Undone Page 23

  A sob breaks free, and I gasp for air. “I love you, Reagan. And for the first time, I’m not afraid to admit it.” His voice breaks. His breathing is rapid and his chest heaves with each breath he takes. “I love you,” he says again, as if I didn’t hear him the last two times.

  “Go, please,” I cry and I hide my face behind my hands, embarrassed of my behavior. I love him and I need him, yet I push him away. Minutes later, I pull myself together and lower my hands to find he’s left me—just like I asked of him.

  The bright morning sun creeps through the slats on the small metal blinds in the hospital room. “Shit,” I mumble as the ray of sun hits me right in the eye. My hand fumbles around as I reach for the remote to adjust the bed, moving my head out of the direct line of sunlight that is determined to blind me.

  I push the button and elevate myself to an almost sitting position, but the pressure on my pelvis is too much and I quickly lower myself again. I press the call button on and wait for a nurse to come. While I wait I focus on trying to take deep breaths without my ribs hurting—but everything from my chin down still courses with pain. The door opens quickly and a nurse enters quickly with a boisterous “Good morning!”

  I offer her a quiet “Good morning” in return.

  “How are you feeling?” she asks warmly.

  “Can you adjust the blinds so the sun isn’t hitting me in the eye?”

  “Of course, and breakfast should be here soon. Are you able to sit up to eat?”

  “I don’t think so. I just tried to sit up, but the pressure on my pelvis and ribs is just too much yet.”

  “Okay, I’ll help you,” she says as she twists the blinds into a new position.

  “No, I’ll help her.” His voice is strong and demanding. He didn’t leave. He’s here just like he said he would be. The nurse looks at me and I offer her a small smile.

  “Well, then, you just call me if you need me,” she says as she leaves the room. Landon stands just inside the door, watching me. His eyes are fixed on me and he is determined to get his way.

  “I thought I told you to leave,” I snarl at him.

  “You did, and I told you last night. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “So it doesn’t matter what I want, huh? You’re just going to bully your way into my life even though I don’t want you there?” His eyes fall when I say those hurtful words.

  “I don’t believe you don’t want me here, Reagan. I think you’re hurting—badly. In fact, I know you are. But trying to push me away when you need me isn’t going to work,” he hurls back at me.

  “Stop it!” Gemma’s voice is sharp and loud and she pushes her way into the room. Uncle Mac stops at the doorway.

  “He’s right,” she scolds me. “You’re hurting, Reagan—and you have every right to hurt, but what you don’t have a right to do is push away someone who loves you because you’re angry. I made that mistake. It’s the biggest regret of my life. And when I finally realized that, it was too late.” Her eyes shift sideways to Mac, who stands with his hands stuffed into his pockets. Landon backs away from the foot of my bed as Gemma approaches.

  “Landon, I think maybe you should leave us alone for a little bit,” Gemma says. She walks over to him and pulls him into a quick hug.

  “Come on, boy, let’s take a walk.” Mac beckons him from the doorway. He looks tired, weak—and I know the cancer is breaking him down.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Landon says, looking at me as he walks backwards toward the door. He turns and meets Mac, shaking his hand, and they disappear into the hallway. I close my eyes and wait for the verbal beating that Gemma is going to hand out.

  “Don’t push him away,” she says quietly as she stands next to me. Taking my face into her hands, she leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead. “That boy…” She pauses and looks around the room before looking back to me. “You need each other.”

  “I need time,” I say, barely audible.

  “No. You need to let him love you. That’s all. Reagan, you’re a stubborn girl. You love him, and he just admitted he loves you. Lean on him. Let him lean on you. That’s what a relationship is all about. There will be hard times—and this is one of those times, but stop pushing him away,” she sighs loudly. “He hasn’t left your side in three days. He hasn’t slept, he’s barely eaten, and he almost caused a goddamn riot trying to get to you. He loves you,” she sighs. Although I feel like a child being scolded, I know Gemma is right.

  “Why do you always have to be right?” I smirk at her.

