“One of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.”
Mom wraps her arm around my shoulders and pulls me to her. “Why don’t I drive you home to get some rest for a few hours, sweetheart? I need to change the dressing on your wound anyway. Otherwise, it might get an infection,” she says, brushing my hair away from my forehead.
I shake my head. “I can’t go home yet.”
She huffs an exasperated sigh.
“Go home, babe,” MJ says. “I’ll call you as soon as they move Sol from the ICU.”
Rubbing my forehead, I’m suddenly tired and can feel the beginning of a headache in the back of my head. And Mom is right about the wound getting infected.
After saying goodbye to MJ, we head to my mom’s car. As she drives off, I shoot one last look at the hospital, feeling as though I’m leaving my heart in there. If I go home, I feel like something bad is going to happen. Pushing that thought to the back of my mind, I close my eyes and allow the soft hum of the engine to soothe me.
“Looks like you’ll be leaving the ICU today,” Dr. Ramirez says, shining the little light from one eye to the other. When he’s finished, I blink several times to get rid of the tiny dots in my vision.
My heart slams against my chest. As much as I’m ready to leave intensive care, I’m apprehensive of what awaits me beyond that door. The last seconds of the countdown to the new year keep flashing in my mind. My own actions and the aftermath still haunt me.
Grace . . . Is she really okay? I need to see her with my own eyes. I remember shoving her out of the way as I took off after Levi. I just wanted her out of harm’s way, but I didn’t stop to make sure she was all right. When I asked my uncle how she was doing, his lips thinned into a straight line. He told me Grace injured her head, but she was on the mend, so I should focus on getting better.
I shift on the bed and grimace as pain ricochets from my shoulder, pooling in my right leg.
“Be careful, Mr. Callan. We don’t want you ripping apart the stitches. How is your shoulder?”
“Still sore. The ice packs help, though.”
“Good. I’ve arranged for a physical therapist to come later.”
“Isn’t it too soon to start moving around?”
Dr. Ramirez shakes his head. “We don’t want to wait too long. The muscles and joints in your injured leg need constant movement to keep them flexible. It’s just basic exercise like stretching, leg raises, and flexing and extending your leg. Your physical therapist assists you if you’re unable to perform them on your own. Hopefully, we’ll get you out of bed and walking around using crutches in a day or two.”
“Sounds good.” I’m ready to get this show on the road. Lying on the bed doing nothing sucks. My body craves my usual morning and evening runs. “And the metal rod in my leg will work without issues?” Right before surgery, he explained that I didn’t need a cast. They’d put a rod into the center of my thigh bone to hold the broken bones in place and support them as they heal.
He nods. “It’s very stable. We also used screws to hold the rod in place.”
All of a sudden, questions bombard my brain.
Will I ever be able to live a normal life again? To run or even play soccer?
“How long will it take time to heal?” I ask, swallowing down the panic burning in my throat.
“Recovery time can take up to six months or more. But your willingness to follow a regimented physical therapy schedule could drastically decrease your recovery time. You’re young, and in good shape and healthy. That’s a bonus in your favor. The rod will be taken out after about a year, depending on how well the bones heal.” He gives me a stern look. “No leaving the bed without the help of a physical therapist or our medical staff.”
I nod, absorbing the information.
He dips his chin and peers at me over the rim of his glasses. “You and Levi are lucky. Things could have ended quite badly if the driver had been driving fast.”
“Thank God.” I shudder at the thought of what might have happened otherwise.
The police dropped in yesterday to take my statement about the accident. They mentioned the driver was intoxicated well over the legal limit. It’s a miracle that he even hit the brakes, but it was already too late. I don’t even want to imagine where Levi and I would be right now if the driver had been going at full speed. I consider a fractured femur and bruised shoulder getting off easy, given the circumstances.
He studies me for several seconds. “Dr. Wayland said you sent him away.”
“I’m fine. I don’t need to talk to a therapist.” Yesterday, Dr. Wayland stopped by to talk about the accident. He kept asking me how I felt about what happened and the fact that I was alive. Asked if I was having nightmares. I told him I was fine. He came back today, and we talked for a bit, but then I sent him on his way.
I’m good. Grace is safe. Levi is safe.
“You seem to be taking this very well.”
“I’m just grateful I came out of this with only a broken leg.” I’ll feel much better once I see Grace for myself, though.
“All right,” he says, pulling a card from his white coat pocket and sliding it on the table to me. “If you change your mind, please contact Dr. Wayland. Someone will be here to move you to your room. If you have any questions or concerns, Dr. Bachmann will be in later.”
After he leaves, my uncle walks into the room. He flashes me a tired smile.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
Like shit. Guilt for worrying my uncle and knowing I made Grace’s life even more difficult gnaws at me, but I say, “Better, even though I feel like my leg weighs a ton.” I nod to my swollen right leg. “Have you seen Grace?” He’s probably tired of my persistence, but I’m stubborn. I won’t stop asking.
His lips flatten as his brows bunch into a scowl. “Healing well, according to Debra. She was discharged yesterday,” he replies, finally relenting and giving me the details.
I exhale, relief pouring through me. “Thank God,” I mutter under my breath.
Luke grabs the only chair in the room and sets it next to the bed. He sits down, then rubs his face with his palms. He looks like he’s aged ten years in a span of one day.
“That doesn’t look good.” He points at my swollen foot propped up on a pillow.
“The doctor says it’s to be expected after surgery. Keeping it raised will help bring down the swelling.”
“I still can’t believe you put yourself in that position, Sol. This could have been so much worse.”
“But it didn’t. What I did might seem stupid, but it was also the right thing to do.” I’ve been beating myself up over that kiss and the aftermath, so Luke reminding me of the obvious isn’t helping.
He rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms. “I can’t lose you, Sol. I just can’t.” His voice breaks, and my eyes burn with tears. God, I’m a selfish bastard. I didn’t stop to think. If something happened to me, it’d destroy him.
“You won’t lose me, I promise. I’m too stubborn to die.”
I’ve been avoiding talking about this moment since they brought me from the recovery room and found him waiting for me. The thought of facing my uncle with the truth of what I did is terrifying. He told me that Grace and Ivan filled him in on what happened, but he hasn’t asked me for the details.