Second Chance Hero (31 page)

            “He loves you so much, Jen.” She
whispers, kissing the top of my head, “If he’s fighting to come back to us,
it’ll be because of you.”

            The dam bursts and I cry like I never
have before and fall to my knees, taking Emma with me; it’s years of pent up
tears and they fall at the idea that Deacon might feel this love the same way I
do; world shifting, life altering love that you would sacrifice anything to
materialise and bottle to keep for life. If Deacon even feels a fraction of the
love I feel for him, it will be enough for me to live a long a happy life.
Nothing is certain in life; people can be taken without warning, without
reason. The only thing that is certain is that what I feel for this man, who
has brushed death and is not yet out of the woods, is enough to make every
precious day we get together feel like a lifetime in itself.

            “He has to wake up.” I cry, my sobs
uncontrollable, “He has to!”

            Emma pulls away from me, her hands on my
shoulders and rubbing the tops of my arms.

            “I need to go and shower and have some
coffee.” She takes a deep breath, “Talk to him. Tell him everything. If he can
hear you, it’ll bring him back. I know it.”

            I nod and we resume sitting in our usual
seats, waiting for the doctor to return with the results before Emma leaves.

            “The results from the test are
promising.” The doctor I now know as Doctor Sharpe has pulled up a chair at the
end of the bed, “We’re happy to start withdrawing the medication that is
keeping Deacon sedated. We think what happened was caused by serious whiplash,
which moved his brain against his skull and caused what we call a diffused
closed head injury. There may be some nerve damage, which we won't know until
he is awake and we can do some more checks. The coma was just to give his brain
a rest from the trauma of the crash, let him recover a little and take some
pressure off his brain.”

            This is so painful to hear, knowing
whatever happened to Deacon before he lost consciousness must have hurt him;
but Dr. Sharpe continues and it’s almost a relief to hear some of the science
behind the necessary slumber.

            “What we’ll do, starting this afternoon,
is gradually decrease the dosage of the medication used to keep him asleep.
We’ll keep checking his brain activity with the EEG, and providing no anomalies
show up, we will continue the decrease until we’re not administering it. Then
it will just be a matter of waiting until Deacon is ready to wake up.”

            We thank the doctor and both grab hold
of one of Deacon’s hands as the doctor stands.

            “Doctor Sharpe?” I call as he begins to
shut the door, “Would it be okay to give him a wash? Is it okay to touch him?”

            “Sure,” he smiles, “I’m sure he’d like a
wash.”

            Emma leaves shortly after the first
decrease of Deacon’s medication, and it feels weird to be alone with him. I
talk to people who can't respond all the time; I have brilliant one-way conversations
with Dom when I’m baking or thinking about Deacon. But this feels weird,
talking to him knowing he won't answer, and I don't like the idea that if he
can hear me, he’s trying to say things back that I just won't hear.

            So I settle for borrowing a bowl from
reception, calling from the door of the room, not wanting Deacon to be out of
my sight. A nurse brings me a bowl that’s big enough to do the washing up in,
and I fill it with luke-warm water, putting one of the flannels in the bowl and
watching it sink to the bottom. I take a sip of my chocolate milk which is,
surprisingly still a nerve settler, and wring the flannel out, watching the
water drip back into the bowl, remembering the bath I had with Deacon on
Friday. Everything I do reminds me of him, and at this moment in time,
reminders are all I have.

            “There’s no soap. It doesn’t smell as
good as your bath oils,” I say wiping the flannel across his forehead, the
tears threatening to surge as I remember there might be something wrong in
there, “but you’re covered in dirt from the rescue. You smell like a mechanic.”      

            The nurse had given him a wash when he
came in, but bits of oil from the car and dust from the airbags still linger on
his hair line, in his eye brows and on the light smattering of hair that is
growing on his jaw. I wipe it all off slowly.

