47. Ella

47

ELLA

A s the hours and days pass, the doctors and nurses take away the machinery that Colt was hooked up to. Even the oxygen mask that he’s needed since waking up has disappeared.

He’s just…Colt again. Almost.

The team’s publicist has been in a couple of times to get a few words from him to reassure fans. It’s helped. The crowd outside the hospital is lessening with every day that passes. People are being forced to move on with their lives and keep an eye on their favorite running back from a distance. Sadly, West has had to do the same and return to Chicago and attend practice.

It might seem that time has ground to a halt while being inside these four walls, but that is only an illusion. The world is still spinning; people have lives that they need to reenter.

I lift Colt’s hand, pressing my lips to his knuckles.

His eyes flicker in sleep, but he doesn’t fully wake.

He might be much more alert, but he’s still sleeping a lot. According to the doctors, it’s totally normal. It’s going to take a lot of time for his body to heal. Longer than I fear he understands.

Every time he wakes, he’s a little more frustrated. He hasn’t vocalized it, but I can see it darkening his eyes.

He wants to get to his feet and walk out of this place. Sadly, his head and his body aren’t on the same page yet.

He’s started some PT, but mostly from his bed, getting his limbs working and his muscles strengthening.

I thought he’d completely shut down when the doctor explained to him that he’d need help walking again.

Colt has always managed to lock his emotions up behind a very solid brick wall. I understand why now, and to a point, I thought I’d broken through it. But seeing the devastation, the anger, the hopelessness on his face made me realize just how little about this man I really know.

Our time together, both now and during our college days, was hot, heavy and intense.

Sure, he might now have told me his greatest fear and his reason for holding back before now, but I fear it only scratches the surface.

The door opens behind me and someone slips inside.

“Hey, sweetie,” Mom says softly, her eyes moving from me to Colt and back again. “How are you both doing?”

She moves closer and lowers down to press a kiss to the top of my head.

“We’re okay,” I assure her, although I’m not sure how big of a lie that is. “They’re hoping to get Colt up on his feet today.”

“That’ll make him feel better, I’m sure,” she says, handing me a takeout coffee and a bag full of my favorite treats. But I don’t get the reaction I should. My hand doesn’t immediately reach in for something. Instead, my stomach knots painfully.

I can’t remember the last time I ate something real. Something that I kept down.

I keep telling myself that tomorrow will be better. That Colt will be better, and I’ll be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

But the reality is that we’re both drowning and unable to hold onto each other to keep us afloat.

“You need to eat something, Ella,” Mom says softly.

Colt’s eyes flicker, letting me know that he’s either coming to, or faking it and listening to everything.

My fear of him finding out the truth about how I’m doing right now is the only thing that forces my hand into the bag. I pull out the first thing I touch. A chocolate brownie.

My mouth should water. I love this brownie and always have. As a little girl, I was addicted to them.

But now, the prospect of eating it seems more like torture than a treat.

It’s the ripping of the packet that finally forces Colt’s eyes open.

My breath catches when his dark orbs turn on me. It’s the same reaction I’ve always had to his attention. It doesn’t matter that his usually bright eyes are dark and exhausted. Our connection is still there.

“Hey, baby,” I say softly as I get to my feet and move closer so I can cup is rough jaw. “How are you feeling?”

He doesn’t answer for the longest time, and it makes my heart race dangerously fast in my chest.

“Do you need me to call someone?” I offer, wondering if he’s in pain or something is wrong.

“N-no, I’m okay,” he finally chokes out.

His voice is still rough from having the tube down it, but every day it sounds a little better, a little more like him.

His eyes drop from mine to the brownie that’s still in my other hand.

“You want some?” I ask, offering it up in the hope he’ll have it instead of me.

He shakes his head. “Your mom is right. You need to eat.”

Ripping his eyes from mine, he finds my mom lingering over my shoulder. Their eyes hold for a beat as something passes between them.

I hate that they’re having a silent conversation about me, sharing concerns over my health when he’s the one lying in a hospital bed.

“Here,” I say, abandoning the brownie and holding out a cup of water with a straw for him.

He hates being looked after. He hasn’t said the words, but I feel the tension radiating off him every time someone does something for him that he should be able to do for himself.

He keeps his eyes downcast, refusing to look at me as I hold the cup.

He might hate it, might despise relying on people, but he needs to learn that I will do whatever it takes, whatever he needs to get through this.

