Page 40

Thirty-Eight

Jensen

I ’ve never felt so tired in my life. My limbs feel like lead and I have to fight to keep my eyes open. There’s a doctor shining a light in my eyes, and my throat burns like I’ve recently swallowed fire. A machine beeps somewhere in the room, and I glance around to see my mother hovering nearby. Her eyes are rimmed with red and she’s holding a tissue under her nose. My dad is behind her, looking concerned and slightly angry.

I just want to go back to sleep.

“He’ll be transferred to the psych unit for monitoring,” the doctor says to someone else. Like I’m not lying right here—like I’m a child. “But vitals are strong, and I don’t see any signs of liver or kidney failure.”

“Thank God,” my mother mumbles as she starts to cry again.

“Mr. Miles, can you hear me?” he asks.

I grumble, fighting the urge to close my eyes again. As he talks, telling me what I’ve done as if I don’t fucking remember, I try to replay everything in my mind.

“You’ve ingested a near-lethal dose of diazepam, causing respiratory depression. We’ve administered an antidote, but we have to keep you here for your safety. Once you’re cleared, the psych unit can speak to you about discharge options.”

I nod, feeling shame creep up my spine.

It was still dark out when I made the decision. I remember thinking that it would just be better if I could just go back to bed and never wake up. It would be that easy. No more pain. No more memories. Just quiet.

Then I went to bed. As I lay there, feeling the effects slowly take over, I thought about Isaac. I wanted him to be my last thought. Our good times. Then, I distinctly remember the moment I changed my mind. I recalled all the promises I made him. Promises to never leave. To always be there for him, no matter what. How could I break those promises? How could I do this to him? I scrambled from my bed to the bathroom in a panic. I sobbed on the bathroom floor as I tried to expel every one of those pills from my body. By that point, I was too far gone to call 911. That’s when everything got blurry.

“Isaac,” I say with my voice like gravel.

“What’s that?” the doctor asks.

I don’t respond as I piece together moments from this morning. He was there. He was in my house. He held me and cried in terror. He called the ambulance.

He saved my life.

“Where’s Isaac?”

“They only let family back, dear,” my mother says as she pats my hand. The sleepiness wears off, and I’m fueled only by adrenaline as I try to sit up. My brow furrows and my nostrils flare.

“What?”

“Relax, Jensen. You can call him when the doctor releases you and we can take you home.”

“Where is he?” I reply with a growl. “He saved my life. Has anyone given him an update?”

The heaviness of the drugs weighs on me and my limbs collapse down onto the bed like lead.

“He should…be here,” I slur breathlessly.

“Sweetheart, you need your rest.” My mom pats my hand and I stare behind her at my dad standing alone. His brows are curved upward, and I give him a pleading expression.

“Please,” I murmur.

When he offers me a subtle nod, I melt into the bed. I’m just so tired. On an exhale, I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.

I wake up to the sensation of being punched in the stomach, or at least that’s what it feels like. With the soreness in my muscles, every inhale aches like I’ve never felt before.

Earlier, I had the remnants of a drug-induced high to cover the pain. Now, I’m forced to feel it all. My body revolts, angry at me for what I’ve done. My throat, my head, my lungs, my stomach. All of them are screaming in pain, and I’m forced to endure it all.

I should be grateful for this. Even in agony, at least I’m alive.

Lying in the dim room of the hospital, I feel every ounce of the pain like a sacrament.

With a groan, I lift my head and glance around in search of my mother. But she’s not here. There is, however, a man sleeping on the tiny blue couch next to the window. He’s about twice the size of that sofa, with his blue jeans and boots hanging over the arm. There’s a weathered old cowboy hat covering his face while he sleeps.

I smile to myself at the sight of him. He’s here.

Immediately, I’m assaulted by guilt for what I put him through today—or yesterday, or whenever it was. I hate that he had to endure that, not only finding me in that state but for almost losing me. I can’t explain or even fathom why I did what I did right now, but I know the reasons are buried deep within me. Seeing Derek triggered me in a way I can’t explain away.

I won’t put Isaac through this again. Which means I have a long road ahead of me.

I clear my throat, and he immediately stirs. Pulling his legs down from the couch, he lifts his cowboy hat and stares at me across the room. His eyes grow misty at once.

Then he’s rushing toward me to stand by my side.

“You’re awake,” he cries quietly as he holds my hand.

