Only For You Page 22

“Sure, lead the way.”

  Hunter followed me into my bedroom and I looked at my unmade bed. There was nothing sexual about what I needed from Hunter, but it was still strange. I was vulnerable, exposed. Reining in my sudden nerves, I walked to the left side of my bed and laid down on my back. Hunter toed off his shoes and climbed in on the right. He rolled onto his side and used his arm to snag me around my ribcage, and pulled my back against him. His head was resting on his right shoulder and he used his free hand to stroke my hair. His left arm wrapped around me and took my hand in his. I was cocooned in Hunter. His scent was warm and spicy with a hint of clean musk. The heat of his body seeped into me, relaxing me. I was encaged in his arms, his strength. I felt protected and precious. He kissed my neck before nuzzling into the back of my head and pulling his knees up so that they tucked behind mine. We were fully aligned. Every inch touching front to back. I sighed my pleasure quietly. In this one moment, the rest of the world forgotten, I was content.

  I wanted to stay awake to savor every second, but my exhaustion triumphed, and I fell asleep in Hunter’s arms.

  Chapter Sixteen

  * * *

  “Between men and women there is no friendship possible. There is passion, enmity, worship, love, but no friendship.” -Oscar Wilde

  After hours wrapped in Hunter’s arms I awoke, never wanting to leave his embrace. The sanctuary he provided couldn’t last forever and it was time to return to the real world full of tribulations, burdens, and worries.

  I looked over my shoulder to find Hunter already awake.

  “Did you sleep?” I asked groggily.

  “For a couple of hours, I’ve been up for a bit.”

  “You could have roused me. Your arms must be asleep.”

  “You needed rest and I’m totally comfortable.” He gently repositioned me on the bed as he rose. “I’ll go make some coffee while you get dressed. I presume you have a travel mug?”

  I gave him a look that indicated exactly how ridiculous I felt his question was.

  “Stupid question, I know,” he replied as he left the room.

  He had never made coffee for me before—this had disaster potential. It took two years living with Sam before I had her properly trained.

  I dressed quickly before entering Sam’s room. I steeled myself against the tide of emotions surging and packed her overnight bag with a variety of comfortable clothes, pajamas, socks, and slippers. I returned to the bathroom and added her toiletries and hair accessories. Task completed, I carried the bag to the front door, ensuring it was not forgotten.

  Apprehension filled me as I entered the kitchen. There were many things in life I was willing to fake. Interest in prosaic conversation—no problem. Enjoyment of bland food—doable. An orgasm—more often than I cared to admit. However, there is one thing I could not, would not fake—the quality of a cup of coffee. Hunter smiled as he handed me my travel mug, confident he had done well. ‘Please, let this be drinkable,’ I chanted in my mind as I raised the mug to my lips, inhaling. The aroma was pleasing, a step in the right direction. Tentatively I took my first sip, rolling it across my tongue to taste the flavor and body. It was good, not the best cup of coffee I had ever had, but definitely drinkable.

  “You have passed the test. If you ever need a job, you know where to find me. With a bit of training, you could be good.”

  “I could be good? That is a great cup of coffee,” Hunter said with self-assurance.

  “I appreciate it more than you can imagine, but it’s not brilliant. Higher Yearning only serves brilliance. Don’t feel bad, you did at least as well as some of the baristas at the big franchise.”

  “Elitist.”

  “I prefer connoisseur.”

  “Come on Madame Connoisseur, let’s get to the hospital before you feel the need to educate me on the finer points of brewing you a pot of coffee.”

  When we arrived in Sam’s room, she was exactly as we left her. We stopped to ask the nurse if there had been any changes, and she assured us all was the same. The doctors had checked on her and were comfortable with her progress. Dr. Halthum from neurology would update us within the hour. I was disappointed there had been no progress, but relieved she had not regressed.