I’m right here by his side, and I’m not going anywhere.

I don’t care what the future holds, if he ever plays football again—a subject that we haven’t broached yet. All I want is him.

“Did you get any sleep last night?” he suddenly asks, pushing the cup away.

“Uh…” I don’t want to lie to him, but I fear that telling the truth isn’t going to help either.

“You need to stop staying here,” he says flatly. The words are like a knife through my chest.

I drop my head, refusing to look at him, or anyone.

“Ella,” he warns as Mom begins shifting uncomfortably behind me.

“I’ll give you two a minute,” she says before rushing from the room like her ass is on fire.

“I’m fine, Colt. I want to be here with you,” I say, squeezing his hand, although I think the move is more for me than it is for him.

“You can’t waste all your time sitting in here in the hope I recover,” he says darkly.

“I’m not wasting anything. I’m supporting you, Colt. I’ll do anything for?—”

“You don’t have to. I’ll be okay.”

All the air rushes from my lungs.

I desperately want to ask what he means, but fear grips me in a tight hold, stealing all my words.

A soft knock sounds on the door before my favorite nurse pokes her head in.

“Good afternoon,” she sings happily. She’s the most positive person I’ve ever met.

I’m sure on most people, it would be annoying, but she has this softness about her which stops her positive attitude from grating.

“How’s my favorite patient doing today?” she asks.

I bet she says that to every single one of them, but she says the words with such conviction, it’s easy to believe she’s telling the truth.

Colt grunts beside me, clearly not infected in the slightest by the ray of sunshine that’s just walked in. I get it. She barely scratches the surface of all the pain I’m walking around with right now. But I want to try when she’s in the room. For her. Something tells me she deserves a little positivity in return.

“Colt’s going to get back on his feet later. We’re just waiting for the PT.”

A wide smile spreads across her face. “Well, that is just fantastic. You’re going to be running around, making those tries again before you even know it.”

“That’s rugby,” Colt mutters.

“Oh, silly me. That’s my ex-husband for you.” The fact she’s failed at anything in her life astounds me, let alone marriage. “He was never much of a football fan. Didn’t get the hype at all.”

“It’s not for everyone,” I say, watching as she checks over a few things.

She chats away, filling the air with her hopeful words and sing-song voice, but Colt hardly responds. Instead, he closes himself in and shuts down.

I hate it. All I want to do is be here for him, to try and make all of this as bearable as possible, but he’s refusing to let me in.

It breaks my heart.

I tell myself that it’ll be better once he’s discharged.

As long as he can prove that he’s strong enough, I’ll be able to take him home.

I can be his nurse then. I can give him everything he needs, maybe a few extra things he’s unable to indulge in here.

Before long, we’re left alone again. The second the door closes, ice floods the room.

Reaching over, I grab the blanket from the cot behind me and wrap it around myself. But it doesn’t help. The chill isn’t the temperature; it’s the atmosphere.

“Just think, by the end of the week, you could be at home,” I say, hoping to inject even a little bit of hope into my voice, but I fear I fail miserably. “It’ll be so much better than being stuck here and being forced to watch the game on that little thing,” I say, nodding to the screen in the corner where last night’s Saints game is playing.

Colt might not have been there in person, but his spirit was very much alive. The players all had special patches on their jerseys; his number was lit up on every screen, and fans had banners of support. The Saints weren’t the only team to have shown their support, either. All around the country, there has been so much love and support shown toward Colt. It’s completely overwhelming to see how much the man I love touches the lives of others.

Everyone is rooting for him. Everyone is behind him, praying for a successful recovery. I just can’t help feeling that the only person who isn’t rooting for him, is him.

He watched half the game last night before he closed his eyes and feigned sleep.

I’d offered to turn it off when I saw that he was struggling to watch the team he’s given his everything to be forced to play without him. But he refused.

He wanted it on.

I’d hoped it would help. Seeing his teammates and the love of the fans. But I fear it had the opposite effect.

He didn’t see the game and feel hope. All he felt was everything he’s lost.

Everything he’s ever wanted.

His dream crumpled to the ground right alongside him.

He hasn’t been told he can’t play again, but equally, no one has promised him a full recovery and return to the field.

He’s lost in a world of unknowns right now. It’s why I’m sitting right here. While everything else is spinning out of control, I want to be the one thing that he doesn’t need to worry about.

I want to be his rock.

I want to be his everything.