Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 76592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
“You had an epidural hematoma,” my mother says. “The surgeon explained it to us. Blood between your skull and the lining of your brain. Pressure was building. They said if we’d gotten to you even an hour later…” She breaks off, choking back a sob.
“We got to you in time and got the paramedics to the ranch immediately,” my father cuts in. “That’s all that matters. They went in and cleared it out. The doctors are confident you’ll make a full recovery because you’re so young and strong.”
I close my eyes.
Full recovery.
I don’t know if I believe it yet, but hearing it out loud sews something back together inside me. Something not just in my body, but in my mind and heart.
I’m going to make it. I was broken, but now I’ll heal.
“How long ago?” I manage to get out.
“Yesterday. Around noon,” my mother says. “The beam fell then. You were in surgery by nightfall. It’s morning now.”
Less than twenty-four hours. That’s all that separates me from gone.
I shift my gaze to my father. “Zach? Where is he?”
“At the ranch,” he says. “Resting. Anya says he wouldn’t settle in last night. He kept pacing around the house like he was waiting for you to come back.”
The thought almost undoes me. I imagine his nails clicking on the tiles, ears pricking at every sound. I owe my life to that dog. Only gourmet food from now on. No more kibble.
“I need to see him,” I murmur.
“You will.” My mother squeezes my hand. “When you get home. When you’re stronger.”
Stronger.
Damn.
Seems strength has been gone from my life for too long.
My body feels foreign. Sluggish, drained, like it’s not my own. The weight on my head pulses with every beat of my heart. But beneath all of it, I’m grateful.
Grateful to be alive.
Grateful for this second chance.
I look at my parents again. They look wrecked but whole.
“I’m sorry,” I say, the words rasping out of me.
My mother frowns. “For what?”
“For making you go through that. For…scaring you.”
Her dark eyes flash. “Don’t you dare apologize for surviving.” She leans closer and presses a kiss to my forehead. “You stayed. That’s what matters.”
My father nods once. “You didn’t quit, son. That’s enough.”
I breathe out. They’re right. I didn’t. But I came close.
Tidbits are coming back to me. The pain, the darkness. How I almost succumbed near the end.
Thank God for Zach.
Only the best Steel beef for you from now on, buddy.
“Dave? Sage? Angie?”
“Angie and Jason are on their honeymoon. We haven’t been able to get in touch with them yet. Dave and Sage are here in the waiting area.”
I swallow. It hurts. “Don’t bother Angie,” I say. “I don’t want to mess up her honeymoon.”
“She’d never forgive us if we didn’t let her know,” Mom says.
She’s right, of course. “Okay. But tell them I’m going to be okay and they don’t need to cut their trip short. That would just make me feel worse.”
“Of course.” Mom kisses my forehead again. “My sweet baby boy.”
My sweet baby boy…
Except I wasn’t her baby boy. I was nearly two when she and my dad got married. She never held me as a baby. Never fed me from her breast like she did the others. Never even fed me from a bottle.
But I wouldn’t remember any of those things anyway.
She would, though. She would remember. She has those memories for Dave, Angie, and Sage.
Dad rises. “I’m going to go tell Sage and Dave that you’re awake. They’ll want to see you.” He leaves the hospital room, closing the door softly.
“Do you want some water?” Mom asks. “Ice chips?”
I nod. “Ice chips. My throat hurts.”
“That’s from the intubation. It’ll get better soon. The ice will help.” She rings for the nurse.
While we wait for the nurse, Tabitha’s face drifts into my mind—her amber eyes, the way she laughs with her whole body, like she can’t hold anything back. She doesn’t belong here in this sterile room, but she’s here anyway, in me.
I clear my throat. “Tabitha…”
My mother tilts her head. “What about her?”
Before I can say anything, a nurse enters. “Yes?” she asks.
“My son would like some ice chips, please,” Mom tells her.
“Of course, right away.” She looks at me. “How are you feeling, Mr. Simpson?”
“A little groggy,” I choke out.
“I’m sure you are.” She smiles. “I’ll be right back with your ice.”
“What about Tabitha?” Mom asks once the nurse leaves.
“I… I need to see her,” I say, every word a rasp. “I want her here.”
My mother studies me for a moment but then nods. “Of course. We’ll call her.”
My vision is still a bit blurry, but I can see the questions in my mother’s eyes. Questions she’s keeping herself from asking because all that matters to her is that I’m okay.
And just like that, I know it doesn’t matter to her that she didn’t hold me as a newborn, didn’t feed me from her own breast.