Page 62 of All I Have Left

EVIE

“ I don’t care. I’m not leaving Birmingham until Grayson leaves with me. I’ll sleep on the street if I have to.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Frankie tells me. “Mom was able to get a suite at the Marriott next door so you can stay there with her and I’ll be up between shifts.”

Frankie and I have been discussing what happens next.

Where do we go from here? Pinckard is three hours south.

I can’t make that drive every day to check on him and honestly, there’s no way I’m leaving him.

Even if this surgery goes well and there are no more complications, Grayson’s still looking at another four weeks in the hospital from what Frankie tells me. No way I’m leaving him here.

Any minute Leigha is going to come into my room and tell me they’re going to wake him up to test his brain function. I know it’s not waking him up permanently, but the idea that he will open his eyes is all I care about. I just want to see those beautiful brown eyes.

“You have to eat,” Ethan says, barely looking at my face. He’s been in my room three times since Sunday night and has yet to make eye contact with me .

I stare at the IV in my hand. The one giving me yet another dose of antibiotics in hopes that I’ll be discharged tomorrow.

I’m finally in a room with a window and I can see outside.

It’s bright, too bright for my mood, the summer sun hanging low in the sky.

I check the time again. It’s five o’clock.

Why haven’t they come and got me yet? “I’m not hungry and every time I eat,” I tell him, “I can’t keep it down.

” I look to Frankie. “It’s been eighteen hours.

How come they haven’t come and got me? Do you think they did the test without me there?

” I hadn’t seen Julia in a couple hours.

Maybe she decided I shouldn’t be there. Would she do that?

“I’m sure they’ll be here any minute.”

“Eat,” Ethan growls, pushing crackers my way with a flick of his hand.

“I’ll just throw up again.”

“It’s the nerves,” Frankie notes, handing me the ice water on my tray. “Try some water.”

“Or the fact that she hasn’t been fucking eating and her body is going into shock,” Ethan grumbles, shifting his position in the chair. He’s been a dick all week. “You realize you’re borderline septic, right?”

Anger pulses through me. “Frankie, can I talk to Ethan alone for a few minutes?”

“What?” he barks, rolling his eyes as he slumps back against the chair he’s seated in, his cell phone lying on his stomach as he stares at the ceiling. “What did I do?”

Her eyes narrow at her fiancé as she reaches for her diet Coke. “You’re being a butthead lately.”

“Butthead?” he mouths to me, rolling his eyes again and tossing a wadded-up paper towel at her head as she leaves.

When Frankie closes the door, Ethan groans. “I don’t need a fucking lecture so if that’s what you’re doing, save your breath.”

I eye him suspiciously. “So she gave you one already?”

He still won’t look at me. “No, Mom did. ”

“I’m not surprised she did. You’re being a turd. What’s your problem?”

That’s the moment he meets my eyes. At first, he doesn’t say anything.

He stares at my face, more than likely the bruises I know are there.

I’ve yet to look at myself in the mirror—afraid actually—but I can imagine what I look like isn’t good.

Ethan’s jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing.

“What the fuck do you think my problem is? Shane raped you. He tried to kill Grayson and news flash, it’s not looking good.

” He flips his hand up, gripping his phone tighter, his voice chillingly cruel.

“He keeps trying to die these last couple days.” I flinch at his harsh words, as if I wasn’t already aware of that.

His callous words turn my stomach and flip my heart around in my chest. It feels like it does a somersault into my throat.

“Do you want me to keep going? It’s fucked up, Evie.

All this shit is fucked up and that motherfucker deserves to die, not jail.

So excuse me if I’m not pleasant. I think I have a goddamn right to be upset. ”

There’s a blip in my chest, heat rolling through me.

I think about what he’s saying. I try to decipher the meaning behind it.

A lot of Ethan’s frustration boils down to the fact that I’ve hidden so much from him the past year.

I didn’t tell anyone Shane was hurting me and if I had, maybe all this could have been avoided, but knowing Shane, I don’t think he would have stopped.

It would have been my life he tried to take.

“So it really boils down to Shane going to jail, and not dead?”

His eyes angle back to mine, his jaw clenching and unclenching. Frustration digs a line into his forehead. “Yes!”

“Do you think this is better?” I ask when his glazed green eyes glare intently on mine, causing my words to falter on my lips. I let out a troubled breath. “Ethan, he has to live with this guilt his entire life.”

“Guilt?” He snorts. “You and I both know that piece of shit holds absolutely no guilt over this.”

He’s probably right, but I can’t think about that at the moment. I don’t want to. Shane is no longer my concern. He’s in jail, he confessed, I have to keep my attention on Grayson.

The door to my room opens and Leigha emerges pushing a wheelchair. “Would you like to take a little trip with me?” she asks, exhaustion heavy in her eyes. She’s going on a forty-eight-hour shift, as is Dr. Nehls, all to keep an eye on Grayson.

Ethan uses the moment to disappear from the room, Julia watching him with concern. She looks to me as he passes by. “Is he okay?”

I shrug, pushing myself out of the bed and into the wheelchair.

“He’s being a brat.” My T-shirt I’m wearing slides off my shoulder as I sink down into the chair.

I can’t imagine how much weight I’ve lost in the three days we’ve been here.

I look up at Leigha, who is untangling my IV that wrapped around the arm of the wheelchair.

“Have you woken him up yet? Did I miss it?”

“You didn’t miss anything. His temperature is up a bit, but not bad. It’s normal for patients with head injuries to run a temp because the pressure prevents them from regulating it.”

Leigha guides me down the hall and into an elevator with Julia. I have so many questions, I feel like I haven’t given Julia time to ask any, but she does in the elevator. “Once you back off the sedation, how long before he wakes up?”

