rowl at him. “You don’t do a damn thing. You stay right here, just as you are. I need to get help.”
Otter rolls his eyes. Whatever. I raise his hand to my lips and kiss his knuckles before I’m running out of the room. I collide with a nurse and start babbling at her, and her eyes go wide so I think she gets the gist of what I’m trying to say, and she sits me down in a seat and turns and shouts something at the nurse’s station down the hall, and more people come and go into Otter’s room, and there’s movement and excited chatter, and I close my eyes and lean my head against the wall, suddenly exhausted. Suddenly so very, very tired. I don’t know how long I’m there, but then I hear my name.
I open my eyes and find Alice and Jerry standing in front of me, a look of terror on their faces. I want to tell them no, no, that it’s okay, that everything will be okay. I don’t know why they’re scared, but then I realize I’ve broken, and I’m weeping openly in the hallway.
“Happy,” I manage to say. “This is happy.” I point at my face. “Happy tears. He’s awake. He knows. He knows.”
Alice falls to her knees and lays her head in my lap as her body shakes while Jerry stares down at me in shock and disbelief. I put my hands in her hair, and I pet her soothingly, my mind already back to Otter, wondering when they’ll let me back in, when they’ll take that damn tube out of his throat because I need to hear him speak, need to hear him say my name just once. I want to take him home to the Green Monstrosity now and shut our bedroom door and climb in bed in the Cave of Otter and Bear and never leave again.
We are provided updates over the next hour, but I’m not allowed to return to the room, much to my annoyance. I stand up and pace back and forth, trying to get a peek over the shoulders of everyone in the room.
Apparently only tall people work at Mercy Hospital, because I can’t see a damn thing. They tell us they’re removing his breathing tube and that it can be uncomfortable, and that they need to run some tests, that they would like to get him down to radiology as soon as possible. I’m sick of tests. I’m sick of tubes and machines. He knows who I am. That’s the only test I need.
My family comes in during that time, one by one, their faces stuttering and crumbling when they hear the news. The Kid runs and jumps into my arms, and his hands are in my hair as he babbles in my ear, and I crush him into me, feeling alive for the first time in a week. I go through Creed and Anna. Anna’s parents. Dominic. Isaiah. I hug Jerry and Alice again. I turn, looking for Mrs. Paq—
Then it hits me, what I’ve forgotten. She’s not here because she can’t be. I’m celebrating while she lies alone in her room. That old anger starts to rise, but not at the people around me. At myself. I only thought of Otter. I didn’t think of her. I try to spin it any way I can, to justify my actions. It doesn’t work. Guilt overwhelms me.
But it’s again shoved to the side when a doctor walks out of the room, one I don’t know. I hate myself for it, but it can’t be stopped. We all watch him expectantly.
“Which one of you is Bear?” he asks.
Everyone looks at me.
“He’s asking for you,” the doctor says quietly. “It’s all he said. Your name. I told him he shouldn’t be speaking, not since he’s had the breathing tube down his throat for a week. You can see him for a few minutes, but then we need to get moving on some more tests. Try to keep conversation to a minimum. Talk to him, and if you need to ask questions, make them yes or no answers so he can respond without speaking. He’s going to be out of it for a while, probably sleeping more than he’ll be awake, at least at first.
But… in my opinion, I think he’s going to be okay.”
I look apologetically up at his parents and start to protest (even though I’m having to restrain myself from bolting back into the room), but they’re having none of it. I’m practically shoved toward the door, and the room has emptied out and the last two remaining people part and there he is, still awake, the gold and green still there in his tired eyes. He hears my footsteps and looks up, and then I hear it, one word and one word only, but it means more to me than anything else. “Hey,” he says, his voice rough and low.
“Hey, yourself,” I say back, unsure of what to do next. It’s surreal, this moment.
A first step is as good as any. I go to his good side and grab his hand, and he follows my movements, never looking away, as if I’ll disappear should he blink. I lean down and kiss him sweetly on the lips, and he sighs gently, and it’s like he’s content. It’s like he’s awake and he knows.
“Bear,” he says. Oh, my God.
“Otter,” I say, trying to grab onto the last of the strength I have. “The doctor said you shouldn’t speak. He said—”
Otter shakes his head and I fall silent. “Not in car?” he finally says, pointing at me.
“No, Otter. I wasn’t in the car with you.”
“Dreamt… you were. Was scared. Thought you hurt.” His eyes squeezed shut.
Ah, dammit. “I promise you, I’m okay. I promise. I’m okay now. But I swear to Christ, if you ever scare me like that again, being in the hospital is going to be the least of your worries. You think you’re going to ever drive again, you fucking asshole? You sure as shit better know you’re never leaving my sight ever again! Seven days! Don’t you dare! You hear me, Otter Thompson? Don’t you ever do that again!” By the time I’m finished speaking, I’m shouting at him, and there’s a faint smile on his face as he opens his eyes. I see a nurse start to enter the room, a worried look on her face, but Otter shakes his head at her and she subsides, watching me warily, like I’m going to break his other arm. Bitch, please. Like I’m going to go without a hand job after all I’ve been through. I glare at her until she backs off.
“Hear you,” he grunts.
“Stop talking!” I snap at him. “You’re supposed to be quiet!”
He watches me.
I don’t know what else to say. He touches my ring. Good a place as any to start. But he’s not off the hook yet. “I was just holding on to it,” I grumble at him. “Didn’t want it to get lost.”
Those knowing eyes. He waggles his free hand in front of me. “That’s your right hand, dipshit. Yours is supposed to go on your left, but it’s all swollen and gross and in a cast, and it’ll probably fall off anyways, knowing my luck.”
His eyes laugh for him. I sigh and pull out the chain around my neck, showing him the ring I’ve kept against the skin of my chest since the first day. He sighs and squeezes my hand, and I let the ring drop back against my chest.
“Don’t remember much,” he rasps.