Page 137 of The Blessing

The nurse gives me a sympathetic look before quickly walking toward her desk and coming back with what looks to be a syringe in her hand, causing me to fucking flinch. I’m covered in tattoos, yet I have a phobia of needles. How fucking ironic. Instead of poking me with it, she injects something into my IV line and gives me a comforting smile.

“The Dilaudid should make you feel better pretty soon,” she says, simply. When she’s finished, I look up at her, waiting for an explanation. While I remember shit, my memory is still kind of fuzzy. Therefore, I don’t know how reliable my narrative truly is. In terms I barely understand, she explains I’d been shot in the shoulder and shattered my clavicle. She told me I was truly lucky the paramedics arrived as quickly as they did. If they hadn’t, my situation could have been very bleak.

“The shot to your shoulder severed your brachial artery and brachial plexus nerve. If you had arrived mere minutes later you could’ve been in a lot of trouble. Someone must be looking out for you,” she says with a smile. I’m sure she intended her comment to be comforting.

I snort at her words and a sharp pain shoots up my side.

“Are you ready to see your family? Once we get you settled in your room, you’ll be able to see them.”

I shake my head, quickly scanning the room again for Travis. Is he alive? I remember the look in his eyes before everything went black. It was so haunted—filled with so much pain it would’ve taken my fucking breath away if the blood loss hadn’t caused me to pass out. What if he ended his own life after I blacked out and I wasn’t there to protect him from himself?

“Travis?” I ask, not recognizing the sound of my own shaky voice. It’s rough and sounds like I’ve smoked multiple packs of cigarettes a day for fucking decades.

The nurse’s brows crease with confusion, and I know she doesn’t understand who the fuck I’m referring to. I don’t know if this is good or bad news. If he was in critical condition he would’ve been taken to this hospital, as well. The nurse would’ve most likely known the name or heard of another gunshot injury at some point during the night. That is, if he went into surgery, considering she works in the recovery room. If Travis hadn’t been rushed to the ER, then there are only two possibilities my drugged-up mind can come up with: The first being—he’s alive and decided not to go through with ending his own life. The second… Well, the second possibility isn’t something I want to contemplate. Travis has to be fucking okay. If I did all of this for nothing it would be fucking devastating. Not because I ended up in a hospital bed because of him. Hell, I’d take a bullet for him multiple times if it meant I’d be saving his life. It’d be fucking catastrophic because his death would mean I failed again. He’d be another person I wasn’t able to fucking save. As illogical as I know it sounds, I can’t deny the guilt that weighs on my heart every day. I can’t ignore the voice in my head that screams I could’ve done better.

“Let’s get him to his room,” my nurse says to another one.

She grabs my IV bag from the pole and hooks it onto my hospital bed before she wheels me out of the recovery room with the help of another nurse. The corridors are fairly quiet for a trauma hospital, making me wonder how fucking late… or early it is. How long was I out for? I feel like I could fall right back to sleep. Once they get me to my room, my nurse helps me to the bathroom. My bladder feels like it’s going to explode after all the IV fluid.

“Thanks...” I begin to say as I look for her ID badge.

“Debbie,” she quickly supplies before giving me a kind smile which has the power to put my heart at ease for a moment. “I’ll go get your family and tell them you’re finally settled into your room so they can come back to see you. They’ve been waiting for you for a while.”

My heart drops at the thought of my family worrying about me. I can’t imagine how rough this has been on Ronnie. She’s always worrying about me enough as it is; now I’ve given her something to actually stress out about. I can’t imagine how fucking distraught she must be. I’m surprised she hasn’t busted back here already just to make sure I was alive. Ronnie isn’t the type of girl you can fuck with, and she’s definitely not the type to wait patiently when she thinks someone needs her. I could kick myself in the ass for not calling her before I went to Travis’s house. My stomach turns at the thought of her crying in the waiting room. I want to see her immediately.