My mouth opens to utter something trivial, but I can’t find the ability to speak. There is too much to say. Instead, my eyes sting and moisten. Just staring at him, I try to convey every unspeakable thing I’m feeling.

He nods as if he can read my mind. As if he knows every little thing I want to say without me having to actually say it.

Then he launches himself at me until his face is in my neck and I can lift my heavy arms to hold him.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble as tears leak from my eyes. “I’m so sorry, Isaac.”

“That was the scariest moment of my life,” he whispers. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Words evade me. They’re just not enough.

I’m sorry is just two words. Three syllables. Seven letters. It will never be enough to convey this feeling in my chest. It couldn’t possibly express the different shades of remorse I need it to.

After a moment, Isaac pulls away and stares down at me. He has dark circles under his swollen eyes. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days and has been to hell and back.

“Isaac, listen to me,” I say, gripping his hand tight in mine.

“Please don’t,” he says, stopping me. Then, to my surprise, he climbs onto the hospital bed so he’s seated next to me. “Whatever you’re going through, I understand it’s a lot, but please, please, please don’t push me away again. Let me be here for you.”

Suddenly, I wish the physical pain were worse to distract me from how much it hurts to see that look on his face.

I try to sit upright and pull him closer. Touching his face, I swallow down the emotion building in my throat.

“I’m not pushing you away,” I whisper. “I’m sorry for doing that to you.”

“Then help me understand,” he begs. “Open up, Jensen. Tell me what happened.”

Opening up isn’t something I do easily. There is too much darkness hidden behind the fake smiles and confident facade, but I know Isaac is right. If I want to keep him, then I have to let him see everything that I am.

So I tell him everything. From the visit with Derek to the terrible things he said to me. The accusations. The blackmail. The slimy way he weaseled into my subconscious and knew all the right buttons to push.

I even confessed to going to Eternal Harmony four years ago. Donating church funds. Speaking at their conference.

I’m not proud and I expect him to walk out the door, but he doesn’t. He touches my face and sees the good in my soul, latching on to it like a raft out in a dark, endless sea.

“I’m so sorry he did that too, but he was wrong, Jensen. He can’t hurt you. Not really.”

“Yes, he can,” I argue. “He can hurt you . And nothing would devastate me more.”

“Can he tear us apart? Can he take away the one person in my life who understands me? Can you honestly say that one fucking guy can break us up?”

My brow furrows as I stare up at him. “No, of course not.”

Isaac leans forward and presses his forehead to mine. “Then he can’t hurt me. Not really. My job is just a job. Your job is just a job. But this…” He looks down at our clasped hands. And I see what he sees. Love. Family. Forever. “This is all that matters to me.”

My throat stings worse now, but for different reasons. Latching a hand around his neck, I pull him against me, wrapping him up as tightly as I can.

“I love you,” I whisper.

He repeats the sentiment, clutching tightly to my body. Then, I scoot myself over in the bed and he lies down next to me, his head on my shoulder. If I close my eyes, I can pretend we’re not in a hospital and there’s not an IV sticking out of my hand. We’re just in his bed or in a hotel or on his tour bus. Everything is fine.

But everything is not fine, and we both know it.

When a few minutes pass, and I feel ready to speak again, I stroke his head and squeeze him tighter.

“You know I can’t just go back to the way things were, right?”

He winces before he nods. “I know.”

“The damage they did runs deep, and I can’t risk this happening again. I’ll never, ever do this to you again,” I say as my voice grows raspy with pain.

He squeezes me tighter. “I know.”

“I’ll need to go away for a while. I want to be able to fully commit to you. I want to be able to come out without the fear of another spiral. This isn’t something I can just brush off anymore.” When I blink, a tear falls over my cheek, and it feels like a weight is pressing down on my chest.

I hate having to do this to him. I hate asking more of him. It’s not fair. But I know he’ll wait for me. I know he’ll support me every step of the way, but I also need him to understand the most important part.

“While I’m gone, I need you to do something for me.”

He sniffles and warm tears seep through my hospital gown and onto my chest. When he doesn’t respond, I continue.

“I need you to go back on your tour and do what you do best. I need you to focus on you, Isaac. I couldn’t live with myself if I got in the way of your success.”

“Don’t I have a choice in this? It’s my life.”

“You do. Of course you do. But I’m asking you, Isaac. Please. Let me get the help I need so that when I can be with you for good, I’m giving you the man you deserve.”

Turning my head, I gaze down at him with tears in my eyes. He looks up at me as he cries and I press a soft kiss to his lips.