Leigha hits the button for the second floor where the neuro ICU is. “Grayson’s young so more than likely only a few minutes. Most of the time it’s the older patients that hang on longer.”

Minutes. I can see his eyes open in minutes. My heart is beating so hard in my chest it reminds me of that first night I saw him in town. And to think about it, it was one month ago today. It’s amazing how quickly life can change.

It takes us about five minutes to reach Grayson’s room.

Inside, it’s the same machines keeping him alive that were in there earlier.

Dr. Nehls is standing in front of the ventilator.

He smiles at me as Leigha helps me up. “Julia, why don’t you stand over there.

” He points to Grayson’s right side. “And Evie you come stand by me. ”

With unsteady legs, I stand and take the few steps toward him, aware of every beep and noise the machines are making. The room’s still dark, with very little light leaking in, and I imagine this is by decision.

Leigha and another nurse push buttons on monitors and Julia cries. Watching her, I think maybe this is the first time she’s been this close to his face and the side he’d been hit on. Now her view is of the thick bandage on his head and the invasive-looking wires coming from his scalp.

“It should only be a few minutes and then I’m going to ask him some questions.” He looks to Leigha. “Why don’t you give him some eye drops.”

She does.

And then we wait. It’s four minutes and thirty-two seconds when Grayson stirs in the bed. His hands move first, but they’re constrained. “Usually their first reaction is to pull the breathing tube out,” Dr. Nehls notes when I glance at Grayson’s hands twitching.

The next thing that happens is him breathing over the ventilator. Leigha touches her hand to Grayson’s chest. “Just relax, Grayson. You’re okay,” she soothes, rubbing her hand in a calming manner, her voice tender.

His legs move next, just the right one.

I breathe in slowly, trying to control my own breathing. I stand, frozen, immobilized with fear. He didn’t move his left leg. Does that mean he can’t?

I watch his face, every detail. The brow crease that forms, the flutter of his heavy lids. He fights it for exactly one minute. “Grayson, can you open your eyes for me?” Dr. Nehls asks, his voice calm and even as he stands closest to Grayson’s face.

My heart lurches, waiting.

His body twitches, then his hands again. With what seems like a lot of effort, his eyelids flutter again as Leigha continues to rub his chest softly. With how swollen his eyes are, I can’t imagine he’s going to be able to open them much, but he does .

For the first time in three days, Grayson opens his eyes in my presence. I burst into tears and notice at my cry, Grayson tries to move his head, his eyes shifting, searching for where the sound comes from, the heart rate monitor showing an increase.

Does he know it’s me? “I’m sorry,” I say, holding my tears in, trying to regain my composure.

At my voice, his fingers on his right hand move, as do his shoulders.

Dr. Nehls drops his hand to Grayson’s, his eyes on the monitors. “Grayson, can you squeeze my hand for me? Can you squeeze your right hand?”

I drop my eyes to his hand, waiting.

Nothing.

He blinks a few times, and I get a good look at his brown eyes. His left eye has a large blood spot on it surrounding his pupils, the right, much the same. Dr. Nehls repeats his question. “Grayson, can you squeeze my hand?”

Julia and I exchange a look, probably fear, but it’s quick. What if… no, I don’t want to think of the what ifs.

I watch his hand as the question is repeated a third time, Dr. Nehls’s hand in his. Grayson’s fingers close around his hand, the whites of his knuckles evident that it’s a good grip.

“Excellent.” Dr. Nehls nods and moves to Grayson’s feet, tapping his left foot first. “Now can you wiggle your toes for me?”

It’s takes a second, but he does. They continue to ask him basic questions.

He blinks a lot, moves his head around, searching the room.

He gives the doctor a thumbs-up and by his restless movements in the bed, I think he’s getting anxious.

It’s all a blur as to what’s said, what he does, but one part gives me hope.

It’s when I’m standing in front of him and I say his name. “Grayson?”

His eyes snap to mine, his head turned slightly, and while I think I see relief in them, I can’t tell. “I love you,” I whisper, reaching for his hand, squeezing it .

He returns the gesture, blinks and then turns away from me toward his mom. She smiles tenderly at him, touching her hand to his chest. “Keep fighting, baby. You’re doing amazing.”

“Does he know who we are?” I ask Leigha, who’s standing closest to me now.

“I’m sure he does. Grayson, do you know who this is?” Struggling, he shifts again in the bed, trying to lift his arms. His eyes find mine again. “Squeeze her hand if you know who she is.”

Immediately, his fingers close around mine, hard, reassuring.

I don’t care that he’s hooked up to machines or how long we’re in this hospital because this moment between us, the love in his eyes is evident.

My hands want to reach out and touch his face.

Comfort the fear so honestly portrayed in them and the warmth of his skin beneath my palms.

We’re asked to leave after that as they increase his sedation again. He becomes too restless, trying to fight to move. A slight spike in his cranial pressure indicates he’s in pain.

“We’re taking it hour by hour again,” Leigha tells us, escorting me back to my room.

Julia stays with me. “We’re going to get through this,” she tells me.

“I’m so nervous about him waking up.”

She breathes in slowly, reaching for my hand. “Why?”

“What if he remembers?”

“The accident?”

Heat rises in my chest and I nod, but deep down, I want to scream that it wasn’t an accident. It was a vicious attack Shane planned out.

“If he does, we help him through that too. This isn’t going to be easy, honey. This is going to take a lot of physical therapy and mental, for both of you, but if anyone can get through something like this, it’s Grayson. And you. Have faith in yourselves.”

Faith? Could I?

The truth is, I have to. It’s the only way we’ll make it.