This Ordinary Life (25 page)

When they leave, I pull up a chair beside his bed. Just like last night, I lace my fingers with the ones on his good hand.

“Wes,” I say. “It's Jasmine. You have everyone pretty freaked out here. You're getting better though, so I'm sure you'll be awake any time now. Your parents are so nice. I got to meet your dad this morning and I hung out with your mom last night, too. Your dad said he's heard of me. Can you wake up so I can tease you about that? I want to know what you're telling them about me.”

I watch the monitors, but of course, nothing changes.

“So, anyway. I got the internship yesterday. I start the first week of July and will work at WYN60 for three days a week, for eight weeks, until almost when school starts up again in the fall. It was amazing, being there. Everyone was so nice. I even got to see the broadcast room with the morning show on the air. It was awesome.”

I walk over to the window and tilt the blinds open, just a little. “Let's let in some sunlight. It's nice out. Maybe it will help, if
you can feel the sun. I wonder if your phone is around here. Maybe some of that heavy metal would be the perfect remedy to wake you up.”

But Wes doesn't move. The soft skin under his eyes is so bruised and painful-looking. Black-blue rings circle his eyes and though some of the swelling has gone down, his nose is still so swollen he doesn't look like himself at all. My gaze travels the scarred map of his face, the cuts crusted over with scabs, layered on top of the near-black bruises.

“Oh, Wes.” I reach out to touch him, careful as if he'll crumble beneath my fingers. My hands linger on his shoulder then move up to his cheek. “It will heal,” I say, for my own benefit, maybe. He barely looks like the Wes I know. My Wes.

I let my fingers rest on the mesh cap that covers his scalp. The soft flop of hair I love peeks out from between the electrodes and I push it to the side and back as much as it will go. The way he always does.

Wes shifts on the bed. It's such a slight movement, I'm not sure it's real. My heart flutters and I trail my hand to his shoulder again.

“Wes?” I whisper. “Can you hear me? You're okay. I'm here. Me, Jasmine. And your parents are here, too.”

Nothing.

The monitors show no change. One thing I've learned from being here with Danny, is that while it's nearly impossible to read anything on them, there will usually be a spike or some visible change on the charts with movements, even eating, blinking, or certainly, waking up.

Damn.

I lean closer to him, my gaze darting across his features. Are his lips parted more than they were a minute ago? Has something changed or contorted in his face? His eyelids flinch. If I wasn't so close and wasn't staring, I would have missed it.

I reach down and grasp his hand with mine.

“Come on Wes,” I say. “Open your eyes. They're giving you less medicine now, and they said you'd wake up soon. Do it now, Wes. We all want to see you.”

We want to know you're okay. That you're the same Wes you were.

More flutters. Blinking, even. He's waking up. Hope unfolds in me, crackling bits of excitement waking up in every one of my pores.

“Wes?” I say softly. “Hi Wes.”

His eyes open and I raise up a little, my cheeks aching with how wide I'm smiling. “Hey,” I whisper.

He blinks a few times, confusion clouding his features.

“You're okay,” I say, the nervous knot in my stomach twisting with hope that he really is, that there's no lasting damage. “You fell.” I leave out the part about the seizure. Too much information may possibly be too much to handle. “How do you feel?”

Wes's eyes slowly come into focus. It's like magic, watching the emotions cross his expression, watching his features soften and warm when he recognizes me. Watching him come back to himself in there. To regular Wes, my Wes. My fingers twine tighter with those on his good hand.

“Sunny,” he says, his lips curving into the slightest of smiles. “Why the hell does everything hurt so bad?”

A laughsob squeaks out of me and happy tears prick the corners of my eyes.

“You broke some bones,” I say. “No dancing for you for a while, I think.”

“Some? Feels like I got run over by a Mack truck. Jesus.”

If he wasn't so hurt, I'd throw my arms around him in the tightest hug. But I lean down instead, carefully, softly, and press my lips to his. His warm and dry and perfect lips. It's only for a
second or two, but when I open my eyes and pull back, he's smiling a little bigger, and in the depths of his bruised and swollen face, his eyes glitter with familiar mischief.

