Callum & Harper (Sleepless 1)

Chapter Twenty

Young Blood

Harper

I woke to the sound of his voice. His voice. “...No, not yet,” he said. Pause. He was on the phone. “Because it takes time, Cherry. She’ll wake when she’s good and ready.” He sighed. “I know, I know. You’ll be the first we call. Okay. Alright, I love you, too. Send our love to Charlie. Bye, Cherry.”

My eyes were heavy as well as my arms. All I wanted was to lift my sluggish lids to look at his beautiful face. I felt trapped inside my body. I inhaled deeply, catching the soothing scent that was Callum’s cologne.

I could hear him slide a chair over the floor toward me, toward the bed I was in. When he took my hand in his, small, salty tears cascaded down my cheeks. His breath caught.

“Ha-Harper? Are you- Are you there?” I tried to squeeze his hand but lacked the control. “Can you hear me, Harper?” He asked, coming close to my face. The warmth of his body radiated over me and the tears came faster. “Oh, love, listen, you were hurt.” John. My heart rate accelerated. “But I’m here...” My eyes fluttered open to a dim room. Night. Callum took in a sharp breath. “Harper,” he said softly, caressing my face with his hands. I watched him and tried to smile. “Oh my God, Harper.” Tears began to fall softly down his own face. “You’re here. You’re really here.” He tenderly cupped both his hands over my face. “Harper.” He broke down, making my insides twist in agony. I squeezed my lids shut, flushing out fat drops of my own tears.

o;You’re my family, man.”

I offered him a large smile.

The ER nurses let me know of a family waiting room right outside the ICU and I immediately left for the fourth floor to be as close to Harper as possible. As I boarded the elevator, a woman came bounding up to the closing doors.

“Mr. Tate?” She asked, a bit breathless from her trot.

“Yes?” I said, stopping the doors with my hand.

“Your wife’s belongings, sir,” she said, handing me a plastic bag.

“Thank you,” I said, grabbing the sack and clutching it close to my chest.

When I reached the waiting room, I was the only one there, thank God and threw my body onto a sofa, exhaustion setting in. I had been a live wire while she was in surgery and the relief of knowing she was alive just beyond those glass doors brought on a new sensation. Residual fear. Now that I was alone, I fell to my knees and let my body wrack with the sobs I’d been holding back worrying about my wife. And I prayed. I prayed like I’d never prayed before, thanking God for keeping her on earth and asking for Him to watch over her.

I wiped my face with the inside of my jacket, took a deep breath and drug the bag holding Harper’s things onto my lap. I unclasped the plastic handles and pooled everything inside onto my thighs.

My eyes began to water when I took in her shoes, dress, and undergarments. I squeezed her tattered belongings into my hands, feeling the garments that were recently upon her body. Tears began to threaten once more but I sucked them back.

I studied the clothing on top of the pile, spotting a folded piece of paper tucked into the inside of her bra. I picked it up and unfolded it.

Callum, I love you more than you could possibly know.

“Oh, God!” I bellowed, crushing the note to my chest. She hadn’t thought she was going to make it.

I cried myself to sleep on that sofa, my face buried in her dress so I could inhale her scent.

“Mr. Tate?” I heard. Someone was shaking me awake.

I shot up. “Yes?”

“I’m Doctor Sullivan. I’m sorry to wake you but I thought you should know that your wife’s vitals have crashed and they’re working to revive her. I...” But I wouldn’t let him finish.

I pushed the man away from me and sprinted for the ICU doors but they wouldn’t budge. They needed to be opened by the ICU operating desk.

“Open these doors!” I yelled to the nurse manning the desk. “Right now!” I bellowed when she shook her head. “That’s my wife in there!” I screamed, punching the glass with my palms.

I heard a slight buzz and the door clicked open. I ran to a room filled with people. I knew this was hers. I forced my way through the line of waiting nurses, working my way around the physicians attempting to revive her. I stood at the head of her bed and bent toward her ear. I ignored how beaten and bruised she was.

“Harper,” I whispered, my voice catching in my throat. “Sweetheart, please. Please, Harper, stay here with me. Our life has yet to begin, Harper. You belong with me here. Stay, love.”

I watched them shock her heart multiple times but it refused to beat. The room moved slowly around me, people yelling, tugging at Harper, reading machines. Nurses, stoic in this very experience, yet looking on me with pity. I couldn’t stand looking at them. I wanted to tug Harper from all the wires and drag her back to New York. I wanted to pretend they weren’t working to bring her back to life. I wanted to pretend none of this happened and that John Bell, that bastard, didn’t exist.

Two men forced me away from Harper saying something about the paddles but I didn’t catch all of it. All I could do was stare at my beautiful wife and think that this was not how it was supposed to be. I stared at her thin frame, her long copper gold hair, dull, her tan skin, pale, her usual pink, full lips turned blue and thin. Get up, Harper. Get up, baby. Give me the life we both deserve, Harper. Screw what we used to be. Screw the shit our lives used to be as children. Let’s make our own way, Harper.