Page 21 of Bound Lives
My mother presses her lips together, shaking her head hard. “You can’t imagine,” she says softly. “Seeing you like that. But we got you here. The doctors did what they had to do.”
I reach up slowly and touch the edge of the bandage wrapping my head. I feel stitches beneath, a rigid line closing the place where they cut me open. The skin is tight and tender. My pulse thrums there. It’s weird and oddly comforting. The pulse means I’m alive.
“You had an epidural hematoma,” my mother says. “The surgeon explained it to us. Blood between your skull and the lining of your brain. Pressure was building. They said if we’d gotten to you even an hour later…” She breaks off, choking back a sob.
“We got to you in time and got the paramedics to the ranch immediately,” my father cuts in. “That’s all that matters. They went in and cleared it out. The doctors are confident you’ll make a full recovery because you’re so young and strong.”
I close my eyes.
Full recovery.
I don’t know if I believe it yet, but hearing it out loud sews something back together inside me. Something not just in my body, but in my mind and heart.
I’m going to make it. I was broken, but now I’ll heal.
“How long ago?” I manage to get out.
“Yesterday. Around noon,” my mother says. “The beam fell then. You were in surgery by nightfall. It’s morning now.”
Less than twenty-four hours. That’s all that separates me from gone.
I shift my gaze to my father. “Zach? Where is he?”
“At the ranch,” he says. “Resting. Anya says he wouldn’t settle in last night. He kept pacing around the house like he was waiting for you to come back.”
The thought almost undoes me. I imagine his nails clicking on the tiles, ears pricking at every sound. I owe my life to that dog. Only gourmet food from now on. No more kibble.
“I need to see him,” I murmur.
“You will.” My mother squeezes my hand. “When you get home. When you’re stronger.”
Stronger.
Damn.
Seems strength has been gone from my life for too long.
My body feels foreign. Sluggish, drained, like it’s not my own. The weight on my head pulses with every beat of my heart. But beneath all of it, I’m grateful.
Grateful to be alive.
Grateful for this second chance.
I look at my parents again. They look wrecked but whole.
“I’m sorry,” I say, the words rasping out of me.
My mother frowns. “For what?”
“For making you go through that. For…scaring you.”
Her dark eyes flash. “Don’t you dare apologize for surviving.” She leans closer and presses a kiss to my forehead. “You stayed. That’s what matters.”
My father nods once. “You didn’t quit, son. That’s enough.”
I breathe out. They’re right. I didn’t. But I came close.
Tidbits are coming back to me. The pain, the darkness. How I almost succumbed near the end.
