Page 19 of Dear Future Husband (The Dearly Written #1)

Trey

She’s awake, she’s awake, she’s awake.

Those words were on a loop in my mind from when I got that call from my mom to when I sat and talked to Doctor Brown.

She doesn’t remember. She doesn’t remember. She doesn’t remember , had then droned on in my head until I stood in front of her.

I missed her, and that feeling almost had me falling to my knees in front of her when I entered that room. I wanted nothing more than for Maybelle to wake up so I could officially meet the girl from my journal.

In earlier years, I’d been interested—lured in by the beauty and sweetness of the girl that always remained out of reach. However, after that preview of her true nature in the last week before the accident and reading the precious journal that hadn’t left my side once in the last year…

I was fucking infatuated.

I walked into that room with only one fear. That my Maybelle would be gone. I was scared the girl I’d gotten to know so intimately would be so far hidden behind her walls that there would be nothing I could do to get her back.

I clung to the hope that when she woke up, I would be able to persuade her out of hiding like I had before. Finally convince her to stay, but with no memories—I dreaded that part of her was lost.

I was thankfully mistaken.

She was just as beautiful as I remembered, and those damned blue-green eyes ripped the oxygen clean from my lungs, making it almost impossible to communicate. The girl in that hospital bed was the words in my journal personified.

I thought I couldn’t get enough of her before, but now… I was in trouble.

Soon after Maybelle and I were done getting reacquainted, Mom came back into the room. She and I invited Maybelle to come home with us, stay with us for the night or however long she would like.

She agreed with a shrug.

While Dr. Brown wrapped up his final inspections, Mom ran to grab Maybelle some clothes from the house. As soon as she was back, she helped dress Maybelle in a pair of black sweats and one of her old blue tee shirts.

Per requirement of the hospital and the lack of muscle to keep her upright without assistance, we rolled Maybelle in a wheelchair out into the now sunbathed hospital parking lot.

For the next couple of weeks, Maybelle would require our help in moving around as she rebuilt the muscle and mobility in her limbs. A physical therapist would be visiting my mother’s home four times a week for the following few weeks to exercise and strengthen Maybelle to get her back on her feet.

Once we wheeled her out to Mom’s little Corolla, I bent down, wrapped an arm around Maybelle’s waist, lifted and worked to lower her into the passenger seat. I noticed the pink blush of her cheeks, my skin mirroring hers and heating up the back of my neck .

Before she could fully be seated in the car, Maybelle tripped over her useless feet, but it only took me a handful of the waistband of her sweats at the hip to pull her flush against me and have her stabilized again.

Her hand on my shoulder tightened in reply.

I slid her a sidelong glance, expecting to see that sassy smirk I met in the hospital room, but her face was drawn, eyelids wavering. She was already exhausted.

My chest stiffened with apprehension. Once she was folded into her seat, Maybelle tried reaching over her shoulder for the seat belt, but I already had it, pulling and reaching over her to click it into place.

I crouched outside her door looking at both my mom, who now occupied the driver’s seat, and Maybelle, who looked on the edge of falling back into a never-ending sleep.

“Are you alright, May? Are you comfortable?” I asked.

She eased her head up, and down, the slow movements betraying that she may be in pain. I looked at my mom, ready to argue that she should go back inside the hospital, but my mom knew me too well.

She wore a comforting smile and mouthed, “Breathe. Everything is alright.”

I heaved a deep, slightly relieving breath. “Drive safe. I’ll pick us up some breakfast and meet you both at home.”

Mom nodded, still smiling, but Maybelle’s head was already propped back against her headrest, her eyes screwed shut. I stood up and shut the door, concentrating on remembering how to breathe.

I arrived with the assortment of pastries from a bakery down the road for the three of us, but to my dismay, Maybelle was already sound asleep on the deep cushions of the living room couch.

Mom informed me that Maybelle had slept the entire car ride, woke up to walk with her up into the house until the sofa and was once again out like a light as soon as her head rested on the cushions.