  “I’m not always right, Rea. I’ve learned a lot—I’ve made a lot of mistakes, mistakes I don’t want you to make.” She smiles softly at me.

  For three days, my room has been a revolving door of visitors, doctors, nurses, and coworkers. Now that the swelling around my ribs has subsided a little, the doctor wants one more round of x-rays to ensure I’ve only got bruising before they send me home. I still feel like hell, I’m not going to lie. This morning, I walked for the first time in four days, if that’s what you can call taking three steps. Breathing still hurts and to roll myself out of bed is pure hell.

  Landon has been a permanent fixture here and has only left twice to shower and change. We still haven’t really talked. I assume he’s giving me the “time” I requested without actually leaving me alone. It’s a bizarre situation—us. We haven’t said a word to each other in four days, yet he knows what I need even before I do. He anticipates and is prepared for everything. He has water ready when I’m thirsty, a pillow ready to prop up my head when I sit up—yet I never have to ask him for anything.

  “Today’s the day,” the doctor says as he sets down his chart on my tray table. “You’ve been cleared to go home, so long as you promise to take your pain meds and check back in with your primary care physician for regular check-ups to ensure you’re healing.”

  “I think I can manage that.” I smile back at him, excited to finally be free of these four white walls.

  “I expect at least another four to six weeks of recovery time before you return to work, Reagan. Maybe even consider reducing your hours for a while after that,” the doctor says as he checks the bruising on my ribs. “Stitches will come out next week.” He points to my head. “Call Doctor Lombardi’s office to schedule an appointment. Physically, you’ll start feeling better soon.” He pauses. “Emotionally, it will be much longer. Remember, this is just one chapter in your life. Turn the page and start a new one, Reagan.”

  “I will.” The room is quiet as the weight of those words settles in. Landon never takes his eyes off of me and Gemma sits quietly with her hands folded in her lap. The silence is uncomfortable and the doctor finally wraps up his orders.

  “No driving for a couple of more weeks and definitely not while on the pain meds,” he instructs. “I know you’re a doctor and you already know this, but I have to tell you anyway,” he says with a laugh and I offer him a small smile. “What are your plans for care when you get home?” he looks back and forth between Gemma, who has been a fixture in the chair next to my bed, and Landon, who hasn’t left my room for four days.

  Gemma looks at Landon, then to the doctor before she quietly announces, “She’ll be staying with me—for now,” she sighs. Looking back at Landon, she says, “Lindsay will need your help for a couple of more days.” He nods slowly in agreement.

  “Well, then, it looks like you’re all set to go. I’ll send for a wheelchair and here are your discharge papers.” He sets the stack of papers on the tray table to the side of my bed. “Take care of yourself and don’t push it.” He raises his eyebrows at me.

  “Thank you, doctor.”

  “Landon, can you help her while I go get the car?”

  “Of course,” he says quietly and we both watch Gemma shuffle out the door. I glance at the stack of clothes Gemma brought for me to change into, and grab the white tank top. Pulling it over my head, I’m careful not to touch my ribs.

  “Here, let me help,” Landon offers,
moving quickly to my side. He unfolds the black yoga pants and holds them low so that I can easily step into them. Pulling them up my legs, he’s careful not to touch my hips. “Are you okay?” he asks. I realize these are the first words we’ve spoken in days and I can hear the exhaustion in his voice.

  “Yeah. My pelvis is sore, but my ribs hurt more.” He drops a pair of flip-flops onto the floor and I carefully step into them. He holds my arm to help balance me and the mere contact from his touch sends my aching body into overdrive. I’ve craved his touch. He senses my need and pulls me carefully into a sweet and caring embrace. No words are said as he holds me in his arms—the only place where I feel at peace.

  Our moment is cut short by a light knock on the door. “Sorry to interrupt,” a soft voice says. A young girl pushes in a wheelchair and her eyes widen when she sees Landon. For someone who hasn’t slept in two days, he still looks like he stepped off the cover of a GQ magazine. His short hair is messy, but it looks like it was styled that way, and his two-day facial hair growth gives him a perfectly rugged look. His dark denim jeans are offset by a light grey t-shirt that make his eye color change from blue to grey and stand out against his tan skin.