  I left another message for the Whitneys to provide an update and was shocked that Robbie was still missing in action, but I was not going to chase him down; if he wasn’t man enough to face the trials ahead, then good riddance. Hunter and I passed the time talking to Sam. Hunter shared humorous stories and anecdotes, while I reminded her of all the plans and resolutions we had yet to keep. We endeavored to keep the climate of the room positive and encouraging. I would not want to wake up to a bunch of crying and dour individuals, Sam wouldn’t either.

  When Dr. Halthum arrived, he asked that we step out of the room while he examined Sam, which we obliged. Fifteen minutes later the door opened and Dr. Halthum invited us to return. He spent several more minutes making notes on Sam’s chart.

  “She is making progress, has responded well to the medications provided, and has not had any additional seizures. There has been a measurable decrease in cranial pressure indicating the course of treatment is effective. We will conduct another CT scan tomorrow and Monday. Depending on the results, we will adjust the treatment plan accordingly. I expect we will keep her in a medically induced coma and on ventilation for approximately one week, if all goes as planned. That is only a projection, so please do not be disappointed if we must make adjustments.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Hunter and I said concurrently.

  After he departed, we continued talking to Sam, to occupy our minds, and keep the concern at bay. After dinner, I received a call from Mr. Whitney requesting Sam’s room number. Hunter excused himself to the waiting room so they could have privacy.

  Several minutes later, I heard Mrs. Whitney’s distinctive voice echoing down the hall, and braced for their reaction. When they walked in and saw Sam, they both paled. Approaching the bed, Mrs. Whitney lost the battle to remain composed and disintegrated before my eyes. Mr. Whitney caught his limp wife and guided her to the loveseat across the room.

  “I’ll sit with her,” I offered.

  Mr. Whitney nodded before returning to Sam’s bedside, leaving me to tend to a nearly catatonic Mrs. Whitney. He spent several minutes examining his daughter, clearly distraught but able to control his reaction better than his wife.

  “I think it best I bring Beverly home, this is too much for her. I understand Samantha is expected to remain in a coma for at least the next week, which will provide time for her to improve visibly. Once she is awake, I will bring Beverly back to visit. Samantha will not know the difference before she is conscious, and I do not want to overtax my wife. Will you be so kind as to keep us posted on her progress and notify me when she awakens?”

  “Certainly,” I agreed, too shocked to express my real thoughts.

  “Thank you Everleigh, for all you have done for Samantha. I am ever in your debt.”

  With those parting words, he left his only daughter lying battered and broken in a hospital bed, in my care. The Whitneys were not bad people, I reminded myself, but they were apathetic parents. They were self-absorbed and sacrifice was a foreign concept to them. They believed furnishing opportunities and materialistic possessions was equivalent to love. They loved Sam as best they could, but their love was shallow and finite.

  Hunter opened the door to peek in, clearly expecting there to be a full house, foolish man. He inspected the room as if his eyes had deceived him during his preliminary assessment.

  “They’re gone; they left about ten minutes after they arrived. Mr. Whitney asked that I keep him abreast of any developments. He expects they will return to visit once she is alert.”

  Hunter, in his wisdom, kept his questions and opinions to himself, permitting me to keep my inner monologue to myself.

  We resumed our idle chatter about nothing and anything. I told Hunter about vacations Sam and I had enjoyed together and o
ur many antics. Hunter shared stories of his travels and study in Japan. We passed the time as best we could, reclaiming the optimistic tone from earlier in the evening to leave Sam on a positive note.

  When we left for the night, Hunter followed me home in his Yukon. I asked him to stay the night so I would not have to face it alone, and he obliged. I was setting myself up for a much harder fall later, but I didn’t care. I was in survival mode and Hunter felt essential to that survival. I would pay the price when the time came. For now, I used my emotional charge card and continued to rack up the debt. I prayed the solace he provided now would be worth the anguish I would suffer later.

