She’s watching me, but her eyelids are droopy as if she’s groggy and dazed, and her beautiful face is still pale.
My hand hasn’t stopped holding hers, even while I was sleeping. The only thing I did stop doing was tapping ILU. Or maybe I was doing that in my sleep.
Seeing her…alive. Here. Her heart pumping in her chest. It’s all too much and not enough. My own heart stutters, weeps, rejoices, and for the first time in what feels like forever, my mouth curves into a smile. A real smile.
I sit up straight and tighten my hand around hers. “Hey, you’re awake. How are you feeling?”
“I hurt, but…I’m happy to be alive.” A drowsy smile flickers at the corners of her mouth, and her gaze roams over the room.Get Wellfloral arrangements fill every available surface. Their light scent cuts through the disinfectant-heavy air. “I’m assuming I’m alive and not in heaven.”
I chuckle, more out of relief than anything. “You’re definitely alive. Have you been awake long?”
“Only a few minutes. What about you? H-how long have you been here?”
“Since you came out of surgery.” I’m not sure if now’s a good time to tell her she’s been unconscious for the past four days.
“Surgery.” She sounds out the word as if trying to recall why she would need to go under the knife. “Because I was shot?” A whirlwind of emotions clouds her eyes.
“Do you remember what happened? How you got shot?”
“No. Not really. Only bits and pieces.”
“I’m not sure what happened either. Noah told me one of the men, Scott Moore, was arrested for killing your late husband. He didn’t tell me much more than that.” I stand and kiss her forehead. “Rest, and we’ll talk more once you’re feeling up to it.”
Talk about what happened while she was missing. Talk about us. Because I’m not going anywhere. And I’m not pushing her away like I did when she convinced herself that I belong to Olivia.
The only person I belong to is Jess.
I had accused her of running away from people who loved her, but she hadn’t been the only one to run, as Mom pointed out. Only instead of running away, I was happy to fix other people’s problems so long as I didn’t have to face my own emotions.
Jess nods, her eyelids sliding shut. They open wide…and slide shut again. This time she loses her battle to stay awake and drifts back to sleep.
I check the phone number Robyn texted me an hour ago. The number for a therapist she recommended. For me.
* * *
On Jess’stenth day in the hospital, I walk into her room to find Emily perched on the windowsill. That’s nothing unusual. All of Jess’s friends have been regular fixtures in her room since she regained consciousness a week ago.
The number of vases filled with flowers in her room has doubled in the past seven days. They now crowd the sill on either side of Em and are scattered about on every available surface. And in the spaces that aren’t packed with flowers,Get Wellcards are prominently featured—including the ones from Mom and Olivia. They each, individually, visited Jess briefly the other day and apologized for their behavior. It was the first step in healing what Cora had inadvertently damaged with her article. It was the first step in Jess and Olivia becoming the close friends I know they’ll eventually be.
And Mom is already talking like Jess is part of the family.
Olivia gave her sister a piece of her mind about what she did and how she almost cost Jess her life by giving away her location to the men bent on ending her life. Unfortunately, beyond her sister telling her off, there were no repercussions for Cora. Legally, she did nothing wrong.
Zara is sitting in the chair where I spent much of those first few days when Jess was hospitalized. Jess is on the bed, dressed in jeans, a cardigan, and a sling. She’s all smiles, probably because she finally gets to go home today. She’s just waiting for her discharge papers.
She’s possibly also all smiles because the media has thoroughly dissected news about who really killed her late husband as well as the charges Scott Moore faces. And people around Maple Ridge are realizing how wrong they’ve been about her. She’s not a dangerous offender like they made her out to be.
She’s a strong and beautiful woman who wanted a new start to her life, who wanted a chance to heal and move on.
The same thing any of us would want if we’d been in her situation.
A few of the people who’d canceled on me have phoned while Jess was recovering and apologized for being wrong about her. Not all of them have had the balls to do that, to admit their ignorance warped their perception of Jess, but I guess I’m not too surprised. Some people prefer to cling to their hatred and prejudice than to embrace the truth. Prefer hatred over love and acceptance.
Jess’s face isn’t swollen anymore. Only several faint bruises and some new scars remain on her forehead, chin, and cheek. Her body is a dense roadmap of cuts and scrapes, but they’re starting to get better.
It’s the scars I can’t see that will take a lot longer to heal.
Jess and I haven’t talked yet about what went wrong between us. We haven’t had a chance to do that. Not unless we wanted to be interrupted by the constant flow of people coming and going from her room.
