Offside (44 page)

“Baby, please,” I heard her beg. “Just hang in there, okay? I’m right here. You’re going to be fine.”

Fine.

I was pretty sure that was not the case.

“Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible,” I whispered. My eyes drifted closed again, shielding her face from me.

“No…Thomas…no!” she cried. “You stay with me, you hear? Stay with me!”

I forced my eyes open, just so I could see her a bit longer.

I had to tell her.

“I love you.” I tried to move my hand up her back so I could touch her face, but it still wouldn’t move. “Since you first touched me…I just didn’t know…what it was. You showed me.”

“Oh, Thomas…I love you, too,” she whispered back. “Never stopped.”

She loves me.

My Rumple loves me.

There were sirens in the distance, coming closer.

“I’m sorry I’m an asshole,” I choked out.

“You aren’t,” she said, and her mouth turned up into a smile though there was still panic in her eyes. “You’re an idiot, and I really want to smack you silly sometimes, but you’re not an asshole.”

“In thy orisons be all my sins remembered,” I mumbled. There was no way Ophelia could have held a candle to my Rumple, though.

Pain shot through my head again and blurred darkness stole my vision from me. The sounds of emergency vehicles surrounded us. I tried to open my eyes to see what was going on, but I didn’t seem to have the strength.

“No! Thomas! Open your eyes! Open your eyes, do you hear me?”

Darkness.

“Thomas!”

Depth.

“God—no! No! THOMAS!”

Cold.

“He’s not breathing! HE’S NOT BREATHING!”

I could still feel her arms around me and her hand against my face.

The meaning of Hamlet’s words hit me harder than the impact from Clint’s Buick: “To sleep, perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause: There's the respect, That makes calamity of so long life.” Somehow, I thought all that really mattered was that Nicole was okay.

Now to see what comes next.

CHAPTER 25

INJURY TIME

Bright, blinding light filled my eyes, but it didn’t hurt. It was just warm, like the perfect spring morning when there’s sun on your back as you walk through the trees. Soft, calm, peaceful.

Her hand slipped through mine, her fingers so much bigger, they made me feel safe. I had to look up to see her face. She was so pretty—with creamy skin and deep brown hair.

“Can I stay with you, Mom?”

“No, sweetheart. It’s not time yet.”

My eyes narrowed as I looked up into her shining face.

“But I want to.”

“I know, Thomas.” Her hand ran over the top of my head. Her touch made my skin tingle, and I smiled up at her before dropping my eyes again. We walked though there didn’t seem to be any path or destination. We just moved alongside each other.

I looked down at my feet and saw the bright red cleats I wore when I was little. Mom had double-knotted them for me, and I could never untie them by myself. Mom always had to do it for me. After…when I had to tie them myself, they always came untied during games, and Dad would be mad. After…when she was gone.

I looked up over my shoulder again and into her face.

“I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.” I felt the sting of tears in my eyes and pressure in my chest.

“Of course you didn’t, darling,” she told me. “It was an accident.”

“I’m sorry I forgot my gloves,” I told her.

“Everyone forgets sometimes, Thomas,” she told me. “And sometimes things just happen. They aren’t your fault.”

“He said it was.”

“I know,” she sighed, “but he was wrong.”

“I kept my promise,” I said softly. “I never forget anything.”

“I know—but you don’t have to remember it all.”

“I don’t?”

“Not anymore, sweetheart.” Her hand was on the side of my face as she stroked my cheek. “You’ve remembered enough now.”

“
One…two…three…CLEAR!”

A sharp pain ripped through my chest and spread out like a spiderweb through the rest of my body.

“You have to go back, Thomas.”

“I want to be with you.”

“You haven’t completed everything you need to do, Thomas. You still have things to learn.”

“I want to stay!”

“Someone there still needs you.”

“
CLEAR!”

“Rumple?”

“Go to her.”

“
CLEAR!”

I was swimming in darkness, and my limbs felt like they were trying to get though some thick, viscous substance without any strength to push it aside. I couldn’t open my eyes. Someone was talking, but I couldn’t make out who it was or what they were saying. They were just meaningless fragments of sentences in my head.

Extremely serious...several broken bones…kidney failure…

Flashes of pain ricocheted through my body. Nothing made any sense.

…
Lacerations…shattered left scapula…spinal cord…

Where was Rumple? Was she okay? She said she was…I didn’t dream that, did I?

…
Scheduled surgery…his spleen will need to be removed…

Was my mom here?

…
Head trauma…induce coma… best chance…

I didn’t understand and let myself sink into the darkness. It was cool and safe there.