  “Here,” he says as he pulls the soft black jacket over my shoulders so that I can slip my arms into the sleeves.

  “Thank you,” I say quietly as I take two small steps toward the wheelchair. He moves quickly, helping me sit down as comfortably as possible.

  “Ready?” the young girl asks, and I nod my head. She releases the brake on the wheelchair and begins pushing me toward the door. I look over my shoulder to see him with his back against the wall, his head hung.

  “Stop,” I say to the girl. “Can you give us just a minute?” I ask her. She looks confused, but steps around the front of the wheelchair.

  “Yeah, I’ll wait in the hallway. Just let me know when you’re ready.” She closes the door behind her.

  “Lan…” I don’t even finish saying his name before he’s standing in front of me. I push myself up from the stupid wheelchair and our eyes meet. I haven’t even begun to speak, but I’m overcome with emotions, making it hard to form the words I need to say.

  “It’s okay,” he comforts me. He’s holding onto my arms, his thumbs rubbing circles through my thin jacket.

  “I just need some time, okay?”

  His hands still and his eyes search mine for answers. “So what exactly are you asking of me?” he asks.

  “Just… give me some time alone,” I breathe.

  “Why?” he says, looking confused as his hands fall from my arms slowly. “Don’t run away from me, Doc.”

  “No one is running. I just need some time, okay? A lot has happened, and I just don’t know…”

  “That’s all I needed too, Reagan. Some time to let things settle and you accused me of leaving you,” he interrupts me. His voice is quiet, yet I can tell he’s frustrated, maybe even angry.

  “But I needed you.”

  “And I need you.” His voice breaks. His eyes search mine, pleading with me—begging me to change my mind. I wrap my arms around my waist and drop my eyes to my feet. “You know where to find me when you’re done needing time. I’m sorry I hurt you, Reagan, but two wrongs don’t make a right.” His voice is hushed as he backs away from me toward the door.

  “I’m sorry too,” I whisper, but never lift my head to look at him as he slips through the door and disappears.

  Days.

  Weeks.

  Nervously, I wait in this warm church. North Carolina summers are hot and humid and this church and its rickety air conditioning are doing nothing to cut the heat. I fidget with the buttons on my suit jacket as the low sounds of an organ begin to play. One by one, the bridesmaids and groomsmen file down the aisle, arm in arm. Lindsay is last, the maid of honor and Reagan’s best friend. She catches my eye and offers me a little wink as she mouths the words “love you,” and takes her place up on the altar.

  The entire church stands up and turns around when the familiar music plays. Bright light from the stained glass windows illuminates the aisle as she begins her walk. I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman. Her long dark hair is pulled up and a simple long veil trails behind her.

  When her eyes meet mine, she offers a simple, stunning smile. Arm in arm with her father, her blue eyes twinkle with unshed tears—happy tears. Peaceful contentment is what I see in her face when her father sets her hand in his. His not mine.

  I jolt awake, my heart racing and sweat trickling down my temples. I groan in frustration when I look at the clock taunting me. I wake up almost every hour on the hour. I haven’t slept well in weeks—since Reagan walked away.

  It’s been three weeks, twenty-one of the fucking longest days of my life. I haven’t seen her, or heard from her—but I think about her every goddamn second of the day. Every woman I see reminds me of her, except they’re not her. No one will ever compare to her. Gemma provides me with brief updates on her progress: she can sit for longer periods of time, her walking is improving, her ribs are still tender—but her heart is irreparably broken. So is mine. I am lost without her.

  It has taken every ounce of self-control to not call her, text her, or stop by Gemma’s to check on her. The human mind’s ability to fuck with you is simply amazing. I wake up to the scent of her, even though she’s not here. I feel her soft hands run across my body as I try to sleep, and I feel her presence even though she’s miles away.

