Chapter 13
Lydia
I arrive at Colby’s bedside and gaze down at him.
Closed eyes.
Ventilator.
Heart machine.
Beep, beep, beep.
I grip the bed railing, trying to steady myself.
Just as I feared I would, I feel like I’ve just stepped out of a time machine, its dial set to The Worst Moment of Lydia Decker’s life.
Reflexively, I look at the back of Colby’s skull, my eyes searching for the crater I’m terrified will be there—but this man’s head isn’t cratered. No, it’s whole and perfect and beautiful. “He’s not Darren,” I whisper, my body trembling. “He’s Colby.”
At the sound of my voice, Colby stirs.
I grip the railing even more tightly and wait, holding my breath.
Colby stirs again, grimaces, and slowly opens his eyes.
And, just like that, I’m yanked back to the present.
Blue eyes.
Not the chocolate-brown ones I was expecting to see.
“Hi,” I whisper, peering down at the man’s blue gaze. “I’m Lydia, your physical therapist.” I lower the bed railing and slide my palm into Colby’s. “Your family went across the street for coffee. I’m here to do a PT screening, just to get a baseline, and then—”
Colby grimaces and squeezes my hand, hijacking the rest of my sentence.
“Are you in pain, Colby?”
He nods pitifully and squeezes my hand again, this time several times in a row, telling me the answer to my question about him having pain isn’t yes, it’s fuck yes.
I call for the nurse and she rushes in. She asks Colby to rate his pain on a scale from one ten and he weakly shows her eight fingers. She checks her chart and confirms the physician’s orders regarding pain management and then quickly adds what seems like a rather large dosage of powerful pain meds to Colby’s IV bag.
“There you go, sweetie,” the nurse coos. She pats Colby’s arm. “In a couple minutes, you’ll be feeling like you’re floating on a cotton candy cloud.”
The nurse leaves the room and I take my seat next to Colby again. To my surprise, he immediately slides his hand into mine again, picking up right where we left off.
I sit silently with him for several minutes, just holding his hand, letting my racing heart calm down. Finally, when I’m feeling steady and the muscles in Colby’s handsome face have visibly relaxed, I ask, “Are you feeling better?”
His eyes are glassy now. His brow is slack. He nods weakly.
“Are you floating on that cotton candy cloud the nurse promised you?”
Colby winks at me like a cartoon rabbit and I chuckle at the surprising gesture.
“That good, huh?”
Colby winks again, this time with even more panache.
“Wow,” I say. “Even drugged up and breathing through a machine, you’re quite the charmer, Mr. Morgan.”
His left arm is immobilized in a sling, so he releases my hand in order to brush some imaginary dirt off his left shoulder—a gesture I’m interpreting as his silly way of telling me, “I’ve got charm for days, babe.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it for a minute,” I say.
Colby slides his hand in mine again.
“You’re a real smooth operator out there in the real world, aren’t you, Colby Morgan?”
He nods and winks, yet again.
Oh my God, he looks so freaking stoned right now. Loopy as hell. And so ridiculously beautiful. “Well, it’s lucky I’m finding out you’re a flirty devil before I start working with you three times a week for the next five to six months, huh? Now I know to keep my eye on you, mister.”
Colby disengages from holding my hand again and touches the bare ring finger of his immobilized left hand.
“Huh?” I say.
He repeats the gesture.
“Are you telling me you’re single?”
He nods. And then flashes me an okay sign.
“Ah. I see. You’re saying it’s fine for you to be a flirty devil who leaves exploded ovaries in your wake because you’re single?”
He points at me as if to say, “Bingo.”
I giggle. “Are you single and ready to mingle, Colby?”
This time, Colby wags his index finger at me and furrows his brow. Clearly, I’ve said something wrong.
“No?” I ask.
Again, he wags his finger at me.
“Single and... not ready to mingle?”
He nods.
“You’re not interested in dating or you’re just not a fan of cheesy pickup lines?”
He makes a vague hand gesture I can’t quite interpret. And then he points with great intention at me.
“What?” I ask.
He repeats the gesture.
“Are you asking if I’m single and ready to mingle?”
He nods.
“Well, gosh, that’s a bit personal, don’t you think?”
Colby shakes his head and slides his hand into mine again. I feel his thumb exploring my ring finger, looking for a ring, and when he doesn’t feel one, he releases my hand to point at me and then himself.
“What about us?” I ask.
Again, he gestures to his bare ring finger.
“You’re saying we should get together?”
He nods emphatically and then points at me. Bingo.
I laugh. “Are you always this forward or just whenever you happen to be on powerful drugs?”
He points to the respirator protruding from his mouth.
“Only when you’re on a ventilator?”
He nods and I laugh. How the heck is he managing to be funny under circumstances like this?
“Go for it, Colby,” I say. “Milk that ventilator for all it’s worth.”
He raises his hand like he’s a puppeteer with his hand inside Kermit the Frog’s head and then he makes his hand puppet laugh enthusiastically.
I giggle. “Is that you laughing?”
He nods and points at me. Bingo.
“What are you laughing about?”
He points at me.
“You think I’m funny?”
Another nod.
“Well, you’re wrong about that. I’m freaking hysterical.”
He raises his hand puppet and makes it laugh and I can’t help but giggle.
