Page 159 of We Are Just Us

And then he spoke again. His voice louder now. Clear.

“I love you, Kieran Doyle.”

Tears pricked at Kieran’s eyes but he didn’t let them fall. He held Rory’s hand. Even though there was no grip back. Even though Rory’s fingers stayed still. He held on anyway. Then he reached up with his free hand and wiped the tears from Rory’s cheeks.

“I love you,” Kieran said softly.

He leaned down. Pressed his lips to Rory’s forehead. Gentle. Lingering.

When he pulled back, Rory’s eyes were closed. But he was breathing. Steady. Even.

FORTY-FIVE

Rory stayed in the hospital for a week after his surgery.

Seven days, somehow both endless and impossibly fast.

The room had transformed over that time. What started as sterile and cold was now cluttered with life. Bouquets of flowers lined the windowsill, sunflowers from Emory with a card that said “Get better, asshole,” roses from Rory’s Taco Tuesday crew, daisies from a neighbor Kieran didn’t know. Balloons floated near the ceiling, their strings taped to the bed rail. Get Well Soon. You’ve Got This. We Miss You.

And there, proudly displayed on the hospital tray table, was Aubrey’s handmade card.

Construction paper folded in half, covered in crayon drawings of what might have been flowers or possibly dinosaurs, it was hard to tell. Inside, in Samantha’s careful handwriting guiding Aubrey’s three-year-old scrawl:

I LOVE UNCLE RORY.

Rory had stared at that card for a long time when Samantha first brought it. Hadn’t said anything. Just looked at it with an expression Kieran couldn’t quite read.

Then he’d asked Kieran to put it where he could see it.

Rory’s parents, Bill and Marlene Kline, had arrived two days after the accident. Bill with his receding hair and quiet demeanor that reminded Kieran so much of Rory, Marlene with her sharp eyes and tendency to fuss over everything. They flew in from Kentucky as soon as Samantha called, and they’d been in and out of the hospital ever since, splitting their time between Rory’s bedside and spoiling Aubrey with what Samantha claimed was “an irresponsible amount of ice cream.”

Kieran had met them properly on day three. Had shaken Bill’s hand, accepted Marlene’s tight hug, answered their questions about what happened with as much detail as he could manage.

“You were there?” Marlene had asked, gripping his hands.

“Yeah. I was watching from the beach.”

“Thank God you guys were there,” she’d said, tears in her eyes. “Thank God you were there.”

Kieran hadn’t known what to say to that. Didn’t feel like he’d done anything. But he nodded and let her hold his hands and tried not to think about how close they’d come to losing Rory entirely.

For the most part, though, Kieran stayed by Rory’s side every day.

He’d come in the morning, usually around eight, carrying coffee for himself and whatever breakfast he thought Rory might eat. He’d sit in the corner chair, an uncomfortable vinyl thing that made his back ache, and quietly work on his laptop. Answer emails. Do the bare minimum to keep his mind from shattering.

But mostly he watched.

Watched the nurses come in to check vitals. Watched physical therapists put Rory through basic exercises. Watched doctors examine him, ask questions, make notes on their clipboards.

Kieran helped when he could. When the nurses needed to walk Rory to the bathroom, Kieran was there, supporting his weight. When Rory needed to walk the hallways for exercise, slow, painful laps that left him exhausted, Kieran walked beside him, ready to catch him if he stumbled.

He was a silent figure. Present. Constant.

The day after Rory’s surgery, when Rory was still groggy and disoriented, Kieran had spoon-fed him Jell-O.

“I hate cherry,” Rory had complained, his voice still raspy but getting stronger. “I want watermelon.”

“They only have cherry and lime.”