Pathetic.
I felt pathetic.
The band came and sat with me awhile, and the air was thick with guilt. What hurt the most, though, was how they reminded me of music. How they were a reminder of the thing I’d lost in one moment’s time. When the managers came, I’d almost lost it.
“We have to come up with a plan of attack. The media is going bonkers. We need a statement,” Dave ordered.
“We need a break,” Calvin said, short with Dave. “You’re acting like Brooks didn’t just go through a major trauma.”
“But he survived,” Dave said with his sly smile. “Which is the message we should push. We should showcase how strong he is and how for his comeback—”
Comeback?
I huffed and grumbled.
Everyone’s eyes shot to me.
Hours before, I’d been in an accident, and now they were expecting a magical comeback for me.
Dave furrowed. “You know what, let’s give it a day or two. We’ll give it some time.”
When everyone left the room, I sighed, not even knowing where my mind was. I still felt as if I were in that water. When I closed my eyes, I swore I could feel the waves.
The door to my room opened once more, and I wished it hadn’t. I was sick of seeing people, sick of hearing them talk about what a miracle my life was—how lucky I’d been.
My body rotated to the door, and I almost fell from my bed.
Maggie.
She was standing in my hospital room, staring at me, with her hands wrapped around her body. Her blue eyes were bloodshot as if she’d been crying for hours, and her hair was pulled up into a messy bun. She never wore her hair up.
Then again, she never left home.
Was it a dream?
If so, I hoped not to wake.
I parted my lips to ask her what was happening, but my throat burned. It hurt to open my mouth. It hurt to move to my left and turn to my right. It hurt to breathe.
She gave me a tight smile and walked over to my bedside. Taking my right hand, she kissed my palm, and I shut my eyes. I kept trying to clear my throat to speak, but she squeezed my hand once, ordering me not to. So we stayed there, my eyes closed, and Maggie May holding my hand.
She hardly left my hospital room for days. When they offered her a visitor room, set up like a hotel, she declined, holding my hand tighter. She’d curl up into a ball on the small sofa each night and fall asleep. Maggie smiled at me daily, but at night, when she was one with her dreams, I’d watch her twist and turn, and sometimes waking in a sweat. Her demons weren’t gone simply because she left home—but she was trying her best to keep them at bay.
“All right, it’s about that time to get you up and moving around, Brooks,” a nurse said, walking into my hospital room one afternoon. I hated that time of the day. They forced me to walk around the hallways using a walker. Maggie always took the laps with me, and when my left side felt like giving up, and I’d start to fall, she’d leap over to help me, but the nurse ordered her not to save me. “You can come to support, but you can’t help. Don’t worry, I won’t let him fall.”
Halfway down the hall, my chest felt tight, and my breathing grew short. “Back,” I coughed out, my voice hoarse. I wanted to go back to my room and lie down.
“Nope, remember? We’re gonna complete a whole lap before—”
I slammed the walker up and down, my neck throbbing with pain. Back. Back. Back.
It was embarrassing, feeling so weak. My hand hurt. My side burned. My mind was a mess.
The nurse gave me a tight smile, before looking over at Maggie. “I think it’s a good time for a nap.” She winked at Maggie. Maggie frowned, and her worry was loud and clear in her stare.
I grumbled some more. We started back to the room, and after I was placed back into bed, Maggie grabbed a notepad and sat beside me.
You okay today, Brooks?