop.”
I glance over at the morphine drip they have him connected to and grab the self-administering handheld button they briefed us on. It’ll allow for small doses intermittently when he needs it, rather than giving him copious amounts of the addictive substance without a limit.
“You can press this when it’s too much, and it’ll give you a dose of pain medication if you haven’t had one in a while,” I tell him. He jabs his thumb into the button almost right away. “Do you have any memory of what happened?” I’m not sure if it’s the best question to ask, but I’m curious to know how much he remembers.
“I just remember being at the grocery store one minute and then feeling like I was hanging upside down the next. Everything else is a bit blurry.”
I nod, curling my fingers back around his when he settles, and his eyes fall closed again. “You might remember more over time. They gave you a lot of different medicine so they could help you.”
He starts to doze off but manages to open his eyes once. I know he’s talking about the bandages and sling when he asks, “Is that what all this is?”
“Yeah, Colson, it is.”
“I’m gonna be fine, though?” he seeks, his eyes falling shut again.
