Chapter 29
Vice
Amberly
Everything hurt. EVERYTHING. It was as though my entire body was fighting against me. Even my heart hurt. It was broken into discombobulated fragments. Each fragment was a deadening black, hard as stone, and jagged to the point where none of them could come together again.
“How are you feeling?”
A feminine voice came from my right side and I jerked, unaware that anyone had been standing there when I opened my eyes. She was messing with the IV bags above my head.
“I'm okay, I guess.” No, really. I was guessing. I had no idea how to describe how I felt. I felt everything but not in a good way. I didn't feel empty because that would require me feeling nothing at all and, at this point, I kind of wished I felt empty.
“How's your abdomen?” She was looking down at me this time. I could tell she was a nurse who cared about her job. I could read compassion beyond her stare, and I felt that if she could trade places with me, she would.
I glanced down at my stomach. “What's wrong with it?” I kept myself calm until I lifted up the hospital gown I was wearing and saw a line of gauze across my lower abdomen.
She got closer, peeled back the surgical tape, and peered at the incision. “After the car accident, we suspected internal bleeding. The doctor went in and did an exploratory laparotomy. He found a couple of leaking blood vessels and sutured them back together. Within a few months the scar will hardly be noticeable.”
She smiled as though it wasn't a big deal.
I tried to sit up but all that left me with was crying out in pain.
“Easy. Here, this button will lift the head of your bed. It'll make it easier for you. You fractured one of your ribs so that with the incision the doctor had to make, you'll be a little sore when you go from a laying to sitting position.”
“A little?” I laughed and then winced. Even laughing wasn't going to be an option and oh, how desperate I was to laugh. Anything besides feeling whatever it was I was feeling. Angry? Upset? Sad? Depressed? Lonely?
She walked to the far side of the room and opened the blinds a little. “Are you up for visitors? There's someone waiting for you in the hallway. Been here since the accident.”
“Sure”
“Great. I'll send him in.”
Wait....him? I needed a shot of whiskey to deal with ‘him’. I tried to object but she disappeared behind the door faster than I could protest. I first assumed it was Cricket.
Bryant entered, a pained expression perched on his face. His hands were dug into his pockets like he wasn't sure he knew what to do with them. He stopped at the foot of my bed and stared at me. He was silent. We stared at each other for eternity. Well, he stared and I glared.
After another five or so minutes passed he looked away, out the window, at the television which was nothing but a black screen, at the flowers sitting by my bed, at the IV in my arm, at the bathroom in the room. Everywhere but at me.
He withdrew one of his hands and rubbed the back of his neck. “Cricket got kicked out of the hospital last night.”
“What?! Why?” I contracted my abdomen muscles and winced in pain.
Bryant rushed to my side but I held up my hand to stop him. “Don't. Please don't.” As much as I wanted my voice to sound fierce, nothing but little squeaks came out with the words.
He cleared his throat and backed away. He turned away from me, his eyes fixated on something on the other side of my window. “She asked me what happened. I told her and then she wanted to know what kind of car it was that you had asked about.” He turned around with such precision, it almost scared me. That was, until I saw the tears in his eyes. “Why did that car freak you out? Please tell me. I don't understand.”
It was my turn to avert my eyes. Avoid his stare. Pretend I wasn't under his scrutiny. “Bryant, please just go.”
I could see out of the corner of my eyes that he was shaking his head, refusing to do as I asked.
"I'm not leaving until you tell me. Cricket freaked out, pushed me into a wall, and then punched me. Tell me what the deal is with that car. Please." His voice cracked and he glided to my bedside, bringing a chair with him to sit down in. He reached for my hand, cupping it in his own. "I don't know what's going on, Amberly. I need to know. If I need to get rid of that car, I will."
Tears began forming and I couldn't remember giving them permission to do so. "Were you diagnosed with a brain injury after the accident or something?"
My question perplexed him. I could tell by the way he tilted his head, squinted his eyes at me, and his eyebrows furrowed together. "What accident? Amberly, you aren't making any sense."
I sighed in annoyance. "The accident that killed Haylie!"
"What are you talking about?"
I gritted my teeth together. I needed to calm down before I forced one of the sutures to rip open. "That car is the same car that was involved in the wreck that killed Haylie. You said it was your car." I peered at him, gauging his reaction.
He fell back into the chair, holding a hand against his chest as though the wind had just been knocked out of him. "Are you saying it's the exact one that was in the wreck? Amberly, baby, you know there are hundreds of other cars that match that description, right?"
I was more than furious at that point. "Go home. Take a picture of the front bumper. You'll see the smidge of blue paint. It's hard to see because the paint on my car was so dark but it's there. I know you know there is a dent in that bumper but really look at that car for me. You seem to be having a lapse of memory so remind yourself."
