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Chapter Fifty-Five

O ver and over and over. Repetition. Cycles.

There was a reason why the same thoughts raced through my brain at all times, and my anxieties played on a constant loop.

It was because I was living in the same cycle over and over. My bad scenarios weren’t a matter of if they might happen but a matter of when. I knew that as I stared down at my mother’s comatose body, hooked up to more wires and machines than I could count.

She’d been doing well. I’d talked to her just a day ago. Or maybe two?

I let my head fall into my hands. Two days was apparently plenty of time to drink yourself into needing to be sedated.

I didn’t fully understand everything the doctors were saying, only that her body had gone into some kind of shock from not having alcohol in her system. They said it can happen when someone dependent stops drinking suddenly—but in her case, it wasn’t like she chose to stop. Either she ran out, or her body just got too sick to keep going. And that was enough to send everything spiraling.

Seizures. Skyrocketing blood pressure. Heart failure.

I couldn’t fathom it.

Her body physically craved alcohol so strongly that it was trying to destroy her when it wasn’t in her system anymore. Part of me was heartbroken. But another part of me, that angry monster that lurked inside, was furious that she let her addiction get to a point where not having a drink would kill her.

That was why I never felt safe or secure. The reason it was so hard for me to let my guard down. She was the one who was supposed to protect me from the world, not the reason I was afraid to really live in it.

And because of that, I ruined everything with Liam. And then I took off from the game tonight. I was sure he was sick of me running and crying and all the emotional whiplash I was sure I had given him. I wouldn’t blame him if he was done with me for good after this. Even as a friend.

The room was dim, and I was glad for it. It hurt too much to see her like this. I’d seen her barely conscious or passed out from alcohol. But now it felt eerie, like she was gone for good.

The doctors had medicated her into the state of sedation she was currently in, but I was worried that this was something she wouldn’t wake up from. Part of me wondered if I’d spoken to my mom for the last time without ever knowing it. The thought had tears springing to my eyes all over again.

Alone, again.

I was always alone.

Until the nurses came in, just passing by. A round on their shift. Nothing memorable or special. Even though my world was crashing down around me, this was routine for them.

So, I tried to pull myself together.

“Is she going to be okay?” I asked again, begging for reassurance that no one had been able to concretely give.

As always, I was met with a tight-lipped response that did little to settle my nerves.

“I don’t want to lie to you,” a man in a white coat said. “Your mother is critically sick.”

I felt it like a punch to the gut.

“We’re doing everything we can, and there’s a possibility of recovery, but she’s not out of the woods yet.”

I nodded grimly, staring up at him with a trembling lip.

“But there’s still a chance, right?”

“Yes.” He nodded, looking at me with something like pity. “There’s a chance.”

That’s all I needed. Just a shot at everything being okay. I just needed her to make it through.

I stared up at the muted television playing in the corner of the room, if only to distract myself. I didn’t want to watch as they cared for someone who, by all accounts, should be able to care for themselves.

The Harbor Wolves game was playing. The one I’d been at just an hour ago. It was hard to believe that I’d been there, watching Liam play the game of his life, only to now be sitting here, watching my mother fight for hers.

I scanned the figures, so impossibly small on the screen, looking for the number twenty-six. They moved so fast it was hard to tell, but after a few moments of searching, I started to panic.

Where is he?

They wouldn’t take him out of the game. He was the star player. He’d been on fire tonight. He was going to secure their win.

“Can I turn this up?” I looked to the nurse for confirmation.

“Of course,” they confirmed, nodding toward a remote on the bedside table.

I clicked it a few notches up, just enough to hear faint murmurs of the announcer’s frenzied voice.

“There’s never been a game like this in all my years,” one said with an almost manic energy. “The Harbor Wolves are still holding it together and coming out ahead even after the departure of center Liam Brynn.”

“What?” I asked out loud.

The nurse looked over and huffed a laugh.

“Crazy, right?” he responded. “They said he had a family emergency or something. Hell of a game to have to walk out of, though.” The nurse shook his head sadly.

Family emergency?

It couldn’t be Maggie. I’d been with her just an hour ago. She was fine. Was his mom fine? Was it the stress of seeing his dad?

I stood up, walking out of the room with urgency, needing to find out what was going on. I could call Maggie. She would know—

Phone in hand, I started dialing the number when I heard him.

