Julian tells me that they were at 1919 Hemphill and how they were supposed to be in and out. When Bennett hadn’t met him outside, Julian got worried and went back for him. He found him in the basement, the scoreboard shattered, and a whole circle of guys ganging up on him.
“My god,” I say to myself. “What was he thinking?”
“Nothing good,” he says. “I swear, he’s been trying to punish himself for the last two weeks.”
I sink back in the chair, hands covering my face, because I have spent a decent amount of time since he left hoping that he was hurting as much as I have been. “Why were you guys even there?”
Julian grimaces as he reaches into the interior pocket of his jacket and hands me a hospital baggie with Bennett’s wallet, phone, watch, car key, and three rings. One is his Graves signet ring, one is his thick gold wedding band, and the third is… mine. A thin gold band, holding an oval stone.
I take the bag and hold it to my lap, tears forming and throat tightening. “He—he went back for my ring? It’s not even real. Why would he do that?”
The look Julian gives me is almost peeved with one brow shooting up. “Really?” he asks. “You think Bennett Graves gave you a fake ring?”
My cheeks flare just as a nurse opens the swinging doors to the ER and calls out, “Clover Walsh?”
“Over here!” Julian says as he pushes me forward.
I shove the bag of valuables into my tote and head for the nurse. When I look back, Julian is right where I left him. “You’re not coming?”
The nurse answers for him. “Only immediate family and one visitor at a time.”
“Is he okay?” I ask frantically, already forgetting about Julian as I follow her into the chaos of the emergency room.
“He’s awake,” she tells me as if that means anything, but it is a relief I suppose, and I’m suddenly wondering if there was a time when he wasn’t awake.
She walks at nurse pace—which is a different measure than normal human speed, because nurses walk like someone is chasing them down a dark alley.
Barely stopping, she motions to an open door at the end of the corridor and says, “The doctor will be with you shortly.”
When I walk into his room, Bennett is sitting in bed in slacks and no shirt. His chest and face are covered in bruises and the center of his bottom lip is split.
Bennett’s gaze is slow and lazy as he looks me up and down. I realize I left the dorm in exactly what I was wearing. Lilac-and-white-checkered boxer shorts and a sweatshirt Bennett left behind that saysProud Dadwith the Wexley seal beneath it. (A birthday present from Julian.)
There is a nurse standing at the computer near the hospital bed and he glances back and shakes his head at me. “Sorry, immediate family only. No girlfriends.”
Something fierce and protective pushes against my chest. “Excuse me, but that’s my husband.”
If I didn’t already have an inkling that Bennett is on pain meds, I would now based on the warm, goofy smile he gives at the wordhusband. “And that,” he says with entitlement, “is mywife.”
I find myself smiling back at him, and wishing I had the ring on my finger to prove it.
The nurse rolls his eyes and mutters something about babies having babies before telling me, “He’s not allowed to fall asleep for another three hours. And don’t even think about defiling this hospital bed.”
“Gross,” I mumble. I’m guessing the staff at Wexley Medical Center has seen some shit.
I go to sit in the armchair beside his bed, but Bennett pats the side of his mattress with one hand. The other is held against his body in a sort of awkward way like it might be injured.
“What the hell were you thinking?” I ask him as I hover at the edge of the bed.
He pats the space next to him again more insistently. “I’m surprised you even answered your phone.”
“Ah, there it is,” I say as I sit down beside him and kick off my strawberry-print slippers before putting my feet up. The constant static in my head that I’ve been living with for the last two weeks quiets the moment my skin touches his. I’m left wondering what fight could have been worth losing this. “I was starting to think the pain meds had made you docile.”
“You’re the one who wants a divorce.” His words slur over the last syllable.
For the first time this semester, I finally have the upper hand. He’s seen me make a drunk fool of myself and has nursed me back to health, and now it’s his turn to lose his inhibitions and embarrass himself.
He drops his head down on my shoulder and with our height difference, I can’t imagine he’s that comfortable, but I just lean back and let it happen.