I don’t have to wait long before my whole family comes rushing into my room with Nurse Debbie diligently following behind them. As soon as I see the look on Ronnie’s face, I fucking breakdown in front of everyone. The heartache swimming in her green eyes with the worry etched on her beautiful face makes doing anything fucking difficult. I just want her to hold me. I just want her to tell me that all this shit is okay and everything will turn out fine. I’ve never needed anyone before, but damn it, I need Ronnie like I need air.

“Oh, Trev!” she cries as she rushes toward my bed with our teary-eyed son in her embrace.

As soon as she gets close enough to touch me, she stops and stares down at my wounds, taking everything in with a look of disbelief on her face. Don’t cry for me, angel. Everything’s okay now that we’re together. I spent the night blinded by rage and the painful burn of betrayal. I’d selfishly searched for vengeance—or some sliver of understanding. I could’ve died tonight and Grey would’ve lost another father. I can’t take risks like this one ever again. The fucked-up part of all this is I don’t even know the outcome of my risky behavior. If Travis died will any of this shit have been worth it? It’s strange—I always thought if I ever found my brother’s murderer, I’d kill him with my bear fucking hands. Yet, when I heard Travis’s truth, I found forgiveness instead of brutal rage.

I hold out my freshly bandaged hand and urge Ronnie to come forward, wanting desperately to feel her warm body wrapped around mine. A sob escapes from her lips as soon as she touches my fingertips. She carefully sits on the hospital bed at my side, wrapping one of her arms around me, while the other arm holds our crying son safely on her lap.

“Dada?” Grey questions with an uncontrolled sob. “Dada!” His large, worrisome looking eyes dart around my face. They quickly become horror filled as he takes in my appearance. I watch as his bottom lip begins to quiver before he sobs even harder.

“It’s okay, buddy. Daddy is okay now.”

I give Ronnie a quick kiss on the cheek, enjoying the way her soft skin feels under my busted lip before asking her to sit Grey on my lap. I pull him against my chest and hold him as tightly as my injuries will allow. He’s shaking in my arms, his emotions radiating off his body and hitting me like a smack in the fucking face. He could’ve lost me tonight. My rash behavior could’ve destroyed this little guy. I close my eyes and try to gain control over myself but, as I’m surrounded by people that I love, it’s hard to do so. When I open my eyes again I look to my parents, who are quietly talking with my nurse. Mom’s in tears and Dad has his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulder. His entire body is tense as he listens to Debbie speak. What the fuck could she be saying to them that’s so distressing? Is it about Travis?

“Dada!” Grey whines again, begging for my attention.

“It’s okay, Grey. Daddy’s here. I got you.”

I carefully bounce him on my lap with the little strength I have left. He smiles for a moment before he sees the bandage on my shoulder and curiously points as his eyes widen and fill with fresh tears. I kiss his forehead, wanting to assure him that I’m not leaving him.

“Daddy’s got a boo boo, Grey,” I weakly try to explain to him.

He crawls across my lap until he’s face to face with my bandages. He then gives the bandage a quick kiss before looking up at me as if he was expecting some sort of change. He’s trying to kiss it to make it better, like I’ve done with him so many times before. Fuck, that thought makes me incredibly sappy. He always does the cutest shit, and even now, doped up on all my medications, I can still appreciate it.

“Boo boo, Dada?” he asks, pointing toward my shoulder.

Honestly, my shoulder’s so fucking numb, I forget I was fucking shot. It’s tender when I move it, but as long as I stay perfectly still and let the drugs do their job, I don’t feel any pain. However, Grey’s concern does make my heart feel a lot better, at least. It’s rotting in turmoil as my son’s doing his best to pull me out of it.

“Thanks, buddy. Daddy feels a lot better,” I tell him with a weak, lethargic smile.

“Boo boo, no! Dada!”

I laugh at his babbling and instantly regret it as a sharp pain shoots up my side. Grey begins to cry as he watches my face morph into agony in response.