He frowns, lips press together, shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”
Pain cuts through me, but somehow I manage not to flinch. “I want to be there when Cassidy wakes up. I want to tell her.”
“We’ll do our best.”
I know that’s all they can do, and I force myself to shut my fucking mouth and not start making demands that are entirely too dependent on chance and circumstance.
Dr Evans goes into a shorthand explanation of possible complications as well as a bunch of legalities I don’t care about, even though I know he has no choice but to communicate them. Then, after a dozen electronic signatures, Dr Evans takes his leave, and I hunker down in the waiting room until I can’t take it anymore.
Jumping to my feet I turn to my parents and state, “I need some air,” then make a beeline for the exit. I hook a left outside the doors knowing there’s a narrow alleyway between buildings right around the corner.
I walk a few feet down then lean against the side of the building; my head pressed back against the cold brick. It’s dark, the bright lights from the sidewalk only making it feel even darker, colder. I close my eyes, immediately opening them when all I can see if Cassidy falling. Cassidy motionless on the ground. Cassidy pale and still, being loaded into the back of the ambulance.
It plays in slow-motion every time I close my eyes.
Opening my mouth, I attempt to take a deep breath, but it catches. I hold the breath in, my eyes and my sinuses burning asI try to keep my emotions in check, an impossibility when your emotional state is on par with an erupting volcano.
A hand on my shoulder startles me and I move to straighten but then Declan’s voice is in my ear, “It’s going to be okay.”
I place my hand over the top of his, grateful for his presence even if I’m slightly embarrassed. Declan is the most emotionally transparent man I’ve ever met; bringing the old ‘wears his heart on his sleeve’ saying to life. But it works for him.
The breath I was holding breaks loose, immediately releasing a sob that reverberates through the alleyway. I attempt to turn away, to hide my bleeding emotions against the brick wall, but he just holds on tighter, turns me into him, his arm moving firmly around my shoulders. My hand moves to his jacket, gripping the fabric as if it’s a lifeline as another sob fills the silence, echoes, stops.
Unable to stand beneath the weight of my grief, my knees buckle, but instead of falling to the ground in a heap, Declan squeezes me, goes down to the ground with me. His back is against the wall, and I’m turned into him, my cheek pressed against the soft cotton of shirt, both of my hands now gripping his jacket.
He presses his face against the back of my neck, his voice heavy with emotion as he whispers, “Let it out, man. Just let it out.”
And I do. Even feeling stupid, even feeling as if I’m being overly dramatic, I let it all out because to not do so would only create a festering well of emotions just waiting for a target to spew it at.
It’s violent and ugly, a complete release of the frustration and pain of the unknown. I let myself see her falling, see her down, see her being loaded into the back of the ambulance. I let myself see every worst-case scenario imaginable, allow myself to feel everything in those moments. Let it cut me open, bleed me dry.
And then, it’s over.
My sigh is calm. My grip on Declan’s jacket eases. He gives me a last squeeze, his grip easing, but he doesn’t release me. “You okay?”
Nodding, I shift so I’m not twisted so sharply, but I don’t try to move away just yet, still not ready to face whatever comes next. “That fucking hurt,” I whisper, my voice hoarse, and Declan chuckles then responds, “Aye it does. Like ripping your own guts out and then trying to shove them back in the same way they were before.”
A laugh breaks free and then I cough, shake my head, grateful for a moment of levity. We fall into an easy silence, likely making an odd picture for anyone who might happen along. I laugh again and then pull back as I say, “Can you imagine the headline if the pap got a picture of us like this?”
Declan laughs, too, releasing me slowly, making sure I’m good before dropping his hands. He pulls a small pack of tissues from his jacket pocket, hands it to me. “That would be funny. I bet it’d sell a lot of magazines, too.”
Pulling a tissue from the pack, I hand it back to him then wipe at my face before blowing my nose. Then I lean back against the wall and ask, “You start carrying tissues in your pocket when you got married?”
He snorts, waves a hand at me. “Yes, but not because Issa’s a crybaby or anything.”
“No,” I respond slyly, knowing he’s the crybaby in their marriage. “She got allergies then?”
He gives me a look then retorts, “Nothing will make you feel more deeply than the love of your soulmate.”
I smile. “Awww…that’s nice.”
Delan rolls his eyes. “Tease all you want, Ren. But truly loving someone else is living with the constant worry that something will happen to them. The crushing fear that there’seven a tiny possibility that you may have to live without them someday.”
“You cry about borrowed trouble from the future?”
Sighing he turns his gaze back to me. “Nah. I cry from the joy of the here and now.”
He doesn’t give me time to respond. He gets to his feet, then offers me a hand which I gratefully take, allowing him to pull me up until I’m standing beside him. He holds onto my hand for a few moments, searching my gaze until he sees whatever he was looking for, and then he releases me.