Again, Colby points to his left ring finger and then at me.
“You’re asking me if I’m single again?”
He nods.
“Persistent, mofo.”
He nods again.
I shift in my chair. This is a first. I’ve never in my life been asked this question before, other than when I was filling out a form for the Census Bureau or something. Why would anyone ever have asked me my marital status? From age twenty-one until a week ago, I wore a wedding band that made things awfully clear. And if the band didn’t do it, the kids I’ve been toting around for a decade sure did.
Again, he points at me, asking me if I’m single.
I clear my throat. “Okay, enough chitchat,” I say. “Time for your PT screening now, Mr. Morgan.”
I perform my screening, surveying his battered and broken, but utterly beautiful, body, and when I’m done, I sit back down... only to feel Colby grab my hand, yet again. And, this time, he intertwines his fingers with mine like he’s been doing it forever.
“God, you look stoned as hell, Colby,” I say, my hand clasped in his.
He nods.
“Are you feeling any pain at all?”
He shakes his head and does a silly loopy thing with his eyes.
I chuckle. “Are you riding a purple unicorn down a rainbow highway, honey?”
He nods effusively.
Oh, God, his face is stunning. As I sit here, holding his hand, listening to the heart monitor, gazing at his perfect face, it’s taking all my strength not to stroke his cheekbone and eyebrows and nose, the same way I stroked Darren’s that last horrible day. I lean back and take a deep breath. “You should get some sleep now, Colby,” I say. “You need your rest.”
He shakes his head, releases my hand, and adamantly indicates his bare ring finger on his immobilized left hand.
“Oh, that,” I say. “I thought you’d forgotten about that.”
He raises his eyebrows as if to say, I’m waiting.
Well, damn.
At my prior job before Darren died, I was hit on a few times by patients, despite the wedding band on my finger, but my would-be seducers were always elderly patients who were clearly being playful. Which meant all those times I felt comfortable saying something along the lines of, “Well, gosh, Mr. Rosenbaum, I don’t think my husband the six-foot-four police officer would appreciate me dating another man, especially one as handsome as you.” But this time... well, this feels different. Colby isn’t an elderly patient. Despite his present condition, Colby Morgan is a gorgeous man around my age. Of course, I realize he’s high as a kite and out of his head and that this conversation is drug-induced and meaningless. But, still. Saying the words “I’m single” out loud to a handsome man like Colby will be a first for me.
I clear my throat. “Yes, I’m single.”
Colby motions to me and him.
“Correct. We’re both single,” I say.
Colby rolls his eyes and gestures to the two of us again.
My stomach is doing somersaults. “What?”
Again, he gestures to the two of us.
“We should get together?”
He nods.
“Because we’re both single?”
He shakes his head.
“No? Not because we’re both single?”
Colby looks vaguely frustrated. He motions to me and him again. Then he makes a gesture toward the ceiling like he’s spraying a pocketful of stars into the sky. And then he nods and winks.
“So elaborate, Colby Morgan.” I chuckle. “You’re a performance artist.”
He does it all again.
“You’re saying we should get together because... what? We’re meant to be? We’re written in the stars?”
He nods profusely and places my hand over his chest. Over his heart.
I retract my hand, suddenly feeling like it’s on fire. “Wow, you’re a smooth dude,” I say, forcing my voice to sound light and bright, despite my racing heart. “Hitting on a woman while intubated? That’s some serious swagger, man.”
If eyes can smile, then that’s what Colby Morgan’s blazing blues are doing now.
I clear my throat. “Well, thanks for the flattering offer. And don’t get me wrong, this is the best conversation I’ve had with a man in three years, but I think we should keep things professional between us.”
He slides his hand in mine again, his facial expression telling me he disagrees wholeheartedly with my statement. Or, wait, does that expression mean he’s in pain again?
“Are you in pain, Colby?”
He nods.
I stand. “You want me to call the nurse?”
He shakes his head, gestures for me to sit again, and then touches his chest, like he’s gripping his heart.
I know he’s intending to be funny. He’s telling me my rejection of him has broken his heart. But a joke like that isn’t funny in a hospital. So that’s what I tell him.
Immediately, the humor on Colby’s face vanishes. His hand on his heart sags. And I know in my heart of hearts, he just realized he wasn’t actually joking: he’s genuinely in the depths of the worst emotional pain of his young life.
My heart aching along with his, I grab Colby’s hand and squeeze, suddenly feeling called to fix this brave and beautiful man. “Colby,” I whisper softly, my eyes trained on his. “I don’t know exactly what you’re going through, but I do know what it feels like to have your life unexpectedly turned upside down on a dime. I want you to know I’m going to do everything in my power to get you back to being you as quickly as possible. I’m going to fix you, Colby. Heal you. You can lean on me—literally and figuratively.”
Colby scrutinizes my face for a long moment. His eyes trained on mine, he makes a groggy writing gesture in the air.
“Sure thing,” I say. “I’ll be right back. Don’t run off on me, okay?” I head to the nurse’s station and grab a small white board and erasable marker and quickly return to my helpless hero. “Here you go.”
As I hold up the whiteboard for him, Colby writes something on it with great care, his eyelids fluttering with his acute need for sleep the whole time. When he’s done writing, I tilt the board to peek at his message... and my heart stops at the sight of it.