  I visited Sam every day for hours, talking and reading to her. I didn’t know if she could hear me, but in case she could I aimed to entertain. I sat for my Business Ethics final, which I had thankfully prepared for prior to the attack, confident I had at least passed. My college career was officially over and I could not have cared less. The trivial things that previously monopolized my attention were now disregarded entirely. I had learned about priorities in the hardest possible way, but it was a lesson I would never forget.

  Hunter worked most days, but came every night to visit with Sam. He was no longer sleeping over, but would always escort me home and hold me on the couch until I was ready for bed. He was my shelter through the storm, the buoy to which I had attached myself to remain afloat. He never complained and rarely needed to ask what I needed, he was there to anticipate and supply.

  The doctors continued to be pleased with Sam’s progress, optimistic about her prognosis. It was a week following the attack when Dr. Halthum advised they would cease the medication inducing her coma and remove the ventilator the following day. I was overjoyed that her recovery had come so far, but daunted by the new challenges greeting Sam when she regained consciousness. Her physical injuries and pain were only part of her healing. She would also have to confront the emotional baggage that had piled on top of her while she numbly floated.

  When Friday arrived, I was the first person in line for a guest pass when visiting hours began. Permission secured, I headed up to Sam’s room. Today was the big day—I would get my best friend back, the doctors were going to wake her up. It was better than any Christmas or birthday I ever had. I arrived in Sam’s room and kissed her forehead after dropping my paraphernalia. Nothing had changed from the night before, but I felt a new energy in the room.

  I spent an hour recounting every detail of how I had spent my night after leaving the hospital. The minute detail with which I had documented my life over the past week should have been enough to rouse Sam, if only for her to tell me to shut the hell up.

  When Dr. Halthum arrived in the room I was vibrating with anticipation, and considered shredding the book I had been reading to provide him a ticker tape parade. After a quick assessment of Sam’s vitals, he removed one of the drip bags that had been feeding her I.V.

  “We have been slowly reducing the medication that maintained Miss Whitney’s coma overnight. I have just removed it completely. If you will step out of the room for a moment I will remove her ventilator as well.”

  I complied immediately, glad they would remove the breathing apparatus while Sam was still unconscious. I imagined it would be distressing to experience while cognizant. She didn’t need any more distress with which to contend. When I re-entered the room, I was comforted to find Sam’s face no longer obstructed by tubing.

  “How long until she wakes up?” I asked Dr. Halthum without patience. It had been a week, I was fresh out.

  “It varies. The human brain is still a mystery in many ways. Her cranial swelling has almost completely abated, which is a good indication. She could awake instantly or it could take days. Try not to worry, continue to talk with her as you have been, and I will return to check on Miss Whitney this evening. The nurses will page me if she regains consciousness before my return.”

  After Dr. Halthum exited, I dug in my purse to find my Burt’s Bees and slathered it over Sam’s chapped and cracked lips. Satisfied I had aided her physical comfort in the only way I could, I settled into a chair and resumed reading to Sam. I choose a suspenseful and seductive romance, the type Sam would love, full of mystery and naughty bits. I would occasionally pause at a climactic section to see if she would object and argue for me to continue. She didn’t.

  As the day passed my frustration mounted. By the time Hunter arrived, I was discouraged and irritable.

  “Why isn’t she waking up?” I demanded, as if Hunter should know more than a neurosurgeon with decades of experience.

  “I don’t know, Everleigh. She will wake up soon. Keep the faith.”

  “Well thank you for that,” sarcasm dripped from my words.

  “Come here,” he held out his arms, overlooking my petulance. I walked into his open arms, gluttonously absorbing the ease he afforded.

  “Want to help me read a sexy novel to her?”

  “Chick-lit, huh? I don’t know if I can do it justice.”

  “We’ll read it screenplay style. You just read the male dialogue; I’ll take care of the female portions and narration.”

  “Only for you. I would never consent to such absurdity for anyone else. You better appreciate my sacrifice.”

  “Come on drama queen, you have noble work yet to do.”

