Part 4 (2/2)
”Guess that means our room will be occupied tonight, then?” she asks.
”Just by me.”
Her eyes cut to Maverick then back to me. ”One night, Ali. Why not?”
I think about the too-short kiss earlier. His warmth. The fire in his eyes. It's been so long since my heart has pounded like that. So long since I felt wanted.
No, not wanted. Important. Adored.
”I don't know, Finn,” I say. ”Because maybe he's worth more than just one night?”
Chapter 7.
Present Day 2:22 a.m.
The hallway stretches out in front of me in miles of linoleum and plastic walls. Doors on either side that lead to nowhere. My footfalls sound like weights dropping. They echo in my ears, each step seemingly louder than the one before.
I only know what the receptionist told me-Mav is in surgery. She couldn't tell me more. She directed me to the ICU and said they'd have more information for me there.
I replay our morning together. Had I known, I would have thrown my arms around him and told him how much I loved him. I would have said, I'm sorry.
Instead, I just watched his back as he left me alone in the kitchen. Now that image is burned into my mind. I'll fight with myself to change it, but it's part of the past, unchangeable.
I've always seen life in pictures, and the next one that emerges in my mind isn't better. No, it's worse. It's Maverick. Maverick in what's left of his car. Head against the steering wheel. Arms at unnatural angles. Gla.s.s piercing his skin, clothes torn, legs crushed, blood, blood, blood.
G.o.d, no!
My chest hurts, and I want to fall asleep and make it all go away. I'll only wake up again if I'm in Maverick's embrace. See him smiling at me like he used to, before the accident, before work, before life happened.
But I won't, because that's not reality, and Mav needs me.
The sign ahead says the ICU is to the left. I turn the corner to a set of double doors. Mav won't be behind them yet, but he will be soon.
I take a deep breath and push the door open. A new wave of nausea hits my senses at the odor of sterilizing chemicals.
I stand there, door wide open as I search for where to go. The nurses' station is only a few feet in front of me. I walk forward. The desk is foreign to me with all of the charts and computer screens and monitors with information known only to those who work here.
There's only one nurse, and she stands up when she sees me. ”Can I help you?”
I swallow and nod. ”Maverick Tavare. He's my husband.”
She types on her computer, then looks at me. ”I'm sorry, but I'll need to ask you a few questions. What's your husband's date of birth?”
”It's on his license. Is he okay? When I can see him?”
”I know, and I'm sorry, ma'am, but we can't use drivers' licenses for identification.”
”It's, um, November sixth.”
”Do you know his social security number?”
I'm fl.u.s.tered and it takes me three tries to remember.
”Does he have any medical concerns, on medication, or allergies to medications?”
I shake my head that he doesn't.
”Okay. You can have a seat in the waiting room, and we'll come get you as soon as we can.”
”No,” I say, shaking my head in fast movements. ”No, you don't understand. I have to see him. I have to know he'll be okay.”
”I'm sorry. He's still in surgery.”
”For what? What are they doing?”
”I'm sorry. I don't have that information. The doctor will be out to speak with you as soon as they can.”
”Please,” I beg. ”Anything. Can you tell me anything?”
”I'm sorry,” she repeats.
I'm sorry? Sorry, sorry, sorry.
I'm not interested in apologies. I push away from the counter, covering my mouth to contain a frustrated sob. Now, all I can do is stew in my fear.
I scan for the waiting room the nurse directed me to, but instead I find Officer Arrent. He's off to the side, by the doors. The nurse had no information. He won't either, of course, but he was at the scene.
”How did it happen?” I wonder if he's already told me and I just can't remember.
”It's still under investigation, but it looks like the other driver fell asleep and crossed the yellow line.”
”What happened to him? The other driver?”
”Also unresponsive.”
I lower my gaze to the floor.
Officer Arrent's walkie goes off, and he answers, ”Copy that. I'm on my way.”
Concerned, he focuses on me. ”I hope your husband will be all right.”
I nod. ”Thank you. Today was our one-year anniversary.” I don't know why I say the last part. Officer Arrent has been kind enough to stay with me, which probably isn't normal protocol.
”I almost forgot.” He pulls a small white envelope out of his pocket and hands it to me. ”Here, I found this. There was a bouquet of roses in the vehicle.”
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