“I was just going to head to a hotel for the night. Is that cool? I know you don’t have your truck, so you’re sort of at my mercy, but Inspiration is too far away,” Duke says in the quiet cab, glancing over at me.
“Yeah, that’s perfect. I don’t want to leave yet. We need to be here. Want to grab some dinner though? Maybe we can…talk?”
“Yeah, okay.” He pulls into a small Mexican restaurant across from the hotel he put in his phone.
We are seated across from each other in a small booth, munching on tortilla chips. We are just watching each other and it’s comically awkward.
“More than thirty years of friendship and we can’t start an awkward conversation?” I joke as I take a sip of my water.
He shrugs. “We’ve never needed to have a conversation to navigate what happens when the girl we both love wakes up from her ex-husband’s murder attempt.” His dry sarcasm is a balm to me and reminds me that even if this is uncomfortable as hell, we can figure it out.
“Correct. You killed him, for her. Dammit, you’re going to win.” I plop my forehead down on the table, sighing loudly.
“You truly are so dramatic,” he tells me, rolling his eyes.
Our food arrives and I tear into the burrito, the first thing I’ve eaten in almost twenty-four hours. “Nobody is winning, not right now. We have to focus on not losing her first. Let me ask you a question.” He shoves rice in his mouth, swallowing before continuing, “If she wakes up tomorrow and decides it’sboth of us. Or that she can’t decide. What are you going to say?”
Leaning back, I chew slowly, thinking. I never considered we would be here, having this conversation.
“Hypothetically, because it comes down to what she wants, but hypothetically, are you asking if we could share her or if we could both date her until she chooses one of us?” I just need some clarification from him, where his head is.
“I’m asking you what your thoughts are on either of those possibilities. I am telling you that I cannot, will not, walk away again unless she doesn’t want me.” His answer is straightforward and matter of fact, the exact thing I expect from Duke.
“Okay. So, let’s focus on her waking up, getting better, and then let her decide what she wants. Agree to follow her lead?” I hold out a hand, and he takes it.
“Agreed.”
We are waiting in the fourth floor waiting room at eight o’clock on the dot the next day. We made an emergency shopping trip at a twenty-four-hour Walmart after dinner so at least we’re wearing clean clothes today.
“Y’all can go on in,” the nurse tells us. “Probably another long day sitting.”
We don’t care if we are just sitting, watching her sleep. We’ve missed enough time.
“Good morning, Hurricane,” I greet her as we enter the room.
“‘Morning, Sunshine,” Duke says at the same time.
I’m mildly entertained we have both adopted weather nicknames for her, and how different they are. It doesn’tfeel so bad, knowing he’s there. I may have to share her a little, if that’s what she wants, but I can’t imagine a better man by her side than him. Including me.
I pull her necklace from my pocket, holding it up.
“Now, Callie, since you’re in this bed recovering, I won’t put this back on your neck where it belongs, but I have it, okay, baby? When you wake up, it’s yours.”
“How do you have that? We haven’t been home yet.” Duke looks at me curiously.
“It’s been in my wallet every second of every day since she climbed out of my truck.”
“I can’t believe you are worried for one second that I would ‘win,’” he tells me, deadpan.
We spend the remainder of the day the same as yesterday.
And the same as tomorrow.
And the day after.
On the fourth day, we sit quietly, each holding a hand when the machine connected to Callie starts beeping, loudly, scaring both of us.
Duke runs into the hallway yelling, “Help, something’s wrong. Please, help.”
