Dear God.
Megs’ heart sank. “Do you expect him to wake up?”
“It’s hard to say right now, but I expect he will regain consciousness in stages. Until he starts coming around, we won’t know what kind of recovery he’s facing. He’ll probably need rehabilitation. Will he regain a hundred percent of the function he had before the accident? That’s a question I can’t answer. One thing I can tell you for certain. If he hadn’t been wearing a helmet, he’d have died instantly.”
Megs hated to bring this up, but she had a duty to Mitch.
“Mitch has a living will. It’s his wish that…” She could barely bring herself to say it. “It’s his wish that we withhold life-saving treatment if an accident or illness leaves him nonfunctional.”
The doctor nodded. “The good news is that we’re nowhere near making that determination—not yet, anyway. You might want to retrieve the document just to have it on hand, but there’s a very good chance that he’ll regain consciousness.”
The doctor explained the different stages of recovery from coma and what she could do to help the process. Then he handed her several brochures about traumatic brain injury. “Do you have any questions?”
Megs had only one. “When can I see him?”
Chapter 3
Megs walked upto Mitch’s bedside and took his hand, doing her best to process all that had happened. Six hours ago, she’d been afraid he would die before they reached a hospital. Now, he was stable in ICU after making it through surgery, and his doctors were hopeful.
Megs wanted to trust in their hope, but seeing Mitch like this took the heart out of her. He lay there, silent and still, a machine breathing for him. The head of his bed was elevated, electrodes on his chest, his body naked apart from the towel someone had placed over his privates. He had dressings on his collar bone and the incision in his abdomen, a subclavian line in his chest for IV meds and blood draws, and a pulse ox monitor on one finger. But what struck her hardest was the sight of his head. Wrapped in a white dressing, his skull was misshapen, the left side noticeably indented, an intracranial catheter rising from the bandages.
Jesus.
She fought a wave of dizziness, taking one deep breath after another, one hand gripping his bedrail.
When she’d come back to herself, she carefully kissed his cheek, afraid she might hurt him. “We always knew something terrible might happen, but I always thought it would happen to me.”
Why wasn’t it me?
She was the one who had always refused to accept limitations. Not that she’d been reckless—far from it. She knew the risks inherent to climbing, but she had always done her best to overcome them. Still, climbing at an elite level was inherently dangerous. There were so many variables—weather, conditions on the rock, gear, the actions of other climbers, wildlife. She and Mitch had been to enough funerals to know that even the most experienced rock jock could die.
A nurse stepped in. “Ms. Hill? There’s someone here for you. She said she’s a friend. Her name is Rain.”
“Can you send her in? I don’t want to leave him.”
The nurse nodded and returned a moment later with Rain Moffat, Joe’s wife and co-owner of Knockers.
Rain wheeled in a small suitcase, her long blond hair tied up in a messy bun, long sleeves hiding the tattoos of roses and skulls that covered her arms. She stopped when she saw Mitch, clearly doing her best to hide her shock. “How is he?”
Megs tried to act like her world hadn’t just fallen apart.“He’s not much of a conversationalist, I’m sad to say.”
“Oh, Megs.” Rain looked at her through eyes that saw everything. “You don’t have to be tough—not now, not with me.”
For the first time all day, Megs found herself blinking back tears. She couldn’t cry. She couldn’t. If she did, she’d shatter, and Mitch needed her in one piece.
She drew a deep breath, wiped her eyes. “The surgeon said we should be hopeful. It’s hard to see him like this and still feel hope.”
Rain wheeled the suitcase to the side of the room, walked over to Megs, and hugged her. “Then let us do the hoping for you. The whole town is praying for him.”
Megs wasn’t sure she believed in a god, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t grateful. If there was any chance… “Thank you.”
Rain stepped back, held up a paper sack Megs hadn’t noticed before. “I brought your favorite entrée from the pub. Hopefully, there’s a microwave you can use. I also brought you some clothes and personal stuff from home—toiletries, your laptop, power cables, chargers, reading glasses, the book on your nightstand. I figured you’d rather stay here than drive up and down the canyon.”
“Thanks so much. Yes. I’m going to stay here. They say this chair folds out. It doesn’t look particularly comfortable, but I’ve slept in worse places.”
“When you get sick of that, Joe got you a room at the Marriott across the street. He thought you could use it for naps and showers. The room is under his name to keep the press off your back. You don’t need to check in. I already did that. Here are your keycards. We don’t want you to worry about anything besides Mitch.”
Stunned, Megs took the keycards. She wasn’t used to being the one in need. All of this generosity left her feeling uneasy. But these were her friends, people she’d known most of her life. “Thank you, Rain. Please thank Joe for me. I don’t know what we would have done if he hadn’t gotten that chopper in the air. Mitch might not have survived. I hope I can repay your kindness.”