            “The doctor says you can wake up soon,
and when you do be prepared for me to tell you a hundred times that I love you.
I should have told you weeks, no, years ago. I hope that I’m not too late this
time. We have our whole lives ahead of us, Deac. I want to spend every day of
it with you. I want to watch you sleeping when the sun bursts in your window in
the morning, cook you waffles because I know you love them homemade but can’t
make them yourself. I want to wash the dust and dirt off you in the shower when
you come home from work and sleep in your bed every night. I want to be every
one of your fantasies come true. But I can't do that unless you wake up and get
better. It’s just you and me, like Sonny and Cher.”

Deacon

I think I’ve opened my eyes but I see nothing but
darkness. I feel like I’ve been sleeping for days, but just haven’t had enough.
I don't remember going to bed last night, and don't know why I’m awake, and
can't see anything.

“It was crazy. Everything about it was crazy and
stupid and I should have just done what I knew was right.”

It’s Jenna. She’s in my dream as usual, but she
sounds different. Something isn’t right.

“People do crazy things, Jen,” Mum? “and most people
can have an adult conversation and resolve it. Most people aren’t faced with
death before saying what needs to be said.”

Death? Why are my mum and Jenna in my black dream,
talking about death?

“I think I’ll survive if he’s too angry to forgive
me. But what if he’s never the same? What if he’s forgotten? Suddenly we go
from everything to nothing.”

“Who died?” I croak, my mouth desert dry.

“Deac?!” Jenna screeches and my hand is suddenly
cocooned in the warmth of hers. This isn’t a dream.

“I can't open my eyes,” I say, hearing sobs from a
bit further away.

“I’ll get a doctor.” Mum says and I hear her
panicking.

“No, wait.” Why does Jenna sound so weird? I’m so
confused, “Deac, this might sting.”

“What might - Ah!” Something is ripped from my
eyelids and my eyes spring open.

I squeeze them shut as the light bursts in, intense
and painful. But not before I notice I’m laying down in a white room, with what
looks like Mum and Jenna leaning over me. Everything feels uncomfortable and
stiff. And I’ve got a mean hangover.

“Where the fuck did this come from?” I pull at the
bit of plastic under my nose, tugging something on the back of one hand and the
thumb on the other, “What’s going on?”

“How do you feel?” Jenna asks, stroking my forehead.
I can't see straight, but I know it’s her because she smells of a weird mix of
the two of us. I love that smell when it’s on my sheets.

“Like I’ve been hit by a freight train.”

She laughs and then whimpers. Mum mentions getting a
doctor again and I hear the sound of her walking and a door opening and
shutting.

“Baby, I’m so sorry.” She holds my hand again and I
squeeze tightly, checking if whatever this is, is really happening.

I can see her now; I've blinked enough times to
bring her into focus and she’s crying. Her cheeks are stained with tears, black
smudges under her eyes and her hair is in a killer tangle. She looks a mess.

“Jen.”

“Mr. Reid!” A loud voice booms with too much
excitement for a man.

“Who the hell are you?” I ask, trying to sit up but
he thrusts an arm out across my chest to still me and that’s when I see all the
wires, “What’s going on?”

“You’ve been asleep, Deacon.” He says and I see ‘Dr.
Peter Sharpe’ on a white and blue badge on his white jacket, “I need you to
stay still. Let me just check you out.”

Check me out? What is he talking about? He stretches
an eyelid up with a finger and flashes a little light in my eye before doing
the same with the other. Then there's a strap around the top of my arm and it’s
squeezing hard, the sounds of whirring and beeping in the background doing my
head in. It’s pounding as it is, but the beeping and whirring and Dr. Sharpe
talking to himself sends shooting pains through the back of it, and I reach
around with the hand that isn’t having all the blood squeezed from it and feel
the wires stuck to my head. Wait, he’s a doctor. What?

“What happened?” I ask, realising now why I'm in
this room, with my mum and Jenna looking...off, and a white-coated man checking
my vitals, “What happened to me?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Dr Sharpe
asks, ripping the strap off me and pushing buttons on a machine that sends an
ear-splitting sound through my head. I shudder.

