He looks offended. “Not the way I care about you. Not even close.”
“Look, I just need to rest.”
He exhales, eyes scanning over me. “Yeah, okay.”
He walks over, leaning down and kissing my forehead before leaving.
I roll to my side, trying to hold back the tears threatening to fall.
I trust him, I do.
It’s her I don’t trust.
Not even a little.
The next seventy-two hours blur into one long, suffocating nightmare. Chief lies motionless in his bed, every bandage a silent reminder of the bullets that nearly destroyed him—and me by extension. Travis and I are feeling the tension, even though I am trying not to let it show.
My mother goes from Chief’s room, to mine, back to his, and she just looks exhausted. I’m allowed to walk around the hospital now, and later today I can finally go home. I wander the ward between visits, but every hour I’m back at Chief’s door. Each day, he’s unchanged. This morning the nurse brushes past me in the corridor, her face lighting up as she hurries toward his room.
“He’s stirring,” she whispers, voice tight with relief.
My breath catches. “That’s good, right?”
“It’s incredible,” she replies. “Go and talk to him, sometimes it helps bring them out of it.”
I nod. Once she’s gone, I go to his room, quietly, careful not to make a sound. I step beside the bed, lift his hand, and press it to my cheek. His skin is cool, and I close my eyes, images of the gunshot ringing in my mind. It hurts, and it is a memory I wish would go away and never come back.
“Hey old man,” I murmur. “The nurse said you’re stirring. I hope that means you can hear me. I don’t really have much to say today. I’m going home, which is good, but I would rather go home with you. I need you to wake up now, so that I know you’re going to be okay.”
He doesn’t move.
I sit on the edge of his bed and just start singing. It’s the only thing I can think to do. By the time I reach the chorus, my voice is thick and my heart hurts.
I have to stop.
“Keep going, Mischief,” a rasp has my head snapping up.
Chief’s eyes, glassy but open, are on me. I gasp.
“Daddy?” My whisper cracks so loud it echoes.
He coughs a little. “Hey kid.”
I scramble up, lifting the nurse’s button. I press it with shaking fingers, and the nurse bursts in a moment later, checking his vitals. I lean in and touch my forehead to his palm, unable to stop the tears. I cry so hard my body shakes.
“Hey now,” he croaks, eyes half-closed.
He pulls me onto the bed, wraps his arm around me. I bury my face in his chest, my tears soaking into the hospital gown. The nurse finishes her checks and slips out to call the doctor. I don’t move. I’m too scared to, afraid if I let go, this will all just be a bad dream and he won’t really be awake.
“I thought I lost you,” I croak, clutching him tightly, even though he is already hanging on to me tight enough I can barely get a full breath in.
“Takes more than a damn bullet to kill me.”
“I am so sorry for what happened, I should have warned you or...”
“No,” he cuts me off. “No, what happened was never, and will never, be on you. I should have protected you from him.”
Tears burn. “I’m here. I’m okay. That’s what matters.”
