The Girl in the Love Song (Lost Boys 1)

“The early stages of chronic kidney disease show few signs or symptoms. It’s often not apparent until kidney function is significantly impaired.”

The words battered me, but Miller needed me to keep it together. To stay clearheaded and take care of him like a doctor would. “What happens next?”

“The first step is to get him to regain consciousness. The tests will determine what his exact kidney impairment is, and then we go from there.” He smiled kindly. “One of the nurses will tell you when you can see him.”

He left, and Tina bent into my line of vision. “Miller’s mom is on the way.”

“Great, thank you,” I said, trying not to sound as helpless as I felt.

After another agonizing stretch of time, they let me into the ICU room. Inside, Miller was hooked up to a dozen different machines. IVs trailed lines into his arm, and a bedside glucose monitoring system showed his levels. A nurse was bent over him, coaxing him to open his eyes. Underneath his eyelids, they roll back and forth, fluttering open and then closing again. I joined her at the bedside.

“He’s almost there,” the nurse said with a kind smile. “Are you the girlfriend?”

“Yes.”

“Talk to him, honey. He’ll listen to you better than me.”

“Miller,” I said softly. “Miller, wake up. Wake up and look at me. Please.”

His eyes opened, closed, and then opened again, glazed and unfocused. Then they met mine.

Relief so profound, it nearly took my legs out from under me, swept through me. I took his hand. “Hi, baby.”

His face was still so pale beneath the scruff of his beard. “Vi,” he croaked.

“There he is,” the nurse said. “Welcome back, honey. Let me take a look at you.”

She worked her way around the room, making checks and taking readings, while I dragged a chair next to the bed and sank down into it, feeling a sense of déjà vu. Another hospital, seven years ago.

“What happened?” he asked, turning his head slightly on the pillow.

“The pump malfunctioned and dumped too much insulin into your system,” I said. “Your numbers dropped.”

“That’s the long answer.” The nurse came around to check his IV lines. “Short answer: she saved your life, is what happened.”

Miller’s lips pulled back as he tried for a smile. “She did. A long time ago.”

His eyes fell shut, and I looked at the nurse fearfully.

“He’s just resting, sweetheart. You look like you could use some sleep, too.”

“I’m fine.” I wasn’t about to leave that chair for anything, my hand welded to his.

Hours passed, and Miller came awake for a few minutes at a time, then slipped back into sleep. They ran more tests, and I watched Dr. Monroe huddle at the door with the nephrologist, both of them looking grim.

Miller’s mother arrived close to nine pm. I’d only seen Lois Stratton a handful of times when I was in high school. She’d always looked tired and gray before her time. Miller had moved her to a bright apartment in Los Angeles, and now she seemed healthier and vibrant, though her face was painted with worry.

She rushed to Miller’s side, her gaze inspecting him frantically. “I thought he’d woken up. They told me it was a coma but that he woke up.”

“He did,” I said. “He’s sleeping now.”

She sagged into a chair. “My sweet boy,” she said, then looked at me tearfully. “Oh, Violet. Thank you, sweetheart. I’m so grateful you were there when he needed you most. Both times. The night in your backyard and now. The highest high and the lowest low.”

“I should have been with him everywhere in between. The entire time. I could’ve taken care of him.”

“That was my job first.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “I left him, too, in a way. I left him to take care of himself. I brought bad things into his life because I was so tired. I needed help and didn’t have any.”

“You did the best you could,” I said.