"I wasn't there that night. I swear. Look." He began digging out a piece of paper from one of his back pockets. "Here's my time sheet from that week of the accident. I was off duty that night."
My trembling fingers took the piece of paper and scanned it. I handed it back to him. "So, you were off. This doesn't prove that you weren't driving the car that hit us."
He dove out of the chair, his calves sending it backwards against the wall. "You think I did it?" He pointed at himself, his eyes wide with fury. “You went from accusing me of signing the report to saying I was the driver behind the wheel. Do you want me to be responsible? Pushing me away is better than accepting the fact that I love you isn’t it?”
"You said it was your car." I tried to keep myself calm, prevent myself from jumping out of my bed and challenging him right back. “You can’t talk your way out of this one, Bryant.” I tried to say the words with absolute resolution. Truth was, I wanted him to talk his way out of this. Prove to me that he wasn’t behind the wheel out of that car.
He lifted his hands, placing them on his head. "Unbelievable. Yes, that car is registered to me but my ex had it. It was technically her car. I just recently got it back from her after she trashed the hell out of it. I was going to fix it up and give it to Delia. Wait, do you think..." His words trailed away as realization fired in him. He inched closer to me and I let him. "I swear to you, I had nothing to do with the car accident. I wouldn't lie to you about that. The year before Mac left me, I bought her a new car. Her credit was screwed because she kept applying for credit cards, maxing them out, and then not paying the balances. She managed to rack up a fifteen-thousand-dollar bill at a surgeon's office right before her car blew the motor. I ended up getting the car, leaving her name off of the note until she worked on her credit. She left me and she's had this car until maybe four months ago?"
All of what he was saying became a huge blur. I couldn't decipher any of it. Did that mean that his ex was responsible for Haylie's death? Could it be possible that she could walk away from such a thing without any remorse, considering she was a mother herself? Had it been her this entire time? The entire time I mourned for my child while she got to get away with everything. It made me want to open the investigation all over again.
"Listen," Bryant began as he sat down beside me, "I'm taking this information to Lucas and having him look into it. I'm sure Mac tried to get an estimate on the damage so I can contact my insurance company to see if she made any phone calls. If she's the culprit, I know she’s involved in everything else that's been going on." His eyes searched my face for any objection.
I gave him a simple nod, feeling the hunger for retribution wake up each of my senses. I wanted more than anything to give her a taste of her own medicine. I wanted her to hurt like I'd been hurting. That would never be possible though because I would never in my life take away her child like she did to me. It was possibly the worst punishment anyone could go through.
"Hey."
My mind stopped racing when Bryant spoke. "I love you." He placed a tender kiss on my forehead. I closed my eyes and cried.
"I love you too." The words I spoke were weak and shameful. I shouldn't have accused him but anything tying into Haylie's death made me irrational. I believe that's why Cricket had wanted me to move on so bad. She didn't want me to forget about my daughter, but she wanted her death to stop driving me so crazy. Bryant was right, accusing him was easier than letting him love me. If he were guilty walking away would be easier, and I wouldn’t have to wonder if he would hurt me.
"Good. We're going to be okay and I'm going to do whatever I can to fix this. I promise."
I bit my lip in an attempt to keep myself from ugly crying but it was no use. I bawled like a baby. I knew he wouldn't stop until he figured out what he could do to alleviate my pain. To keep me from waking up each morning wishing it had been me instead of her. I would probably always think that, regardless, but the fact he would do whatever he could to prevent it, spoke volumes. Haylie wouldn't want me to feel the way I felt. She would want me to live out the rest of my life until it was my time to join her. Deep down I knew that. Deep down, EVERY parent knows that. It doesn't make it any easier to deal with the loss. Wishing to switch places with your deceased child meant one thing. It was a coping mechanism. One that every parent eventually used to try and make sense of the why's and the how's and the what if's. Truth was, there wasn't an easy way to deal with it and some couldn't handle the grief the way others could. Me? I had no idea in hell how I had come this far.
“Trust me?” He asked.
I paused. I was the biggest moron on the face of this planet because of course I was going to trust him. I had nothing else to lose. He shoved the time sheet into my hand and I uncrumpled it, staring at the black ink. Sure enough, there was no record of Bryant being on shift that night. Proof I couldn’t deny. He had done it, proved to me what he promised. He hadn’t been the one to sign the report. How was he going to prove he wasn’t the one behind the car that night then? It could’ve easily been him. Someone could have signed the report to keep him out of hot water, showing that there wasn’t a way he could’ve been behind the wheel.
“I trust you.” I said, though scenarios claimed my mind like a nightmare.