Mum unscrews a bottle of water and holds it to my
mouth. I grab the plastic, swatting her hand away and drink so fast, the bottle
compresses and screws up in my hand.

“I can't think straight,” I struggle to sit up
again, but refrain when I realise everything hurts, “can you turn down the god
damn noise?”

One second the sound is stabbing me in the head and
the next everything is silent.

“What is the last thing you remember?”

“I heard you the first time.” I groan, “I don't
know. I-”

I remember. I look at Jenna and her eyes instantly
leave mine and look down at where she’s still gripping my hand as if I’m going
to run away. No chance, I'm not going anywhere. Even if I wanted to, every
muscle in my body hurts.

“I was...” I squeeze my eyes shut, search for
something, but I’m not sure what I’m searching for, “I don't remember
anything.”

“When’s your birthday?”

“November twenty seventh.”

            “What’s your name?”

“Deacon,” I squeeze my eyes shut so hard I see stars,
“Deacon Axel Reid.”

“And where do you live?”

“What’s with the questions?”

“Where do you live? And who do you live with?”

Apparently they’re necessary, “I live by myself,
Cliff Point in Folquay.”

The doctor sets his clipboard somewhere near my
feet, which I can't see because I can't sit up. He straightens his back,
squares his shoulders and takes a deep, stern expression.

“I need to sit up.” I might be confused as hell, but
I’m well aware he wants to talk and I need to see around me. I feel helpless,
useless. Terrible.

He nods and presses a button; the back of the bed
moves and I sit up. The entire room is white, too bright that I have to shut my
eyes again. When I hear the tell-tale sound of a light switch I open them
again, and the room has darkened, only the light from outside flows in, casting
the room in a relaxing hue.

“It’s okay, darling.” Mum says squeezing my hand,
but I’m concentrating on Jenna’s tight grip on the other, the strained sounds
coming from her, and the doctor at the end of my bed.

“There was an accident, Mr. Reid,” he starts, “do
you remember it?”

I shake my head, “Jenna.” I turn to her, but she
shakes her head.

“It was just you.” Her voice breaks, “You were on
your own.”

I don't remember. I look away from her, trying to
understand what happened. I haven’t got a clue.

“What accident?”

“It’s normal to not remember anything. You’ve been
asleep for a few days. You took a hard hit on your head and you’ve broken your
leg.”

“What accident?!”

“Your car was hit by a DUI.” He says apologetically,
“Your truck was hit by another car.”

“Did I do it?”

I know I didn’t do it; but I can't breathe. I feel
the panic setting in, the pins and needles, the visions of my dad seeing his
life flash before his eyes as he went over the bank. How frightened he must
have been. I don't remember seeing that. I don't remember anything. The last
thing I remember is... Jenna. I look at her, and she knows I remember. Kip.
Kip’s parents. Jenna having dinner with Kip’s parents. The look in her eyes
before I walked away.

My chest is tight, my head hurts, I can't keep my
eyes on anything, and they just fly around the room.

“You need to rest, Mr. Reid. We will have all the
answers for you when you’ve had some sleep.”

            “What day is it?”

“It’s Friday.”

I feel the sleep coming, the exhaustion seeping
through me like poison. I don't want to sleep; Jenna might not be here the next
time I wake up.

“Jen,” I don't know what to say to keep her here,
“Jenna.”

“Sleep, baby. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

She takes my hand in hers again – she had jerked it
away when she realised the last thing I remembered was the argument we had.
It’s warm and comforting and feels like home. I close my eyes as I hear a chair
scrape along the floor, and then I feel Jenna’s lips on my cheek, her feather
light kisses on my skin, and her hand stroking through my hair as I fall asleep
again.

“Jenna!” I sit up, gasping for breath, ignoring the
searing pain through my leg and head. Everywhere. She’s still here, gripping
the sheet that covers me with both hands, her head resting on the mattress and
a pained expression on her face as she sleeps.

