“I know,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said, loving him, needing him.
“What about school?”
“I’ll take my laptop and try to keep up. But if my dad is in a bad way, or if he’s going to need me for a long time, I may have to drop out of the program.”
His azure eyes searched the depths of hers. She knew what he must be thinking. If she stayed in Branson, they would be forced apart, maybe for good. If things went badly, they could be seeing each other for the last time.
“I love you, Brianna,” he said. “And I want you to know that whatever happens, I’ll be here for you.”
Fresh tears sprang to Brianna’s eyes. Liam had never said those words to her before. She knew he meant them from the bottom of his heart. But right now they couldn’t be allowed to matter.
* * *
Drifting on a pain-edged opioid cloud, Burke groaned and opened his eyes. A jumble of cords, tubes, and blinking monitors swam in his vision. The hospital—at least he knew where he was. That was a start. Closing his eyes again, he struggled to remember more. Slowly, like pieces in a jigsaw puzzle, the fragments of his memory began coming together.
He remembered driving the Porsche down the rain-slicked highway, hitting a curve too fast, and sliding toward the edge. Then there’d been nothing until he woke up with Allison’s worried face hovering over him. He’d told her to get a lawyer and file for divorce while she could still claim some of his assets. He hoped to hell she’d taken his advice. By the time he was on his feet again—if ever—there’d be nothing left.
After that, he recalled the coffin-like confinement of the MRI and later, the young Indian doctor coming into the room to talk to him. The concussion was moderate and should heal with time and rest. His spine was another, more frightening matter.
The accident had shattered two vertebrae in his lower back. The fractures needed to be stabilized with a metal cage as soon as possible to prevent nerve damage to his legs as well as incontinence and impotence—words that Burke couldn’t say even to himself. He’d scrawled his consent on the form. They’d wheeled him into surgery; and that was the last thing he remembered until now.
Bracing against fear, he willed his legs to move. They stirred beneath the sheet—feet flexing just enough to reassure him, thank God. But right now there was no way to know about the other critical parts. Would he be in diapers for the rest of his life? Would he ever make love to his wife again?
As if the thought could summon her, he heard Allison’s voice from the hall outside his room. “But will he be all right, Doctor?” she was asking.
“The surgery went as well as could be expected.” The doctor spoke with a slight accent. “But the recovery’s going to take time. He’ll need rest and care.”
“And the end prognosis?”
“All we can do is hope for the best, Mrs. Caldwell. You can go in now, but he’s still under sedation for the pain. He might not be quite himself yet.”
Not quite myself? What the hell is that supposed to mean? My body might be broken, and my head hurts, but my mind is fine!
“Thank you.” Burke heard the familiar cadence of Allison’s footsteps coming closer. Then she was leaning over the bed, a lock of her honey-blond hair tumbling over her stunning violet eyes. Lord, he loved her so much. But she didn’t deserve any of this. Why couldn’t she just walk away with whatever she could take and let him deal with this new hellishness like a man?
“Hello, Burke.” She brushed her lips with a fingertip and touched his mouth in a semblance of a kiss. “How are you feeling?”
“Like shit,” he growled. “What are you doing here? Did you get hold of a good lawyer?”
“The doctor warned me that you might not be yourself yet.” She pulled up a chair and sat down next to the bed. Dressed in jeans, a black sweater, and a tan raincoat, she looked as if she hadn’t slept since the accident. Her face was bare of makeup and there were shadows under her eyes. This experience had to be hell on her. All his fault. If he hadn’t gone storming off after putting her down, then driving like a maniac on that road in the rain . . .
“The lawyer?” he demanded, pressing the question.
Her weary expression didn’t change. “I told you, if you want a divorce, you can get one yourself. I’m not calling a lawyer, and I’m not going anywhere.”
“Then you don’t understand what you’re looking at. Think about it. This is no time to be a sentimental fool.” He shifted in the bed, biting back a whimper as he felt the lumpy bulk of the dressing, the drainage tube, and the ice bag that lay against his lower back. Right now, all he wanted to do was rip out all the clamps, stitches, tubes, and needles, swing his feet to the floor, and walk out of this place a whole man. But that wasn’t his reality. Not anymore.
His gaze shifted to the window, dark night through the slats of venetian blinds. The sound of an incoming helicopter penetrated the glass. Only now did he remember that, before the surgery, he’d been transferred from the ICU to Cox Medical’s new orthopedic/neurological building on Cahill Road behind the main hospital. “What time is it?” he asked.
She glanced at the wall clock. “It’s five minutes after eight. You were in surgery and recovery most of the afternoon. The nurse says you can have some juice anytime you want. And you can have solid food in the morning.”
“Never mind that. Does Brianna know about the surgery?”
“I called her early this morning and again while you were in recovery. She’ll be here as soon as she can get a flight.”
“You should’ve told her to stay in school. What can she do here except make a fuss and get in the way?”