Losers Weepers (Lost & Found 4)

“And moving on . . .” She glanced at Jesse with a raised brow before looking back at me. “How’s the food? Five-star-worthy?”

I blinked. “Gee, I don’t know. Since I can’t lift a fork or

a spoon or a damn French fry, unless they position a trough two inches in front of my face, I won’t be eating.” Rowen’s face fell, and I felt like a prick for making her feel bad, but I couldn’t shut my mouth. All of my anger and frustration was boiling out in the form of cruel words. “Ought to be a great way to lose weight, don’t you think? I think I’ll patent it and market it as the ‘Paralyzed from the Neck Down’ diet.”

“Garth,” Jesse interjected, warning in his voice, “we’re not your enemies. We’re your friends. I know you’re pissed off at the world and what happened and what it might mean, but don’t take it out on us.” He moved closer so he was looking down at me. He’d always been a couple inches taller than me, but he’d never towered over me the way he did now. “At least don’t take it all out on us.”

I was searching for either a comeback or an apology when I heard hurried steps thundering down the hall, each one growing louder than the last. Someone was coming to my room . . . and not in a good mood.

“Garth Black, you and I have to talk.” Josie’s voice streamed into the room before she’d rounded into it. “Now.”

When she did show up in the doorway, her expression was more harrowing than her footsteps had sounded. Like Jesse and Rowen, she was in the same clothes she’d been in last night, but her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, and her hair was pulled into a couple of side braids. She knew that was my favorite way for her to wear her hair because the bad guy in me couldn’t help but think dirty thoughts when I saw those braids bobbing down her shoulders. I liked to grab one in each hand and give them a tug . . .

I’d liked to do that. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to tug those braids or comb my knuckles through her hair or rinse the conditioner out of her hair when we took a shower together after . . .

Fuck me. Forget about tugging her braids. If the doc’s percentages didn’t lie, I wouldn’t be doing anything to her again. I had to squeeze my eyes closed to keep what felt like tears from forming. I couldn’t let her see me cry. If she saw me cry, she’d never let me push her away for good. Instead, she’d go all martyr on me, and I couldn’t let her do that.

“I’m right here. Not going anywhere.” I kept my eyes shut, trying to shove the images of her and me in my bed . . . or her bed . . . or the bed of my truck . . . or wherever the opportunity arose from my head. “So talk.” I heard her footsteps move closer.

“Why did Doctor Payton just tell me you’re checking yourself out of the hospital today? As soon as possible today?” she added in a voice that implied I’d committed the worst kind of crime against humanity.

“Because I am checking myself out of here ASAP.”

My reply was immediately followed by three sighs from three people—one quiet, one annoyed, and one outraged.

“And just where do you think you’re going once you check yourself out?” Josie’s voice boomed loudly enough that she’d probably woken anyone who had been trying to sleep in the nearby rooms.

“Home.” I kept my eyes on the ceiling so I wouldn’t have to witness three pairs of eyes gaping at me like I’d busted something in my brain now too.

“Home?” Josie practically spit the word. “How exactly are you planning on getting there? And once you’re there, how are you going to get around, heal yourself, and receive the medical care you need, Garth? Mind telling me what your big plan is? Because I’m not seeing it.” From the corner of my eye, I saw her head shake, sending her pigtails whipping around. “You’re hurt. Badly. This isn’t one of those times you can fix yourself with a bag of frozen peas and gritting your jaw. I know that’s your favorite way of dealing with injuries, but this isn’t a cracked rib. This is you not being able to move from your neck down.”

She wasn’t crying, yet, but I knew she was close. Josie cried when she got angry as often as she did when she was sad.

“Yeah, I’m really aware of the fact that I can’t move. Thanks for the recap.”

“Are you?”

Josie’s head lowered so it was above mine, but I continued to focus on the ceiling. She was right, to a degree, but I also knew I couldn’t stay in the hospital another day without losing my mind. I’d already likely lost my body—I couldn’t lose my mind too. It was all I had left.

“Because how is checking yourself out going to help this situation at all?” she asked.

I smelled her favorite cherry lip balm on her lips. I wanted to kiss her, like I always did when I caught the scent of it, but I couldn’t. Sure, I might have been able to lift my head off the pillow a few inches, but I couldn’t kiss her and expect her to walk away. Kissing her while I wanted her to go live her life kind of sent a mixed message.

“There’s nothing that’s going to help, Joze. Staying in this hospital sure as shit won’t. I need to get home.” My voice stayed strong, but it seemed to be the last part of me that possessed strength.

“You need to get better,” she argued. She looked across the bed at Jesse and Rowen, probably searching for one or both of them to back her up.

Rowen opened her mouth first, Jess still seeming at a loss, but I cut them all off. I had to force my jaw to untighten before I could say the words all of them were in denial over. “I’m not going to get better.” Each word came out louder than the last until the final word seemed to echo around us. “There isn’t a medicine that can be prescribed that will cure me, no amount of rest and rehab can heal me, and there sure as shit aren’t any tests they can run that will tell us something different from what we all already know.” I’d spent so long glaring at the ceiling tile above me I wondered if by the time I was out of there, it would crumble apart. “I’m not moving again. I’m . . .” I had to swallow and roll the word around in my mouth a few times before I could get it out. “Paralyzed. The sooner we all accept it, the better off we’ll be.”

The room got quiet. Real quiet. Other than the sound of the second hand moving on the wall clock across from my bed, silence filled the room. It didn’t last though. It couldn’t with what I’d said and who I’d said it to.

Leaning over me even farther, Josie lowered her face so close to mine I could see each and every fleck of bronze in her eyes. I would have been content to spend the rest of my life counting each of them too.

“Fine. You want to give up and roll over after a day and a half? That’s your choice. Be beaten. Give up. Accept you’re doomed. That’s your prerogative.” Her voice wasn’t quaking as it had been earlier—it was so strong and seamless it was like she’d been rehearsing this speech for weeks. “You go right on ahead and play the victim and tell yourself you’re never going to walk again. But don’t you dare, Garth Black, for one fricking minute, try to order me or any of us”—she jabbed her pointer finger toward Rowen and Jesse—“that we have to accept the same thing. You don’t want to hold on to hope, big surprise, but don’t try to take a shit on all of ours.”

After that, she waited. For me to say something or argue or for what she’d said to settle in, I didn’t know, but I knew the way I felt. Nothing she could say and no amount of time she could wait would get me to change my mind.

Jesse was just clearing his throat and stepping closer, probably to say something that would solve all our problems along with world hunger, when I heard another set of footsteps enter the room. They didn’t travel far before the newcomer stopped and cleared his throat . . . saved by the doc.