“I knew you'd kiss me.” He shifts on the bed and winces at the pain. “And that you'd make the first move, too. Of course, I didn't think I'd have to go to these extreme measures for it.”

I perch on the small strip of bed next to him, his hand still resting in mine. I reach for the call button next to his bed.

“We need to call the nurse,” I say. “And your parents. They're getting food downstairs.”

He lifts his hand to stop mine. “In a minute,” he says. “How about another one of those kisses first?”

I laugh at Wes and shake my head. But I lean down again. What can I say? It's good to have him back. I push all the horrible things that could have happened from my mind as I press my lips to his, light as a butterfly landing, and pretend this moment is the only moment there is.

T
HEY KEEP
W
ES
in the hospital for only two more days. I visit as much as school and visiting hours will allow. His EEG has calmed down again, his medicine is adjusted and he is sent home with his parents. After school, I drive over to his house, trying not to gape at the sheer size of the place. I think our house could literally fit in his garage. I pull Mom's rusted old Honda into the driveway and dash up to the door.

Wes's mom answers with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. Exhaustion has deepened the lines around her mouth and left heavy, dark circles beneath her eyes. “You don't have to knock, Jasmine. You're one of the family.”

“Thank you, Mrs. McEnroe. It's nice to see you. Here, I mean. Instead of the hospital.”

Her smile widens as she steps aside to let me in. A fancy crystal chandelier hangs in the two story foyer and I fidget, feeling out of place. This house is all echoey and stone and strangely empty feeling. It's like a museum. But she pulls me into a hug that manages to make me feel warm and at home, despite all that. I do belong here.

“It certainly is nice to be home and doing well,” she says. “Wesley is right in the living room, watching TV. I'll bring you guys some snacks in a little while.”

I turn toward the room, but she stops me with a hand on my arm. “Thank you, Jasmine, for being there for Wesley.”

“Of course.”

“I wanted to tell you how much he's changed since he's known you. It's not just how happy he is, either, though that
is
the best part.”

My cheeks warm. What do I even say to that?

“But he acts different, too. Just before this all happened with the hospital, he broke down and admitted he wants a gap year before college. He said he's wanted it forever but couldn't get the nerve to tell us.”

I swell with pride for Wes that he finally talked to his parents about this. “That's great that he—”

“It's because of you,” she said. “Wesley said, if Jasmine can stand up and be honest with her mom, why can't I? I wasn't happy at first. I admit it was an adjustment. But, I want him to be able to open up to us and I don't think he ever realized that he can, that all we want is for him to be happy. So thank you, Jasmine, for your example to him.”

“Oh. Yeah. Well… you're welcome.”

“And thanks for caring so much about him,” she whispers before walking away. “He is simply
crazy
about you.”

I slip into the massive living room, where Wes lies on a leather sectional couch watching
Top Gun
on a huge widescreen TV. A guy wearing sweatpants and a tee shirt sits on the other side of the couch, feet up on an ottoman, and with his hat tipped back.

“Sunny!” With a wince, Wes drops his legs to the floor and pats the couch next to him.

“Hey,” I look between the two guys.

“Oh yeah,” Wes says. “This is my friend Jacob.”

Jacob gives me a chin nod. “What's up?”

“Jacob was just leaving,” Wes says.

“I was?” Jacob looks genuinely surprised. I remember the story Wes told me about how Jacob is an overgrown frat boy. I can totally see it.

“You were.” Wes raises his eyebrows and Jacob stands and stretches.

“Fine, fine. I can take a hint.”

“First time for everything,” Wes mutters. Jacob fist bumps Wes and nods to me on his way out of the room. “Nice to meet you.”

Once he's gone, I plop onto the couch. “Sorry to interrupt your guy time,” I say.

Wes shakes his head. “You could never be an interruption. Jacob's been here all day. It's fine. How's the newest Get Up and Go intern, anyway?”

My face flushes but my smile's so wide my cheeks hurt. “Just fine, thank you.”

“Come closer,” he says. “Have I mentioned how proud I am of you?”