  When we left several hours later, Sam was still asleep. The time would have been unbearable if not for Hunter’s dramatic readings. I had to give it to the guy, when he undertook a challenge, he committed fully. Although not sold on the story, he delivered his lines like a seasoned thespian.

  I fell asleep on the couch in Hunter’s arms that night, disappointed but not defeated. Sam would be back tomorrow, I was certain, and then we could begin the work of reclaiming that which was stolen from her.

  Three days later there was still no change and I was devastated, defeated. The doctors provided no explanation, encouraging me to be patient. Patience–I never realized it was a four-letter word. If one more person told me to have patience, I would go ballistic. I was inconsolable and even Hunter’s presence brought no respite.

  The nurses and doctors were now avoiding me like the plague. I had brooded, pleaded, agonized, bargained, denied, argued, threatened, and apologized. I even degenerated to the point of yelling at Sam, calling her stubborn and selfish. It was not one of my finer moments. By the end of the third day, Hunter had evidently seen enough.

  “Get your things, I’m taking you home.”

  “The hell you are!”

  “You have been here non-stop for three days. You haven’t eaten, barely slept and, I’m sorry, but you are in desperate need of a shower. Enough is enough. I can’t watch you deteriorate any further. Sam would kill me if she saw how far I‘ve allowed you to descend. You will go home, you will shower, eat, and sleep. Then you can return and take up your vigil. If I have to haul you out of this hospital over my shoulder, I will.”

  I evaluated Hunter’s determination—he was resolute. I debated the virtues of fighting him, quickly determining I was no match for his might or will in my current state. Resigned, I collected my belongings. We stopped at the nurse’s station and she looked at me with reticence. I stood mutely as Hunter requested she contact him if there was any change in Sam’s condition. She promised to do so sweetly—sure, she was sweet to him—bitch. We exited the hospital and I followed Hunter to his car. I was in no condition to drive.

  “I’m sorry,” I broke the silence.

  “I know. You have been carrying this burden on your own for the past ten days. Endured more than anyone could reasonably expect. You’re wound so tightly it was inevitable that you would snap.” He paused, allowing me to appreciate his understanding. “Let me take care of you tonight. Recharge and return tomorrow, ready for whatever is thrown at you, even if it’s more of the same. You’re sleep deprived and depleted. You need this break, angel; you can’t ride the edge any longer without tumbling over.”

  I nodded my acceptance, recognizing the
truth of his words.

  When we arrived back at my apartment, Hunter’s first order of business was to get me in the shower. Feeling refreshed and enlivened, I headed to the dining table to eat the sandwiches Hunter had prepared for us. The food revived me further, I was feeling more coherent and imperturbable.

  “You were right, thank you. I needed the break to revitalize. I feel like a new woman.”

  “That’s great, angel. You may act like a supergirl, but you’re still human. You need to meet your body and mind’s fundamental needs.”

  “Definitely.”

  I got up to carry our plates to the kitchen, but Hunter removed the dishes from my hands to rinse them. I returned to the dining table to collect my purse and keys. I was searching for my shoes when Hunter found me.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked flabbergasted.

  “I’m heading back to the hospital.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re going to sleep.”

  “Hunter, I feel much better. You were right, I needed a break. Now that I’ve had one, I need to get back to the hospital.”

  “Everleigh, you’re delusional if you think I’m letting you walk out of this apartment before you rest.”

  He was starting to piss me off. He wasn’t my father, hell, he was not even my boyfriend. He was the un-boyfriend who didn’t want me, but he felt entitled to command my actions. Well screw him!

  “I’m a grown woman. You can’t dictate my life.”

  “Then act like one, you’re being petulant. You need to sleep, put down your purse and your keys, and go to bed.”

  I toyed with the keys in my hand. I was closer to the door, Hunter would have to navigate around the table to stop me. If only I had my shoes. I looked around the apartment and spotted a pair of flip-flops near the couch. I walked with confidence across the room, past Hunter, to retrieve them. I placed my hand on the couch for balance as I slid the thongs between my toes.