“Hey.”
Knitting his brows, he flopped his head in a hazy shake. “Not you,” he said.Huh?I felt the ridges of the scars on his palm through my pants as he rubbed circles on my thigh. “Tonight. The ice. Not your fault.”Oh.I doubted he’d have been so bold without thegood drugsas he continued, “You know, right? Not your fault.” He closed his eyes and exhaled thickly. “My fault. My…talking. Pushing. So sorry. Keep screwing up…with you.”
I moved my hand over his. I laced our thumbs, index, and middle fingers. My ring and pinky fingers curled over the stubsof his, and I squeezed, drawing his attention. He peered at me apprehensively. “No, Will. I told you.” Raising his hand to my lips, I kissed the back of it.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“You’re not screwing up with me. And it’s not all your fault. We just burn hot, I think, when we’re together. This thing we’re trying to get past…it’s a lot. And when you’re feeling better, we should actually talk about it. And you can tell me your story. All of it.”
I’d realized over long hours in the waiting room that I’d allowed my fears and resentments to fuel me for too long. I didn’t want to be that brittle live wire anymore. It wasn’t me.
“I’d like that,” Will said, appearing more focused than when I’d come in.
After a few minutes, his eyes drifted shut and my gaze fell to our hands. I traced my pointer finger along his scars. They crisscrossed across his palm and the back of his hand like a pineapple. When he didn’t stir, I continued my exploration over his ring finger. About an inch remained, up to the first knuckle. The pinky had been severed entirely, a small mound of scar tissue the only sign it had ever been there. “What happened, Will?” I spoke quietly. A question to myself.
“Accident.” Will surprised me by responding. He took a deep, slow breath, eyes remaining closed. “I’ll tell you when I tell you…everything.”
I nodded even though he couldn’t see. “Sorry I got so upset I knocked you down.”
“Not your fault,” he mumbled, his hand slipping from mine as fatigue claimed him.
“When we’re back at the house, we’ll talk. I don’t want to be mad at you anymore.”
I wasn’t sure if he heard those last words as his breathing grew steady and even. Watching him asleep in the hospital bedreminded me of those bleak seconds on the sidewalk when he’d been unconscious. I’d known in that instant I’d been fooling myself about not wanting to hash things out with Will.
Because I finally understood that he’d lost something five years ago, too. He’d lost the possibility of us, just as I had.
Will had never once tried to minimize his lie or his other actions, and he never once told me I was blowing things out of proportion or that I didn’t have the right to feel the way I did. He’d never done anything other than continue to tell me how sorry he was, to humble himself and ask for my forgiveness, to let me know he’d wait for it, even as I insisted it would never come. To show me in every possible way he thought I was worth fighting for.
I returned to the waiting area. Even though Will slept, James wanted to see him before we left. “I can give him a fist bump while he’s resting,” James said. “I’ll feel better if I see him with my own eyes.”
I smiled at the sweet man who would soon be my brother-in-law.
After James disappeared into the ICU, Marley asked, “Did Will say anything? Before he fell asleep?”
“Yeah. You were right. He wanted to tell me it wasn’t my fault.”
She made a humming noise. “That’s it?”
“C’mon, Marls.” I slumped in the chair next to her. “You know that’s not it. But I’m not ready to tell you yet.”
She patted my wrist. “Maureen, you don’t owe me your secrets. But you’re my big sister, and I love you. Whenever you want to talk, I’m here.” Her cheek ticked. “You know, when I was giving you heck about bringing a date to the wedding, I honestly had no clue about any of this. I wouldn’t have teased you if I’d known the situation was…complicated.”
“Don’t worry about it. How about we table the conversation for tonight? I’m dead on my feet.”
“Same,” Marley said, tipping her head onto my shoulder and yawning.
A minute later, I snuck out from under her arm, needing to stretch the tension from my legs. I paced, and eventually found myself in front of another vending machine, deciding to complement my Twix with a seventy-five-cent Diet Coke. Drinking a soda at three a.m. wasn’t an issue. Years of working odd hours at Kolya’s translated to caffeine not affecting me.
Now that I’d spoken to Will, I felt more relaxed, able to focus on something other than worrying about him. And I had the perfect task to distract myself.
Pulling out my phone, I opened the camera app to the video setting and grabbed some quick footage of the empty hospital waiting room, being careful to avoid filming staff or anyone who might wander by.
Talking to Marley and Katy yesterday solidified my plan to make some fresh content forFashion Vibes with Francescaand capture the spirit of Coleman Creek. A holiday tour of small-town America might not be totally in line with a fashion-oriented YouTube channel, but I didn’t care. Almost anything could be connected to the concept of style, and maybe viewers would be interested in finding out exactly where Francesca’s vibe had come from.
I knew this meant my worlds colliding, likely my identity unmasked, but with Kolya’s in my rearview, it was time for Francesca and Maureen to be the same person.
I filmed the vending machine, the paper snowflakes, the Christmas tree, the months-oldPeoplemagazines, and a low table with photocopied coloring sheets and half-broken crayons. The linoleum and chairs in the main waiting area looked newer, but the wall behind the reception desk still had wood paneling, unchanged since my childhood.
