“Well, son,” my father says, extending his hand. Battle shakes his hand, their gazes jarring for control. “I have to respect your chivalry, but I can take care of my daughter.”
“No,” I shout. “I can take care of myself.”
As much as I want Battle here, I think it’s best if I ask him to leave. Emotions are running high. I don’t want to upset anyone more than they already are.
I take Battle’s hand and walk a few feet away from my parents. “Thank you for bringin’ me here. It means a lot, but I think you should go. He’s a stubborn old man and now’s not the time to test him.”
It’s hard for me to get the words out when he stares at me with those unbearable blue eyes. Once I do, I wait for him to shoot anger at me. Instead, he places a gentle kiss to my forehead and says, “Whatever you want.”
I heave a breath. He makes it so easy to love him. “Thank you,” I whisper, on the verge of tears.
He kisses me again before he turns and walks away. My father’s eyes follow him until he disappears out of sight. His gaze slides over to me. I quickly turn my head, disgusted with my father.
Marty sits with Gunner’s mother, comforting her. I go to Mrs. Daughtrey to hug her, but she stops me with her hand.
“Don’t!” she screams. “You hurt my boy, and I can’t look at you.”
Mr. Daughtrey pulls her into his arms, and mouths, I’m sorry. I take a seat next to Marty. Mrs. Daughtrey’s words run slowly through my thoughts. Why am I here? I don’t feel wanted. Everyone wants to remind me how angry they are I left Wyatt. I consider leaving when I get a text that explains exactly why I’m here.
B: You loved him once. You may even love him now, and he needs you. My leaving was the right thing. Stay strong and text me when you know something. x
F: Thank you. x
No one speaks as hours tick off the clock. A doctor finally approaches. He’s here for Gunner’s mother. He tells her she’s extremely lucky that Gunner only suffered broken ribs and a concussion and will fully recover. There is no news on Wyatt, but if broken ribs and a concussion are good news, then I can’t comprehend his condition.
I try not to let the possibilities destroy my hope, but the more time that passes, the more devastated I feel and the more certain I become about Wyatt not surviving the night.
Marty and I visit the hospital chapel to say a silent prayer. My prayer turns to straight begging as I plead with God not to take Wyatt. While I kneel in the small pew with my eyes closed, I remember Evelyn needs my prayers, too. As tears fall, I argue with a God I strongly believe in to alter Evelyn’s fate. To spare her. To remember how much Erinn and Battle need a mother. I pray for a miracle.
After Gunner’s mother returns from visiting him, my parents convince her to go home and get some sleep. Marty and I trek to the cafeteria and bring back coffee for everyone. I find a seat away from my parents and Wyatt’s. The somber mood of the waiting room reminds me of being here for Gram. I wish Battle was here. I send him a text to let him know we haven’t heard anything, and I’m worried. He replies immediately.
B: I’m sure he’ll be okay. Praying for him.
I read the last line several times.
Battle hasn’t kept his dislike of Wyatt a secret, yet, he’s praying for him to recover. Battle and I discussed religion once. He believes in God and faith, but he doesn’t feel attending church every Sunday makes you a good Christian.
I haven’t been going to church since I started seeing Battle, another reason my father doesn’t care for him. Daddy thinks the only way to a Christian heart is church on Sunday; yet he didn’t treat Battle too Christian-like earlier. I think Battle praying for the health of a man he doesn’t much like makes him more of Christian and more of a man, than my father’s ever been.
“Mr. and Mrs. Daughtrey?” The voice from the man in blue scrubs brings all of us to our feet. Wyatt’s parents shake his hand. Concern layers the doctor’s expression and my heart sinks. “Your son suffered a severe head injury in the accident. We had to operate on his brain to relieve some pressure. The surgery went well, but he’s still in a coma, and we don’t know how much damage occurred to the brain, if any.”
The doctor goes on to explain Wyatt broke both his legs, several ribs, his pelvis, and fractured his skull, but he’s young and healthy and that works in his favor. His mother falls into his father’s arms, bawling hysterically. The doctor frowns, apologizing again and leaves. I don’t think any of us are any clearer on Wyatt’s condition or where his recovery stands. The only thing I heard was that even if he survives, he may have severe brain damage.
Wyatt would never want to live as a vegetable or carry on with a poor quality of life. We discussed it once during college. He has to fight, because his mother will never let him go.
Mr. Daughtrey goes home to rest. Mrs. Daughtrey stays. My parents say goodnight, and as I angry as I am, I cling to both of them when they hug me goodbye. I’m grateful Marty stays with me, for her company, and to use as a shield from Wyatt’s hostile mother.
I text Battle the confusing news, letting him know I’m going to spend the night at the hospital. He doesn’t reply, and I assume he’s gone to sleep. I borrow a blanket from one of the nurses and lie on a row of seats with my head in Marty’s lap. My emotions take over, combined with exhaustion, and I cry until Marty soothes me to sleep by brushing my hair with her fingers.
My eyes open when Marty stands, but when I lower my head, they close again.
“Faye, wake up,” Marty says, shaking my arm.
I open my eyes to her blurry form, holding two duffle bags. “What?” I groan.
She smiles. “Battle brought this for you while you were asleep.”
I sit up, taking the bag she hands me. Inside, I find my favorite yoga pants, a t-shirt, a toothbrush, and a pair of underwear. I blush, remembering I’m not wearing any. His consideration of my needs always amazes me.