Page 61

THIRTY-EIGHT

COURTNEY

There’s a knock on the door before it opens and Auguste peers inside. He smiles right as a deep familiar voice asks, “Everything okay?”

Dad.

I push to my feet, fixing my jeans and t-shirt as Auguste walks in, straight to me.

“Figured we could do with some back up,” he says, hugging me.

“You called my dad?”

“Yes.”

“But… when?”

“Last night.” He pulls back to look at me. “I don’t know what to do right now, and I can’t not do anything, Court. So, I called him because he’s your dad and he cares.”

I glance over his shoulder, to find Dad standing just inside the closed door. Hands on his hips, shoulders pulled back…

“Hey, Tig,” he says with a nod.

“Hi, Daddy.” I wave back as Auguste, chuckles, “Tig?”

“Tigger,” is all I mutter as I meet Dad in the middle of the room.

I know he’s going to ask why my dad nicknamed me after the hyper, overly chipper character, and the reason is pretty basic. When my dad was around, I was happy and enthusiastic about everything. From the moment he walked in the door, I could not stop talking to him and hounding him with questions.

Dad closes his arms around me without a single word, and that same overwhelming sensation that suffocated me when Auguste found me, undoes me now .

“Oh, honey…” he coos, rubbing my back—the way he used to when I was a child. “Your mom is going to be okay.”

I nod into his chest with a snort. “I was mean to her. I… I…”

“There isn’t a mean bone in your body, Courtney. Arguing with someone isn’t being mean, honey.”

“But it’s my fault that she was so upset that she crashed and?—”

“You weren’t driving her car, so no, it’s not your fault.”

“Martin said it is. He said I did and now he won’t let me see her. And I just… I just need to see that she’s okay. That I didn’t hurt her…”

“Court—”

“What if she dies?” I push away from him as the possibility really settles in. “What if I’ve killed my mom and?—”

“Court.” Big hands grip my hips and spin me into a hulking brawn. “Enough, Snow.”

“Augus—”

“ Enough .” I balk at the stern tone. “Everything that asshole said is wrong and we are not giving it space or time.”

“She hasn’t woken up, Auguste.”

“Because she’s sedated.” His hands grip either side of. my face. “Remember what I said, they do that to help the brain recover.”

“I looked it up, and sometimes they don’t wake up. They just… just… they stay like that until…”

“Your mom is going to wake up,” is all he says with a tone so final that I can’t argue.

When I nod in agreement, he rewards me with that gentle smile that disarms every part of me and short circuits my brain to ash.

“We got this,” he tells me, spinning towards my dad.

He’s already pacing with his phone pressed to his ear, barking instructions about getting hospital administrators involved. There's fire in his voice, that protectiveness I remember from when I broke my arm falling out of a tree and he almost sued the parks department for letting it grow crooked.

Which is absurd because no one can control the way a tree grows. The same way the hospital administration can’t do shit about me seeing my mom because the law is the law . And I’ve already had Delilah’s mom, their biggest donor, Ashley Boseman-Brooks up the administrators’s asses, and nothing.

I don’t say anything though. I simply stand and watch my dad fight my corner while Auguste holds me .

Turning in his arms, I wrap my arms around his middle, pressing my cheek to his chest, right over his heartbeat.

So steady and strong.

As always, when I look up at him and he’s already watching me like I’ve hung all the stars in his sky. The same way he’s lit up my world.

He’s become my world.

And I can’t contain the magnitude of it. I can’t. I just…

“I love you.”

Auguste’s eyes widen slightly. His throat bobs. “Court…”

The panic rushes in, and I’ve never felt so stupid, than in the aftermath of my words and his silence.

“I didn’t mean to…” I whisper, taking a step back. His arms tighten, tugging me back in. “Well, no, I… I did , but if you don?—”

He lifts me before I can finish, arms sliding under my thighs, pressing me to his chest like I weigh nothing.

“I love you too,” he whispers into my neck. “I fucking adore you, Courtney.”

“You do… you love me too…”

“Yes, but you pick your moments, Snow. Your dad is right there and all I want is to show you how fucking much I love you.” His words are hot and breathy in my ear.

“Auguste—” I stop mid-giggle at the high-pitched trill of my phone.

Verna.

It’s the first thing that crosses my mind when Auguste walks me to the couch and hands me my phone while he sets me on my feet, never letting me go.

“Verna?” I answer before I’ve put my phone to my ear.

“She’s awake, Courtney.” Verna tells me. “Your momma’s awake.”

“My mom?” A sob rips from deep in my gut. Relief buckles my legs when I look up and Auguste’s expectant stare is waiting. “My mom’s awake.”

A smile cuts his face as he instantly sits me on the couch and goes to grab my sneakers from the bedroom while Verna gives me the details she knows and I pass them on to my dad.

When Auguste returns, he gets my sneakers on and pulls me to my feet.

“Let’s go, Princess,” he says, guiding me to the door with my dad following behind me.

I hate this place.