I tried to ignore my screaming stress as Mom, and I ate a few of the baked goods I had picked up. Mom soon left me. She had worked that night and had to get at least some sleep in before she needed to get ready and head out for her next shift.

After she went to bed, I approached the sofa where Maybelle slept like the dead, not like she hadn’t just slept for a whole goddamned year. I was so tempted to shake her awake, but I stopped myself. Instead, I sat in the armchair right next to her.

I reclined the chair back and was lulled to sleep, watching a few of her curls shudder from the small, even puffs of her breathing.

***

I started with a jolt, my eyes first darting to the girl who continued to sleep soundlessly on the couch, to the night dark windows, and finally my mother, who was coaxing me awake.

“Hey honey, you can keep sleeping. I just wanted to let you know I’m headed to work.” She kissed my forehead. “Call me if you or Maybelle need anything.”

Still groggy with sleep, I nodded, bleary-eyed. Then she was out the door. I sat up in the armchair, stretching my cramped body.

Peering over at the still slumbering girl, who looked like a dream as she slept on my couch. She was in my home and not in a hospital bed surrounded by blank walls and machines. I sighed a relieved breath.

The comfort of her in my world was fleeting because she was still sleeping, and watching her eyes closed and soft breaths continue to ruffle her curls made me nauseous.

I felt trapped back in those first weeks of waiting by her side, face mangled, tubes and wires everywhere.

My body viciously shuddered, driving me upward and to her side.

I knelt beside the sofa Maybelle was curled atop of, on her side with her hands cuddled up under her chin.

I wasn’t blind with stress enough to miss that she looked a lot more alive, sleeping like this than she ever had in the last year—which filled me with an ounce of relief—but it was not enough to stop me from placing a hand to her shoulder.

I started by nudging her softly, but when she didn’t stir, I pressed against her and rocked her shoulder back and forth.

“Maybelle?”

Her face tightened, scrunched, and her whole body went taut in reply. I paused my efforts and removed my hand from her.

A breathy “no” left her lips hitched with a whimper.

I lifted my other hand to the top of her head, stroking down her frizzy curls from her face. “You’re okay, May, I’m here.” We were face to face now, with me brushing her hair with my fingertips.

Another sad noise escaped her.

“Maybelle,” I called with a bit more volume and force. Suddenly, her eyes fluttered open.

Blue-green perfection. I was so captured by those beautiful eyes that I failed to see her body move—until her knuckles were crunching up and into my nose.

“Oh, damn,” I cursed, leaping away from the golden-haired ninja and sprawling across the floor onto my back. I held my face, vision blurry with trapped tears. In my watery sight, I could tell Maybelle was now sitting up, her shoulders encasing her neck as she cringed.

At least… I thought she was cringing until the woman started giggling. I peered up at her from the floor, hand still over my nose. I prayed it bled, so I didn’t have to feel like too much of a wuss as a tear or two escaped to the tops of my cheeks.

“Sorry, is your nose alright?” she asked, her question sandwiched between soft chuckles she was obviously trying and failing to hide.

I couldn’t help but smile. “What’s so funny?”

She shrugged, her full lips disappearing as she pinched them together. I dropped my inflamed nose, sat up from the floor and blinked away my watery vision.

“Oh, Mayhem,” I hummed.

Her giggles stopped. An eyebrow quirked in query. “Mayhem?”

I shook my head, more laughter spilling from me in remembrance of one of my favourite moments. My mirth died off abruptly as I realized, only I could remember that moment.

That week no longer existed for her.

“Déjà vu,” was my blunt response.

I stood from the floor and headed to the kitchen, ignoring her questioning looks. I woke her only to make sure she was okay, but now that she was awake, I didn’t want her to fall back asleep just yet.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

“Starving.”

I opened the fridge door and called back to her, “There’s cold pizza.”

“Pepperoni?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Perfect.”