“She thinks it’s her fault.” I turn my head and
notice my mum sitting on the other side of me, her elbows resting on her knees,
her chin on her hands.

“Mum, I don't know what happened.” I remember what
happened with Jenna, but I’m praying my mum doesn’t know.

“You argued. You left. You got in your car. And
someone who had more than three times the legal limit of alcohol in their
system sent you off the road. And now you’re here.”

“That’s not Jenna’s fault.”

“I let her think it was.” Unshed tears make her eyes
sparkle and it’s the most heart-breaking thing I’ve ever seen, “I blamed her.
At first. If she hadn’t been messing around with you, you wouldn’t have
argued.”

“But that’s got nothing to do with the crash.” I try
but fail to reign in the anger I feel that my mother blamed Jenna for something
that could happen to anyone at anytime. She should know that better than
anyone, “Mum, you blamed Jenna.”

“At first.” A single tear falls down her cheek and
my anger is almost extinguished, “you need to talk with her.”

Jenna stirs beside me and I stroke my hand through
her freshly washed hair, trying to soothe her. I frown.

“She showers next door. She won't leave.” I ignore
her as I concentrate on the feel of Jenna’s silky strands.

My soothing has the opposite effect and Jenna wakes
instantly, rubbing the back of her neck and looking straight at me.

“You’re awake.” She whispers, as if she wasn’t
expecting it.

I nod, because it’s all I can do. The look on her
face breaks my heart and heats my blood at the same time. Her eyes are red,
with dark circles under them and she’s never looked so vulnerable, or so
beautiful. I remember back to the day she told me what we had, what we did,
meant nothing; if there was ever a chance of that being true, she’d have no way
of convincing me now. Not a chance.

“I’m going to go home and shower,” Mum says,
standing. I still can't look at her, “make sure Brad hasn’t burnt the house
down. I’ll be back later. Do you want me to bring you some food?”

I shrug, “If you want.”

“Can you bring in a pizza?” Jenna asks, reaching for
her bag, “I’m sure Deac’s dying for some carbs and meat.”

“Jenna can't pay,” I say, finally looking at Mum,
“take money out of my wallet, or there’s some in the safe at home.”

“I can buy you food.” She ignores the coldness I’m
trying to thrust in her face and hugs me, “I’ll see you tonight with a large
meaty pizza.”

I hug her back; I’m angry, but she’s my mother and
I’ll bet she’s been through hell. Not enough to warrant her blaming the girl
who would be my only thought if I had any choice over whether I survived the
crash or not, but enough to comfort her.

“She has every right to blame me.” Jen says the
minute Mum is out of the room.

“Don't.” I glare at her, and I don't want to argue,
but I know what’s coming next.

“Red.” She starts, but chokes on her words.

“Don't you dare, Jenna. This isn’t your fault. I’m
fine.”

“If you were fine you would be at home, watching the
tennis, drinking beer with your brother with a beautiful woman on your lap.
Don't tell me you’re fine. None of this-” she waves her hand around the room,
settling her hand on her throat, “is fine. If I hadn’t come back to town none
of this would have happened and you’d be quite happy. The crash itself might
not be my fault, but you can't deny that everything else that has happened
recently is.”

“First of all, I don't like tennis. Second, I didn’t
see my brother before you came back to town. And the beautiful girl on my lap
will only ever be you.”

“Don't you hear yourself?” She asks, tugging her
hand away from me and sitting back, “The concussion must be worse than they
thought. Deac, I’m a classic cheater. A whore, a slut, a hussy. Whatever you
want to call it. You should be begging to be discharged so you can get as far
away from me as possible.”

“Is that what you want?” It’s the only question I
can ask to distract me from the need to rip these wires off and pin her against
the wall until she takes back everything she just called herself.

She looks away, her bottom lip trembling, and covers
her mouth with her hand.