My heart wrenches from the way he asks it. It’s so unlike him to be unsure of himself. The person that hit him stripped him of his confident ability in always believing he’ll get through. His blue gaze is dull and full of uncertainty when his eyelashes flutter and he looks at me again.
I physically ache to extend my hand out and trace my fingers over his sharp jaw, but his left eye is so incredibly bruised from the eye socket fracture, I’m scared touching his blemished skin will result in a wave of suffering.
“It might be hard for a bit,” I offer in return, willing my voice not to break. “But you’ll be okay. You have a lot of people around who love you and will help take care of you, Colson.”
His eyelids flicker shut. I wonder if it has to do with the indulgence of morphine overriding his system. He licks at his dry lips that lack a little bit of color and murmurs, “Yeah, baby, but do I have you?”
He falls back asleep after that.
FIFTY-SIX
COLSON
The left sideof my body is fucked.
I’m bandaged from my shoulder, my arm stuck in a goddamn sling, down to my ankle. I haven’t had the chance to see what my face looks like, but I don’t need a mirror to know my eye is swollen shut and worse for wear. Christ, it hurts to even blink mygoodeye.
I can’t wiggle my toes without an ache popping up somewhere else in my body. And don’t get me started on how it feels like someone took coarse sandpaper to my throat and didn’t relent until it turned into a bloody mess. The cottonmouth has been steady, too, but the doctors assure me it’s a normal side effect from all the meds they gave me. Along with the nausea that comes in surges from the anesthesia wearing off.
I’m looking at weeks of recovery and then physical therapy afterward. The docs say I’ll make it back to a hundred percent as long as I take care of myself and follow their strict orders. For now, I’m supposed to rest, but I’m slowly starting to resent this room. Everywhere I look holds a reminder of my actions. A reminder that I pushed away people I loved, took up illegal fighting to soothe the war on grief, and the deal I made with Clyde. How I threw that fight. How I’m in a hospital bed, thedamn room resembling the barrel of a shotgun I have no choice but to look down with shame.
The initial anger of Clyde backing out on our deal resurfaces, and I’m left stewing without having an outlet. I can’t get out of this bed. I can’t walk without someone close by to help. Hell, I haven’t even been able to stand to take a piss.
There’s no way around my dilemmas other than tothinkabout them. And I hate thinking. It’s what drove me to drink that Jack all those weeks ago and what forced me to approach Eli.
The incoming and outgoing thoughts make me think about Tommy. I can’t help but wonder if he found out about me throwing the fight. Does it look suspicious that I lost and haven’t been back since? I mean, my accident only happened yesterday, but I don’t have a working phone. It got lost when the car rolled, and first responders couldn’t find it in the cleanup.
I have no way for anyone to contact me. No way for me to get a hold of anyone. If Tommy is pissed, I won’t know until I’m released, which only makes the anxiety worse.
I fucked him over, thinking it would get me what I wanted in the long run: Mom’s house. But see, I made a deal with the devil and lost. I should’ve known better. I should’ve realized that Clyde was never going to give me the house.
How didn’t I see that?
A soft knock sounds at the door before it swings open, and my nurse comes in. She checks my vitals, asks about my pain levels, and lets me know I have a visitor waiting. One she was waiting to send in until she finished checking in with me. I give her the go ahead to send them in when she leaves.
Sebastian has been in and out of my room since I’ve been here. Sometimes he sits in the corner and falls into silence with me. Much like he did back at Mom’s house. Other times we’ll shoot the shit about whatever is playing on the TV. This morning, he brought me cream-cheese filled bagels from one ofthe coffee shops close to Spring Meadows. I managed to get one down before the urge to throw up came over me, and I pushed it away, assuring him he could eat mine, too.
Minutes later, after I find a movie to watch on the mounted TV, I sense the door opening and say, “Grandma’s Boy is on. Been ages since we’ve seen this movie.”
When I don’t get Sebastian’s heartfelt chuckle along with his confirmation of how much he cracks up whenever Jonah Hill is on the screen, I glance over, and end up doing a double take.
Sebastian isn’t looking back at me.
My mouth pinches into a sour expression and the revulsion from this morning returns. “Who the fuck let you in?”
Finn shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Didn’t realize I needed a permission slip.”
I turn my gaze back to the TV.
He huffs out a sigh. “I’m not allowed to visit my brother?”
My entire body vibrates with annoyance. “Didn’t I tell you about that before? You know, how we’re not even fucking close to being brothers?” I turn and stare into his dark eyes. “That we never will be?”
“So you keep saying.” His eyes trail over my body, on the IV taped in place on my hand. On the oxygen tubes that dangle over one of my shoulders, because they force me to wear them when I sleep.
“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” I grit out. “Or, actually, do let it hit you if it means it’ll knock some sense into you and make you leave me alone.”
“What the hell do you want from me?”