“Will you do that for me?” I whisper.

“Of course I will,” he replies. “I’ll do anything for you.”

Isaac rests his head on my shoulder, and I close my eyes for a few minutes. I’m not as fatigued as I was earlier, but I can still feel the effects of the drugs in my system. It’s a terrifying feeling to know how close I was.

When the door opens and a nurse walks in, she stops in her tracks when she finds a six-foot cowboy in my bed. But with a shrug, she just continues to go about her business, checking my vitals.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Isaac mumbles as he rolls out of my bed.

“That’s okay, sugar,” she says with her sweet Texas drawl. “When I’m done, you give him all the love and cuddles you want. He needs it.” She runs her soft hand over my forehead and it pulls on my heart.

“I plan to,” he replies with a smirk.

“And his daddy didn’t cause that big ol’ fuss for nothing,” she adds as she takes my temperature.

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

Isaac is smirking like a fool next to my bed. “Your dad sort of caused a scene. It was pretty fucking cool.”

“He did?”

“He sure did,” the redheaded nurse replies before walking over to the window to throw open the curtains, revealing the morning sun. “I’ll let you tell him.” She winks at Isaac and I stare at him in amazement. My dad? Cause a scene?

“The psych doc will be back again in just a few to talk to you,” she adds before walking out, leaving us alone. I turn toward Isaac in anticipation of this story.

“One of the ladies up front wouldn’t let me come back to see you before they put you in the room. He came out threatening to file a discrimination lawsuit. She was shaking in her boots. It was incredible.”

He blushes a little as he sits back down at my side. But I can tell there’s some hesitation there too.

“I don’t think your mom is too happy with me, though,” he stammers uncomfortably.

“I don’t care,” I say with conviction.

“It’s your mom, Jensen.”

“I know, but…she and I have some things we need to work out on our own. I’m starting to realize that maybe she never wanted what was best for me. I just keep making excuses for her.”

He nods in contemplation. “Well, I wish I had a dad like that growing up.”

“I wish you did too,” I say, taking his hand in mine.

After a few minutes, he kicks off his boots and crawls back into bed with me.

“When do you have to go back?” I ask as I stroke his hair.

“I have a show in Charleston in two days,” he replies. “I’m supposed to be at dress rehearsal tomorrow.”

“I want you to go,” I say as I press my lips to his forehead.

“I don’t know if I can.” His voice is quiet, and he sounds so young. Sometimes I forget that he’s only twenty-eight. He’s been through so much in his short years. When he was forced to run away and be on his own at only seventeen, he was forced to grow up, but in a way, he preserved his youth at the same time. He will forever have that scared teenage boy inside him to protect.

“Of course you can,” I reply. “You got this far on your own, Isaac. This is your moment. Don’t let me or anyone else ruin that for you.”

“Will I be able to talk to you while I’m gone?”

“I don’t think so.”

“But if you need me, you’ll find a way to tell me, right?” he asks with a quiver in his voice.

“I promise.”

“I have two more months of this tour,” he says. “Our last stop is back here. Then I’ll be here, waiting for you, for as long as you need.”

I wince. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone or even where I’ll go at this point. It’s not something I can rush. Eight weeks feels so long, but if I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it right. Eight weeks for the rest of my life.

More if I need it.

“Play my song, baby,” I reply, kissing his forehead.

“I will,” he whispers. “I’ll play it every night.”

I don’t know how much longer it is until I drift off to sleep, but when I wake again, he’s gone. My dad is back, alone. They keep me in the psych unit for another two days for evaluation. The psychiatrist works with my dad to get me signed up for a treatment center called Pathways.

On my last day in the hospital, my dad brings me clothes, and I sit across from him at a small table in the cafeteria. He looks terrified, and honestly, I feel terrified. Whatever these next two months bring, I know they won’t be easy. I know it’s going to hurt, but I need to do it.

“Your mother is staying with her sister for a while,” he says after clearing his throat. And that’s all he says. I nod my head in understanding. I don’t ask any more questions because I don’t know if I can.

Moments later, the nurse comes to tell me that the car is here to take me. My father looks across the table at me with desperation in his eyes. Desperation to make things right. Desperation to save his son’s life.

With shaking hands, I wrap my arms around him for a tight hug. Then, I follow the nurse as she leads me out the door and into the car. No matter what the next phase of my life brings, I’m ready for it. For him . For us. For me.