“I will.” She takes a few seconds to collect herself. “A car will pick you up from LAX and bring you to the hospital.”
“Okay.” I close my eyes and take in a breath. He’s going to be okay. He has to be. He promised me he would never leave me. He might have walked away, but he can come back. He will come back.
Six hours later, the plane takes off from Las Vegas. I stare out the window, so numb I’m calm. Claire texted me, telling me that Aiden was out of surgery and in recovery. The doctors “did all that they could do” and now the rest was up to Aiden to pull through or not.
He is lying in a hospital bed, alone, living out one of his worst fears. It kills me to think about him by himself, surrounded by doctors and nurses but ultimately alone. Claire is there at least, and though she’s his employee, she’s just as much a friend.
I close my eyes, a vision forming in my mind beyond my control. It’s of Aiden, lying bandaged and bruised in a hospital bed. A band of gauze wraps around his head like in the movies. I take his hand and sit with him throughout the night. Then he wakes up and it’s a miracle. His first words are “Haley, I love you.” We kiss and live happily ever after.
But that’s not life.
Life doesn’t hand out happily ever afters. You have to work for them, claw your way through the darkness, through all the trials and tribulations, and find your own happiness. Then you hold on to it like it’s life itself, and in a sense it is. It’s someone else’s life, but it’s a part of you, living, breathing, beating in sync with your heart.
Aiden is my happily ever after. He is my second chance. And I want to be his.
“Do you want my sweater?” the old woman next to me asks.
Goosebumps cover my arms, and I don’t realize I’m cold until she says something. “No thanks. I’m fine.”
She extends a pink and yellow knit sweater. “Please, honey. I brought extra.”
I just nod and she drapes it over me. “Thanks,” I say softly.
“Who in L.A. are you going to see?” she asks.
“A friend,” I say, closing my eyes in a long blink.
“I hope things turn out all right for them.”
“Me too.”
“I’m going to see my great-grandson. He was born a few hours ago.”
I force a smile. “Congratulations. That’s exciting.”
“He’s my fourth great-grandchild. I never thought I’d live long enough to see this many.” She smiles, and wrinkles form around her red lips. “I wish my Harold were alive to see them.” She lets out a sigh. “He’s been gone for twenty years, and I miss him every day.”
“That must be hard,” I say quietly and turn, hiding my tears.
“It is,” she continues. “But we had a lot of good years together.” She taps her chest. “He’s with me, right here. Always.”
I bit my lip. “Always.”
The old woman is quiet the rest of the flight. She gives me one more smile as we part ways. I get my bag from the overhead storage and fall in step with the crowd slowly walking off the plane. I want to push past them and run. Anything to get to Aiden.
I see a man in a suit holding a sign with my name on it. He leads me through the busy airport and into a car. The sun is rising on the horizon. My eyes flutter closed on the drive to the hospital, and I get flashes of the start of dreams, dreams about Aiden.
I see the first time we made love, feel the passion between us that neither could resist. I see us cantering through a thunderstorm, cold rain pelting our bodies. And I see the first time we went out, the first time I had a flashback in front of him. I want to be able to feel his arms wrap around me again, to feel his heart beating against mine.
“Miss?” the driver says, shaking me out of dreamland. I land in cold reality. “We’re here.”
I blink, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. I fumble and get out of the car, thanking the driver and wondering if I should tip him. I have no cash on me. Whatever. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t matter.
Aiden matters.
I walk into the cold hospital and look around. I’ve never been to L.A. before. Everything is huge, and everywhere is crowded. I text Claire that I’m here and she quickly responds, giving me a room number and telling me not to ask for Aiden by name. Fans have already tried sneaking in. I walk behind a group of three nurses grumbling about the early hours, and stop by the desk in the lobby.
“Can I help you?” a volunteer asks. She eyes me up and down and smiles sympathetically.
I nod. “I’m here to see a friend. He’s in the ICU.” I look down at my phone. “Room two-oh-three.”
She types something into the computer. “Ah, I see him. And what is your name, honey?”
“Haley Parker.”
“Haley,” she repeats, running her fingers along the computer screen. I assume she’s checking a list of approved visitors, making sure I’m not a crazed fan. “I’ll let them know you’re on your way,” she says, and she gives me a paper map, highlighting where I need to go in pink marker.
I walk through hallways, carefully keeping track of signs so I don’t get lost. I take an elevator up several flights and go down another hall. Claire is in the ICU waiting room, a hospital blanket draped over her shoulders. She’s leaning against the wall with her eyes closed and her phone in her hand.
She sits up when the door closes behind me. “Haley,” she says, stretching her arms above her head. I go over by her and drop my bag on the ground. She hugs me then leads me to another door and gets buzzed in.
A young nurse with long blonde hair in a perfect French braid takes me to Aiden’s room. He’s right across from the nurses’ station, and the curtains aren’t pulled around his bed. I can see through the glass wall, and my stomach flip-flops.
“You can talk to him,” the nurse says softly. “He can’t respond, but he might be able to hear you.”
I clench my jaw, my eyes widening in horror as we close in on him. The nurse steps inside the room. I close my eyes and cross the threshold.
“Aiden,” she says. “You have a visitor.”
He’s worse than I imagined. His face is bruised and swollen, hidden behind tubes and wires. He’s hooked up to multiple machines, including one that is breathing for him. A sheet is lightly draped over his body, hiding the damage to his torso.
A brace is around his neck, and his left arm is propped up on a pillow. Black rods run along the length, screwed in place and I cringe when I see the metal going through his flesh and into his bone. His skin is stained with iodine and blood, and seeing the flesh pucker in around the screws makes me sick. Blood rushes from my head, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
The nurse rushes over and takes my arm, leading me a few steps forward and into a chair next to the bed.
“Deep breaths,” she says.
I nod and inhale slowly. I wipe my eyes and move to the edge of the chair. The world is spinning and my ears are ringing. My vision blacks, and I think I might pass out. I lean back, not wanting to fall onto Aiden or pull one of the many tubes or wires connected to him.
It’s terrifying to see him like this. He hardly looks like himself. I focus on the slow, steady beeping of the heart monitor and look at his face. “Aiden,” I say softly, reaching out and trying to find a patch of unbandaged skin to touch. I sweep my fingers over the top of his right hand. “Aiden, I’m here.” Gently, I lace my fingers through his. “I’m sorry it took so long, but I’m here now.” I close my eyes, pushing out tears. They splash onto the bed. “I love you,” I say softly. “Please don’t leave me.”
When I thought my heart couldn’t hurt any worse, the tiny pieces rip again. “What’s wrong with him?” I ask, scared to hear the answer. “Why isn’t he awake?”
“He’s in an induced coma,” she says. Is that good? Is being in an induced coma better than being in a non-induced coma? “We’re monitoring intracranial pressure right now; it’s higher than it should be, but not high enough to require opening the skull.”