Tears fill my eyes and a knot the size of my fist feels as though it’s disrupting my ability to breathe. I swipe the tears away as they fall, one after the other.
“He has a traumatic brain injury, a collapsed lung, and several other injuries but the doctors told us he’s going to be okay.”
“Rae he looks fairly banged up so don’t be alarmed.”
“Go on,” she says with her own tears glittering in her eyes. I walk to the entrance to Sylas’s ICU room. “I’ll just be right out here,” Audrey says, motioning toward the hallway.
Machines fill the space around the bed creating a perimeter of chirping and beeping and moving medical technology. My throat feels as though it has clogged with sand and I try to focus my efforts on breathing as I go to his bedside. His left hand lies at his side, relaxed. I tuck his hand between both of mine. His hand is warm in mine and so much bigger than I remember them when we were teens.
Though I am not a particularly religious person, prayer flows from my mouth on autopilot. I grew up in church—shared Sunday school classes with Sylas. We sang hymns shoulder to shoulder. We said prayers hip to hip. We were brought up being taught that prayer would be essential to our lives and would be a tool for coping with life’s most trying times. I didn’t necessarily believe it back then. I do now.
“You shouldn’t have been there in the first place,” I whisper to his unconscious form. “You should have been safe with me. What would I do without you? It’s more than I can stand not having you in my life but to lose you completely forever? I couldn’t bare it Sylas. I couldn’t,” I sob quietly, bending to press a kiss to his hand. “I hate loving you but I hate not having you the most,” I croak. “I hate that I blame you. I hate that I still want you.” I sniffle quietly, surveying his abused features.
“I shall do one thing in this life—one thing certain—that is, love you, and long for you, and keep wanting you till I die,” I whisper the Far From The Madding Crowd quote against the back of his bruised and cut up hand then lean over him imparting him with another prayer for peace and healing. I kiss his forehead where stark white gauze covers his skin, then leave. I walk away as though I’d never been there. It’s a difficult task because every part of me wants to stay by his side. Hate what he did, what he caused, as I may, I think I’ll always love Sylas Broussard. There’s just no help for it. I think I’ll spend the rest of my days wavering between loving him and despising him there’s no help for that either. One thing will never change. Love him or hate him, it doesn’t matter because I’ll never have him. I’ve spent years walking away and keeping away from Sylas. And now, with the knowledge that he will recover from his wounds, I leave him behind all over again.
As it turns out there are no Uber drivers in or around Cattail, at least none that are available at the moment. Maybe they are all at the Parish Fair. I managed to catch a ride with a really lovely middle-aged couple. All I had to do was mention the name Sylas Broussard and like magic they smiled and waved for me to, “Get on in.” I left Sylas at the fairgrounds, putting off texting him until I had already arrived back at his cabin. I went through the backdoor Sylas never locks because according to him there’s no need for it in Cattail. I gathered my things and got on the road back to Palmetto Grove. The forty-five minute drive back was made worse by my phone’s steady buzzing with phone calls and texts from a frantic Sylas. The last text in my inbox simply read, What the fuck, Rae?
I have only been at Momma’s for an hour when I look out my window in time to see his truck come barreling into the driveway, his large form seemingly out the door before the thing has even come to a complete stop.
“This is starting to feel a lot like a bad habit with us!” he yells loudly from the front yard.
“Raegan,” Momma shouts on her way up the stairs. She comes to my side at my bedroom window and tuts in disapproval, her eyes pinched at the edges, her mouth drawn into a deep frown.
“So this is what we’re doing? Reuniting every decade or so just so we can lie to ourselves and pretend that this isn’t real?” he roars from the front yard.
“I warned you,” she whisper-yells as I shoulder past her.
I turn on my heel and bolt down the stairs, nearly falling on my face in the process. Plucking my sunglasses from my hair and putting them in place, though the sun is low in the sky, I fly through the front door and go to him, peeking around the yard to see if any neighbors have heard his booming voice yet. “We just gonna pretend that there isn’t some serious shit we need to discuss? I ask you to honor our pact and your answer is to just hop a flight right outta my life? Again?” he roars, pushing his hands through his glossy, thick hair.
“How do you know—”
“Called Bethany,” he interrupts with his arms folded over his broad muscular chest.
“Sy, please,” I try to sound sure but if I know Sylas, he hasn’t missed the wobble in my voice.
“You know, this whole time, I’ve been trying to prove to you we still have something special—something worth giving a chance to grow. Been trying to figure out how to work things out. I’ve been doing my best to make you feel comfortable enough to say whatever it is that’s been going through that mind of your but I’ve been spinning my wheels haven’t I?”
“Sylas,” I start, measuredly. “While I agree we have crazy chemistry—we always have—and what we share in the bedroom is something I won’t soon forget, you have to see that there is no future for us. Only a past.” At that, he reels back a step.
“That’s your assessment of where I stand in this race, Miss High and Mighty political strategist?”
“It is. I’m sorry Sylas but if you thought something would come of this, then I’m afraid you misread me and the situation.”
“Yeah well that’s a first for me. Been figurin’ you out all my life but I guess I’ve gotten a little rusty,” he muses sarcastically.
Not even close.
“So what’s your answer, Rae?”
“Stop it,” I attempt. “I just explained—”
“Answer me. If you have the balls to ditch me again, you’re going to have to give me the courtesy of saying so to my face. What’s your answer?” he demands, a muscle in his jaw twitching with emotion.
“It’s not you. And maybe if my life were different… It’s just that—”
“Don’t. Don’t you dare try to placate me with some bullshit about how your life is in DC and how we’re so different now and all that other horse shit.”
“Am I wrong though?” I ask with my hands on my hips, Sy regards me with those keen eyes of his.
“Rae, baby, listen to me,” he pleads, his voice rough. “I’m yours and you’re mine, so go ahead and tell me what it is that’s keeping us apart because I know it isn’t fucking square mileage from here to DC. Why won’t you just unknot your panties and get over whatever has you all messed up so we can be together,” he says harshly and I bristle.
“This is the part where I remind you that all women have their secrets and contrary to what your giant ego has convinced you of, you aren’t privy to all my secrets, Sylas.”