“And if it doesn’t? What then? What is it you think you’ll be able to do for him?”
“I can’t do anything for him. I know that. But if things don’t work out for him around here…”
“Jenna, you’ve got to stop this. You can’t put your life on hold for a boy.”
“He’s not a boy, Daddy. And he’s not just ‘a boy’ anyway. I love him. If there’s even a small chance that we could be together, I’ll wait for it.”
Even to my own ears, I sound deluded and pathetic. And that breaks my heart into even smaller pieces. I seem to be the only one who can’t let go, who can’t move on.
“You’d want him to come to you just because he’s got nothing else left? You’d want him to choose you because there’s no better option?”
That’s like a scalpel to my stomach. “Of course not.”
“Then how long do you wait, honey? How long is too long? Have you ever thought of that? What is the cut-off for him choosing you first? Because you deserve to be first.”
For the millionth time, I feel the burn of tears at the back of my eyes. “I don’t know. But I can’t leave yet. I can’t do it, Daddy.” I feel like I’m hanging on by the world’s thinnest thread of hope. But it’s not enough to hold me together. I crumble. “I just can’t do it. I can’t leave him like that.”
I bury my face in my hands. Within a few seconds, I feel strong, familiar arms come around me. One hand strokes my hair as my father soothes me. “Shhh, baby girl. It’ll all work out. I promise. Just let it happen like it’s supposed to. Don’t fight it.”
The problem with that advice is that I’m afraid I already know how it’s supposed to work out. I’m just not sure I can live with it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - Rusty
I guess that’s what happens when you’re a total ass**le to pretty much everyone—they stop coming to see you. I was blaming my grouchy mood on being confined in a twelve by twelve room with one window, a door and a lot of machinery, but now I’m beginning to see what the problem really is. Every person that walks through the door who’s not Jenna pisses me off. Instantly.
Trick was coming to see me every day at first and staying for a couple hours at a time, but now he stops by once and never really settles in. I can tell he’s anxious to leave five minutes after he arrives. It doesn’t help that, two weeks ago, after his first visit back from his honeymoon, I told both him and Cami that I didn’t want to talk about Jenna. So we don’t. Ever. They never mention her. And, of course, I never ask. I guess she’s gone and gotten her a great job somewhere. And I guess I’ll never know unless I swallow some damn pride and ask.
But, then again, do I really want to know? Do I really want to know how happy she is, living somewhere else, without me? No, not really. That feels an awful lot like twisting the knife .
With Trick’s visit for the day already over and done with, the only thing I have to look forward to is PT. They tell me that I’m doing so well with my deep breathing, my range of motion exercises, and my ambulation (a fancy word for walking) that I’ll soon be discharged until my arm cast comes off. Then I’ll start PT all over again.
That’s all fine and good. I just want out of this place. A.S.A.P. I need to get on with my life, too. Whatever kind of life that may be.
CHAPTER NINETEEN - Jenna
“So, how is he? Is he getting stronger? Did he get a discharge date yet?” I pound Cami with questions the instant she answers the phone. I know Trick was supposed to go for his morning visit and should be back by now.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Give me ten seconds to answer each one. Sheesh,” she moans. I give her absolute silence as I wait. “Trick’s still calling him a ‘grouchy bastard’ if that tells you anything about how he is. Still not happy about being in the hospital. Yes, he is getting stronger. He’s aced all his PT stuff and is up walking the halls at all hours of the day and night, evidently. And yes, he got a date. Well sort of.”
I feel a gasp stick in my chest. “What do you mean he ‘sort of’ got a date?”
“They’re saying within the next couple of days. I have no idea what the date is contingent upon.”
“Well why didn’t Trick ask?”
“Jenna! He doesn’t think like you do. He’s a guy. Remember?” She sighs.
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m just so curious.”
“I know,” she says, her tone quiet. Somber.
I pause, debating the wisdom of asking my next question. I’ve asked it a couple of times before and the answer always upsets me. But still, I can’t seem to help myself from holding onto hope.
At least for a little while longer.
“Did he ask about me?”
There’s a pause.
“No.”
Although, yes, there’s a stabbing pain through my heart, I also get irritated. How the hell can he just move on like that?
“So he hasn’t mentioned me, not one time, since y’all have been back?” Static crackles on the line between us. And my heart drops through the floorboards of my bedroom. “Tell me, Cami. I need to know. I’m driving myself crazy, and if something has happened, I need to know.”
“Nothing has happened…” she says vaguely.
“Then what was said?”
“The second time I went to see him, he said he didn’t want to talk about you, not to bring you up.”
“But why?” I ask, my voice small even to my own ears.
“He said he was tired of hearing about it.”
I can hear the pain in Cami’s words. She hates to tell me something so hurtful, but I cornered her by asking juuuust the right question. Otherwise, she’d never have told me, never have hurt me with this.
But I needed to know. As much as it hurts, I needed to know.
I look down at my hand, shaking where it rests on my thigh. The air around me feels thick and unbreathable. My head throbs with the need to scream. Or cry. Or come apart.
I clear my throat then take a deep breath, refusing to let my best friend see how deeply wounded I am. She’s seen enough, heard enough. I won’t continue to do this to her.
“Well, in that case, I guess I have some phone calls to make.”
“Jenna, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what… I really thought…”