I opened my eyes, blinking.

My mouth and throat were so fucking dry, they burned.

Even through the darkness, I could see the sterile, off-white walls and bland décor of the hospital room. There was a slow, steady beeping sound from a machine on my left.

I was lying on my back, and my muscles ached. I hated sleeping on my back—I was always on either my side or my stomach. I wanted to roll to one side but didn’t have the energy. I had just enough strength to loll my head to one side and notice the IV line going into my arm. Other tubes and wires for monitors and shit were sticking out from under the blanket that covered me up to my chest.

I managed to turn my head to the other side to see a small side table with a vase of faded flowers and a stack of greeting cards. Long vertical blinds covered a window, but it was obviously dark outside. The only light in the room was a small, dim table lamp in the far corner next to a reclining chair.

No one else was in the room.

There was a cup of water on the side table, and I tried to raise my arm to reach it, but I didn’t have the strength. My hand twitched, and I tightened my fingers into a fist, but even that completely exhausted me.

A noise coming from the front of the room caught my attention, and the door opened to reveal a petite woman in a hospital smock with brightly colored circles all over it. She walked over to the side of the bed, reached for my IV, and looked down at me.

“Thomas?”

I licked my lips and tried to answer, but only a weird croaking sound came out of my mouth. She grasped the cup of water and held the straw to my lips. Once I managed to take a couple of painful swallows, she took it away again.

“Can you speak now?” she asked softly.

“Yeah,” I managed.

“I’m going to get the doctor, okay?”

“Sure.”

My head was a little swimmy. I wanted more water, but at the same time, my stomach seemed a little pissed off at the intrusion of the liquid. A couple minutes later, a guy in a lab coat, carrying a clipboard, came and sat down in the rolling chair near the bed. He came up close to me and said his name was Doctor Peter Winchester.

“Do you know how you got here, Thomas?”

Flashes of the dark Buick skidding over the ice sliced through my brain.

“Hit by a car,” I replied. “Nicole? Nicole Skye?”

“She’s fine,” Doctor Winchester answered. “A few cuts and scrapes, but nothing serious. She’s all healed up now.”

“Where is she?”

“It’s about two in the morning on a Wednesday, Thomas,” he said. “She’s probably at home, asleep.”

I nodded, glad she wasn’t here in the hospital and still banged up or anything. Then a single question became really fucking important.

“How long?” I asked. Speaking more than just a couple of words at a time was pretty taxing.

The doctor looked over to the nurse before fixing his gaze back on me.

“What was the last date you remember?”

“Um…January thirtieth?” I guessed.

Winchester looked at me for a bit.

“It’s March fourteenth now,” he finally replied.

For a moment, I panicked.

“Same year?” I asked.

“Same year.”

I relaxed a little as I tried to digest some of this. That was like…six weeks. Six weeks of being totally out of it. Six weeks of lying in a bed, not using my muscles at all.

“I can’t move much,” I said as I looked up to him.

He nodded.

“Your body has been shut down for a while now after suffering significant trauma. You were almost pronounced dead at the scene, and we lost you once on the table as well. We had to induce coma just to keep your body in check long enough to try to fix you up.”

“Did I break a lot of bones?” I asked. I wondered about my legs because they definitely didn’t feel right.

“I think we should wait until your dad gets here,” the doctor said. His hand patted my leg, which made it feel all tingly. Everything felt all tingly, like my whole body fell asleep.

I guess it had.

“He’s on his way.”

Even through the blurriness inside my head, I had the feeling this was not going to be the most pleasant of encounters. I didn’t know the extent of the damage yet, but I was obviously pretty fucked up, and that certainly meant I wasn’t playing soccer in the next season. I gritted my teeth. I didn’t care what he would say—Nicole was okay, and that mattered more…

“Thomas?”

I awoke to someone prodding my arm. I didn't realize I had drifted off. It was Doctor Winchester doing the poking, but Dad was there, too—standing on the other side of the bed.

“Can you talk, son?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said, and then tried clearing my throat. “Kind of.”

“Your vocal cords haven't been used for some time,” Doctor Winchester said. “It will take them a while to get going normally again.”

“How do you feel?” Dad asked with all the concern in his eyes a parent should have. His hand went to my head, and then he bent over and looked into my eyes with his little penlight.

“Weird,” I answered. I didn't really know how I felt.

“You were hurt pretty bad,” he told me. “I'm considering myself pretty lucky to be talking to you at all. For a while there…”

His voice trailed off, and he sighed.