40. Dex

Chapter forty

Dex

M y head doesn't hurt the way it did the first few days I was in hospital, but the doctors still keep the room dark and quiet. When they do reflex tests, my hands and feet respond, but the neurons in my brain are misfiring and I can't make them move. Mum's confident I'll relearn, but she's not the one who can't move.

If I could talk, I'd ask for Britta to be here with me. I'd take back my no when Archie asked if he should call her. So, I guess it's good I can't remember how to form words. She shouldn't be here for this. Taking care of her mum is one thing, but I don't expect her to do the same for her fake husband.

Doctors are saying I won't surf again. If they're right—and I've got every unmovable limb to back them up—Britta's got no reason to stay with me. I don't need to be a US citizen if I can't surf. Mum's already talking about taking me back to Australia for rehab.

I don't care if Britta doesn't pay me back. I never wanted her to. As far as I'm concerned, we're square. She's got no obligation to a broken surfer who can't do the only thing he was any good at to begin with. Even if thinking about life without her is worse than thinking about life without surfing.

I was just settling into the idea that we might have a real future together. Then I made the stupid decision to duck dive under a ten-foot wave. The water was too shallow, and the wave had too much power.

Now I've got a lot of time to sit with the worst mistake of my life. When I'm not sleeping, the thoughts that fill my mushy brain are about how one mistake has probably cost me everything. My career. My Olympic dreams. My wife .

Archie, Mum, and Dad take turns staying with me, and I'm grateful to them. But things are pretty lonely in my head, which is where I live with the words that I can't make my mouth form. I have no idea how many days have passed since my accident. Night bleeds into day, and nurses and doctors blend together. I'm not sure if they've been here a hundred times already or if this check is the first they've made.

I only know my sleep is often interrupted with questions about how I'm feeling, brain and reflex checks, and meals made up of foods I should recognize but are mushier than my brain.

So, when I hear someone who sounds like Britta whisper my name, I keep my eyes closed. This is just one more misfire in my brain. If I open my eyes, Britta will be gone, and a nurse whose name I can't remember will stand over me instead, asking me to answer her questions by blinking.

Then I feel a hand slide into mine, and I'm almost sure it's Britta's. I recognize her touch. She uses her other hand to curl my fingers around her palm and press them there.

"I'm here, Dex. Like it or not," she says in a whisper, the way the doctors and nurses do.

I've been in and out of consciousness for so many days that I may be dreaming, but the temptation to see if Britta is really there is too great. I open my eyes, expecting her to disappear.

But she doesn't. And even in the dim light poking through the vinyl blinds, I know it's her. Blonde hair pulled back as usual, looking tired, but her eyes still shine bright, blue hope.

I force her name from my brain to my lips. It comes out jumbled, like I've got a mouthful of rocks, but she smiles.

"Hi." She combs her fingers through my hair, and I lean into her palm. "I'm glad you're still smiling, even if you're a bit of a mess otherwise. Tough day at the office?"

I couldn't tell I was smiling. I suspect I'm crying, though. My cheeks are wet and my eyes blurry.

Britta lets go of my hand long enough to pull a chair next to the bed, then folds my hand into hers again. "If you don't want me here, I'll go."

I muster all my strength to move my head from one side to the other. It's barely a micro shake, but I hope she sees how much I don't want her to go.

"I'm going to take that as a yes, Britta, stay , but blink once to confirm."

The laugh in my chest comes out as a loud breath as I close my eyes and open them again.

"Good, because I got on an airplane and flew across an entire ocean to get here, Dex. An ocean. Full of water. I could have died in a fiery plane crash and drowned at the same time." Britta keeps her voice barely above a whisper, but it still bounces up and down with humor.

It hurts my head to laugh, and my eyelids are heavy, but I force them open in order to see Britta's smile.

But instead of a smile, I'm met with tears. "Did you really think I wouldn't want to be here?"

Britta kisses my knuckle, then presses her cheek to it. "I'm not letting you break our contract that easily. If this is your way of getting out of training to be an Olympian, think again. I've already got a spot picked out at Frothed for your gold medal. It'll be good for business."

Only Britta could look at me in this bed, connected to a million wires and tubes and tell me I still have a chance at the Olympics. She's so confident, I almost want to believe her.

"You laugh all you want," she goes on, after kissing my hand again. "But I'm serious. I'm counting on you to fight for your dream."

Britta stands and leans close, then takes my face in both of her hands. "And I'm going to be right here next to you."

There's a fire in her eyes that sparks a determination in me to get out of this bed. To do whatever it takes to hold her in my arms and tell her I love her. That's what I want more than anything. Even more than surfing.

I concentrate so hard it hurts, but I'm able to move my fingers and pat the bed next to me.

Britta's eyes dart from my hand, then back to me. "That's a good start."

With a smile, she lowers the bed rails and moves my arm further from my side. She adjusts a few of the monitors to keep from unplugging anything as she climbs into the bed next to me. I let out a noise that I hope she understands is relief, the same way she understood what my tapping fingers meant.

There's not much room in the bed, but Britta curls up next to me, her head in the pocket between my shoulder and chest. Then she reaches behind her to position my hand around her waist. I can't hold her on my own yet, but knowing she'll help me get there gives me the first bit of hope I've had since I woke up in this hospital bed.

"You should know I don't do goodbyes," she says as she slides her arm across my chest. "You're stuck with me, whether or not you like it."

That's all the motivation I need to get back to who I am so I can show Britta just how much I like being stuck with her.

The End