  I stumble from my bedroom down the hallway, toward the kitchen, to get myself a glass of water. The light from the TV is on in the living room and I find Lindsay on the couch under a blanket, watching infomercials.

  “You couldn’t sleep either?” she says quietly.

  “Bad dreams,” I grumble. She pushes the blanket off her legs and pats the soft leather cushion next to her. “Sit down.” I sit next to her and she lowers the volume on the TV. “Still haven’t heard from her?” she asks.

  I shake my head.

  “You know,” she says, picking at the blanket. “It wasn’t too long ago that I urged her to fight for you—to not give up on you.”

  “She gave up,” I interrupt her.

  “No, she didn’t. She needs you to fight for her. You can tell her all day long how much you love her or care for her, Lan, but show her.”

  “Why do you always have all the answers?” I joke with her.

  “Don’t do anything stupid like hold a boom box blaring Peter Gabriel in front of her window, wearing a brown trench coat and green pants while standing in front of a 1975 Chevy Malibu, though.” She laughs. “But show her.”

  “The fact that you just recalled an entire scene from a movie by memory, down to the make and model of a fucking car, scares me.” We both laugh.

  “I’m good for useless movie information, plus you love me.”

  “Always, Linds.”

  Gemma was right when she told me I could find her at the beach. She sits in the sand, almost at the water’s edge, her long legs bent with her knees pulled up to her chest. The morning air is crisp, causing her cheeks and nose to pink slightly.

  “Ready to do this, big guy? Let’s go get our girl.” I rub behind his long, soft ears. Ollie, who I adopted and is now mine, gives my hand a little lick and stands up, his tail wagging violently. She saw me watching her from the table that sits high up on the bluff, so I’m not surprised when she doesn’t startle as the sand crunches beneath my feet as we near her.

  She turns to make eye contact with me, but then looks away. Her dark, beautiful hair whips around in the breeze, and I can smell the light hints of her perfume as I get closer. She stands and hesitates as I approach, wiping sand from her bottom.

  “Hi,” I say cautiously.

  “Hi,” she whispers back, looking down to her feet, then to Ollie, who stands next to me. My stomach flips when she drops her eyes from mine. For me, that is a sign of mistrust—hurt. My greatest fear, aside from losing her, is that I hurt her beyond the point of being able to
fix it.

  I’m at a loss for words. Weeks of emotions and feelings sit on the tip of my tongue, waiting to roll off, but I’m frozen in fear that she will reject me. For once in my life, I have to break out of my comfort zone, or I may lose the only thing that I have ever loved more than myself. I clear my throat and take a deep breath,

  “I love you.” It rolls from my tongue quietly. “I love you more than anything in the world.” I repeat it a second time so she knows she heard it correctly. She looks up at me cautiously. I told her in the hospital that I loved her, but for some reason, this time, it feels like she heard me—that maybe she believes me.

  “Do you still trust me?” I ask her. She has every reason to say no. I have walked away from her, pushed her away too many times to count. She has chased me until now and I have done nothing but push her further away.

  “I always have.” Her voice is quiet. I nod and exhale loudly and take a step closer to her.

  “I always thought I had the answers to everything. That I could never be wrong, but I was. I never thought I needed anyone, but I now know that’s not true, Reagan. I need you. These last three weeks without you have been a living hell for me. Whoever said that time heals all wounds is a fucking liar, because time has done nothing but suck the life from me. When you’re not with me, I can’t think straight. I physically hurt without you by my side. You make me want to be someone better, someone you deserve.” I reach out and pull her hands into mine.

  “Please come home to us. You are everything I want and need. I will give you ten babies if that’s what you want. I’d be fine with just two, but if you want ten—I’ll give you ten.” A small smile tugs at her full lips. “And I’ll buy you a house with a white picket fence and a tire swing that hangs from a giant tree in the front yard. I will give you the whole fucking fairytale, just come back to me.” I’m damn near begging her. My voice is shaking and full of emotion and for the first time in my life, I know. I know the path I want. I stand at those crossroads and I choose the road with her.