The hospital feels colder this time, like the walls are holding their breath while Dad and Martin argue and Auguste stands by, ready to step in each and every time Martin gets too close.

I’m too exhausted for this. For the back and forth of years worth of anger.

So, I do the only thing that makes sense. Grabbing Auguste’s hand, I tug him back and nod to the doorway of Mom’s room. Then I slip past Dad and Martin and rush inside, closing the door behind me quietly.

She’s awake. Head bandaged, face mottled in bruises. It takes me a moment to gather myself. She looks lucky to be alive and the constant beep of the machines around her are a godawful reminder of it each second I linger in the doorway.

Maybe Martin’s right. I shouldn’t be here. Distressing her. Reminding her of why she’s in the state she’s in.

Because of me. Because maybe I was harsh and unsympathetic… unaffectionate.

Her one open eye flashes to me when my phone trills in my pocket and I freeze.

It’s awful. The sight of her. The knowledge that my words and actions?—

“Hi,” she mumbles past her cut up lips.

All I can do is whisper back a choked, “Hi, mom.”

Then I stand there, staring like we’re strangers.

She blinks, hissing with her attempt to twist her body towards me. “Courtney…”

Nausea burns my stomach and my throat tightens as I rush to her side. And there’s only one thing I can say. “I’m so sorry.”

Her brow furrows. “What? Why?”

“I never meant to upset you. I didn’t want you to get hurt…”

“Courtney,” she interrupts, her voice thin and broken. “Not your fault.”

“But I yelled at you and you were crying… and I thought it was because of what I said. I thought?—”

“We fought,” she says, wincing as she shifts, her cool hand resting over mine when I grab the safety railing of her bed. “Me and Martin. I needed air. Space. I was speeding. Not thinking. Then he called. We fought. Again. I lost control of the car.”

Oh.

Oh my god.

Her fingers curl under my hand. “No seatbelt. No seatbelt.”

Before I can ask what she means, the door bursts open. Martin storms inside, angry and crazy.

“What the hell are you doing in here? I said?—”

“You said it was my fault,” I bark at him under my breath. I hate him. So much that I can’t see straight as I march over to where he’s standing with his entitled scowl and I shove him so hard he stumbles backwards. “You said I did it. I hurt her.”

“You di?—”

“Liar!” I shove him again and this time he grips my wrists. “It was you she was running from. You she was yelling at…”

With one firm yank, he drags me out of the room. Stupid move because the instant we’re out in the hallway, Auguste is on him and Dad is right there too. Verna also.

“Go on,” he spits at Auguste. “Live up to the statistics.”

“Piece of shit,” Dad pushes Auguste out of the way, stepping between him and Martin.

But he’s just… stupid. Stupid and arrogant. Ignorant.

“I should’ve known you’d end up with someone like him,” he sneers at me. “Trash finds trash.”

Trash finds trash.

The blood drains from my face. It’s all a blur as Dad pushes Auguste back mid-swing with Verna’s help and I launch forward. My fist cracks Martin's nose. One hard hit that ricochets up my arm.

“You little bitch! I’ll have security remove you?—”

“I’d love to see you try,” Dad snaps back.

“Oh shit.” I glance at Auguste as he inspects my throbbing hand and Verna steps in with one of her matronly, deadpan stares.

“This hospital doesn’t tolerate violence towards its staff and volunteers, Mr. Nolan. Our surveillance system will have recorded your attack on Miss Nilsson.”

“Attack? Who’s bleeding here?”

“Count yourself lucky to be breathing,” Auguste retorts, thumbs rubbing circles over my sore knuckles.

“You’re done,” Martin scoffs at me. “You are done. You are out. And if you think you’re ever coming back into our house after this?— ”

“Let me make one thing very clear,” Dad growls in Martin’s face. “The only reason I didn’t bury you for fucking my wife is because I wanted my daughter to have a relationship with her mother. But so much as breathe in her direction again, I will destroy you.”

Martin goes silent. That too familiar blue in the face scowl contorting his features before he pushes past Dad and Verna towards Mom’s room.

I hate him like I’ve never hated anyone in my life. And for the life of me, now more than ever, I don’t understand how Mom can be with a man like him when she left my dad.

He turns to me. Fire is still blazing in his eyes when he pulls me into his chest.

I hug him tighter than I ever have before, and we just are for a moment.

“Come back tomorrow,” Verna tells me. “I’ll ask the nurses to let me know when your stepfather isn’t here so you can visit your mom without any drama.”

“Thank you,” I tell her, threading my fingers with Auguste’s as we follow her out of the ward.

When we’re in the elevator, I glance up at Auguste. His brows are still pulled tight and he’s clutching my hand so tight my knuckles are burning.

Then I look at Dad and he’s the same. Tight brows, shoulders hulking… and I don’t know why, but I chuckle. When they both look at me with the same confused expression a giggle snorts out of my chest.

Because I don’t know how I’ve ended up here. But I do know that I’m never giving this up.