“Only about a zillion times at the hospital.” I scoot closer to him and carefully rest my head on his shoulder. He drapes his good arm around me and pulls me closer.

“Well it's true,” he whispers against my hair.

“Does this hurt?” I pull back, trying not to put too much of my weight against him.

“It's a good hurt,” he says, pulling me closer again until I'm curled against his side.

“Seriously. How do you feel?” The bruises around his eyes are starting to fade into a puke yellow color and the swelling has gone down considerably. His shaggy hair hangs over his eyes and I reach up and push it back. Nice to see him without the EEG hat or wires. He looks almost like Wes again.

“Like I was beat to hell?” He snorts. “For real. This blows. Everything hurts.”

“I'm so sorry. What did the doctor say when you left?”

“Everything will heal or whatever. Don't worry, I'll have my pretty face back soon.”

“No. I mean Dr. Bee. Did you see her?”

“Yeah.” His eyes cut back to the TV and he shrugs. “It is what it is.”

“Wes.”

“What? Shhh. This is the best part.” He turns up the movie and the sound of fighter planes fills the room from the surround sound speakers.

I sit back against the couch and watch the dip and flight of planes on the screen, wincing at the shooting sounds. Once Goose's plane goes down, I gently take the remote from Wes's hand and turn the volume almost all the way down.

“Wes, come on. Talk to me.”

He lets out a sigh and turns toward me. “It sucks, okay? I've gotten so used to being the guy with epilepsy who didn't have to deal with seizures. Seven years, you know? I don't want to have to worry about this crap again. Plus, now I can't even drive for six months. Sucks.”

I don't want to have to worry about him either. Words stick in my throat. Anything I could or would say feels like a cliché right now.

“Anyway, doc thinks a med adjustment will do the trick since the seizures have been so well controlled for so long, but you know, with her normal caveat about how epilepsy is unpredictable…”

“That it can change and do what it wants without warning,” I finish for him.

“Yep.”

I swallow the worry, push it as far, far down as I can. I choose today to live in the moment. Worrying solves nothing.

“But it's all good,” Wes says, threading his fingers with mine. “You know me. Once this heals,” he motions to his face and body. “I'll be as irresistible and sexy as ever.”

“Um, Wes?”

He tilts his head and looks at me, eyebrows raised in question.

“Not that you need me to feed your ego, but I have to throw you a bone here since you're so pathetic looking right now.”

“Oh?” He licks his lips as his eyes lock on mine.

I stretch my body until my face is even with his. Leaning in, I give him a slow kiss, teasing his bottom lip with my teeth. “I think you're pretty irresistible right now.”

My words vibrate against our mouths.

“Oh really?” He kisses the corner of my mouth. He kisses my jaw and just below my ear. My collarbone. His lips make a slow and gentle path along my skin until they reach my mouth again.

“Yeah, really.” I say. “And sexy, too.” My words are swallowed by his mouth as he traces my lips with his tongue. A soft moan escapes me and I press myself against him as he kisses me and kisses me and kisses me.

“Sorry,” I say. “This has to hurt you.”

“Hmmm.” He shakes his head, the fingers on his good hand tangling in my hair as he pulls me impossibly closer. His lips are gentle and rough and soft and hard and new and familiar and a million other things I can't describe because my brain is exploding in nerve endings. His mouth finds mine over and over again with a rising sense of urgency as he pulls me tighter against him still. I've never been kissed like this. I didn't even know this type of kissing was possible.

When we come up for air, I fall back against the couch, chest heaving and body thrumming as I try to calm my breathing. Wes leans back against the plush cushions, and after a moment seems to collect his own breaths as a satisfied smile spreads across his face. He motions to his body and face again.

“I can't believe this is all I had to do to get you to make out with me.”

I laugh and rest my head on his shoulder. All jokes aside, this is simply amazing. I'm still rocked by what happened to him, as he and his family are too. Seven years without a seizure and then a major one that really hurt him, and that could have been a lot worse. Luckily there doesn't seem to be any lasting damage in his brain, just the broken bones and scrapes. And the sense of safety and control ripped from him. From all of us.