“ Dwyer, she’s here for her mom,” his voice said, demanding. “Please, just tell me what room she’s in.”

There, just a few feet away at the nurses’ station, stood Liam Brynn. Still in his jersey and hair matted down with sweat, he looked every bit the fantastic hockey player featured on posters across the city.

The nurses looked a bit starstruck, staring up at him. I couldn’t blame them. I was feeling the same way myself.

“Liam,” I said, barely loud enough to be heard.

But somehow, he did.

He spun, facing me, looking me up and down before closing his eyes shut in what looked like relief.

“,” he breathed.

“You’re here,” I said, frozen in place.

He took a few wary steps closer, the same tension lingering in the air from all the unsaid words between us. But still, he was here. He’d shown up despite it all.

“I’m wherever you are,” he said.

And I threw myself at him.

“You shouldn’t have come,” I said, even though I was clutching him so hard he probably couldn’t get away if he tried. “You’re supposed to be at the game.”

“It doesn’t matter.” He held me back, smelling like the ice rink and Old Spice Gentleman’s Blend deodorant I knew he wore because of the time I peeked inside his medicine cabinet. “I’m exactly where I need to be.”

“I’m sorry I left,” I blurted out, staring up at him as if I could convey the depth of my regret with just a look. “I shouldn’t have—”

“, it’s just a game. It doesn’t matter,” he said.

“No,” I shook my head, “Not the game. Your apartment. The other night. I was scared, and I ran and—”

“It’s okay.” He shushed me when I started to get worked up again. “It’s not important right now.”

“It is important,” I assured him. “ You’re important, Liam.” The most important. “I—”

Oh God, was I going to admit it?

I had to. I couldn’t let myself be scared anymore. Not of my feelings, not of rejection, not of being left.

Because if I ran from those things, I’d end up alone anyway. And Liam deserved to hear just how much I felt for him.

“Liam,” I started again, staring into his eyes. “I lo—”

“ Dwyer?” a doctor spoke from down the hallway. My mother’s room.

I spun my head, staring at him with wide, terrified eyes.

“Yes?” I croaked out, but he couldn’t hear me. My voice was barely a whisper.

“We’re here,” Liam called out, an arm securely around my shoulder while the other was waving to get the doctor’s attention.

The doctor made his way toward us, eyes widening in surprise when they landed on Liam, but he smoothed his features after a moment, maintaining an impressive air of professionalism despite Boston’s runaway hockey player being right in front of his eyes.

“Your mother is—”

“Dead?” I blurted out, covering my mouth.

“Waking up,” he offered with a soft smile. “If you want to go see her.”

I looked at Liam, scared to leave and have him vanish in the meantime. He gave my hand a squeeze and nodded at me.

“Go,” he said, “I’ll be here.”

So I did, nodding at the doctor to lead me to her.

“She’s going to be groggy for a while,” he explained, walking beside me. “The sedation is still wearing off, so she might fall back to sleep soon, but you might get a few minutes to talk to her.”

“So, what does this mean? That she’s waking up?”

“She’s stable for the most part, but there are things we’re keeping an eye on,” he said, causing hope to bloom in my chest. “She’ll still be here for a while, but if all goes well, she might be moved out of the ICU soon.”

And then we walked in, and I saw my Mom sitting up, blinking at her surroundings as if she wasn’t quite sure how she got there.

“Mom,” I said, a million pounds lighter at the sight of her blue eyes open once more.

“?” she asked, stretching her body away from the wires and cords that connected her to the machines.

Her voice was dry and brittle from disuse, but it was her.

I ran beside her bed, holding her hand as a few tears of relief escaped my eyes.

“I’m so happy to see you,” I told her.

“I was dreaming about you,” she said, disoriented. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Mom.”

And I did. Not her physically, but mentally.

I missed having a lucid moment with her, where I knew she was in the right frame of mind to remember what we were talking about. I missed all the moments we’d lost to her drinking.

But maybe, maybe, that was all over now.

This had to be rock bottom. She’d been sedated, on oxygen. And she’d survived it for a reason. This was our second chance, I knew it. I felt it.

But for now, she needed to recover. She needed to rest. And when she slipped back into sleep, I stayed right beside her.

“I’ll be right here,” I told her, as her eyelids started to flutter.

We had all the time in the world to fix what had been broken.