Chapter 30 Max

Chapter 30

Max

After signing in to the rehabilitation center and sticking the name badge to the front of my shirt, I make my way down the winding hallway. Ella is in the open therapy area today. The receptionist guides me to the observation seats where I can watch her finish up her session before visiting with her when she's done.

Two months have flown by in a blur of tedious schoolwork, house renovations to keep my mind busy, and visiting Ella while she finishes up physical therapy in preparation for returning home. She's getting stronger every day. Stronger, brighter, braver.

And yet…it still feels like she's slipping.

Slipping away from me.

McKay insisted on driving me over, just like he always does. He never wants to see Ella. Says it hits too close to home with Dad's rehabilitation after the job accident that rendered him temporarily paralyzed. I get it. And I appreciate that he wants to be here for support, even though he waits in the lobby.

As I take a seat in one of the stiff burgundy chairs, I spot Ella on a padded therapy table, a therapist by her side, guiding her through delicate leg movements to mobilize her hip joint and strengthen her weakened muscles. Ella grimaces slightly with each stretch, a testament to the effort each motion requires. But with every repetition there's a sense of triumph, another step closer to a full recovery. Sweat slicks her brow line as her arms quiver through pulls and stretches. Her cheeks are flushed, filling with deep breaths before she blows them back out.

Ella's therapist, a tall woman with silver hair, talks her through the movements, offering words of encouragement and technical instructions. She occasionally adjusts Ella's posture or applies resistance to specific maneuvers. In another section, a parallel bar is set up, the next stage for Ella to practice standing and walking with support.

I watch her for the next twenty minutes before she's led out of the therapy room with the assistance of her walker. When she spots me waiting, she pauses, her knuckles bleaching white as she squeezes the padded grips.

I stand from the chair, a bouquet of orange roses tucked inside my hand.

Ella glances at them, lingering on the brightly colored blooms. Then her gaze pans up to my face. "Hey," she greets, her voice stronger despite the notable crack.

She looks at me differently.

It's like she remembers me…but she doesn't remember me the same.

"Hey," I reply. Hope laces the word, then dies out when she pulls her eyes away.

"Come on," she murmurs. "We can go to the visitation room."

I follow alongside her as we make our way to a consultation space with pale-blue walls and soft, ambient lighting. Spring sunlight pours in from multiple windows, causing her shorter hair to glitter its usual shades of red and brown. It's been newly cut into a reverse bob, cropped in the back due to her surgery and longer in the front. She fiddles with the longer pieces as she takes a seat in one of the cushy chairs.

I pull another chair over to her and hand her the roses. "You look good."

Ella doesn't maintain eye contact as she holds the flowers in her lap and tinkers with one of the petals. "I still look like death. But thanks." Her eyes flutter closed through a long exhale. "You don't need to keep bringing me flowers, Max."

"I know. But I want to."

"You don't need to visit me every day, either. I'm sure you're busy."

"I'm never too busy for you, Sunny."

She swallows hard. "They said I'm almost ready to go home."

Home.

There was a time when I imagined that I was becoming her home. Somehow, I don't think that's the case anymore. "That's great news."

"Yeah."

The chitchat eats at me. My skin itches from head to toe and all I want to do is fall to my knees in front of her, bury my face in her lap, and feel her fingers sink into my hair like they used to. I want to breathe in her scent. Oranges and sunshine. I want to gather her in my arms and carry her home…to a home that includes me.

Leaning forward on my elbows, I scrub my hands over my face and leave them there as I try not to have an emotional breakdown across from her. "Ella. Talk to me."

"I am talking to you," she whispers.

"This isn't talking. This isn't us. Something broke between us and I don't know how to fix it." I lift my chin and steeple my fingers. "Did I do something wrong?"

Her eyes are wide and wild as she shakes her head. "No, you didn't do anything wrong. I'm just…not myself. I'm trying to reacclimate and that takes time."

The words don't ring true. "I see the way you are with your mother. With Brynn and Kai. It's like nothing changed with them, but with me…" Emotion catches in my throat. "It feels like everything changed."

"That's not true."

"Are your memories misfiring somehow? Are there gaps, missing pieces? I've been racking my brain, trying to figure out why there's this wall between us. If you need a reminder, I can do that."

"Max…" She shakes her head, flattening her lips.

"I'll tell you about the way we played Pooh sticks on the bridge, and how I taught you how to skip stones across the lake. You couldn't skip them, but my heart nearly exploded just watching you try, watching you laugh and smile like nothing else mattered. Only that moment mattered…that moment with me."

I pause to catch my breath. "I'll tell you about the concert and how you laughed through your tears on the ride over, looking so goddamn free, so perfectly at peace as our hands locked together and music sang through the speaker. And how I held you against my chest as the band played, my arms around you, my lips grazing your ear. I wanted to kiss you so fucking badly it physically hurt. And I'll tell you about that night on the bridge when I did kiss you. Time stopped, Ella. The world stopped. Everything stopped," I confess. "And dammit …sometimes I wish it really did. I wish it stopped right then and there, freezing the moment, so I could hold on to you forever, just as you were. Just as we were."

I don't even realize tears are sliding down my cheeks until they pool at the corner of my lips. I lick them away, heaving in a shuddering breath as I choke on the final words. "We were happy."

Ella stares at me with glassy eyes, the bouquet of roses shaking in her lap. Her lips part with quick, uneven breaths as tears pool, her cheeks glowing light pink.

My heart drags over broken glass when she doesn't respond. She doesn't say anything and just gapes at me like I spouted off the Declaration of Independence in French. "Fuck," I curse under my breath, swiping both hands over my face, erasing the evidence of my pain. "Sorry. I'll go."

"Max…"

I stand from the chair and pivot to leave.

"Max, don't go," she cries out. "I do remember. I remember everything."

I pause, facing away from her. I rub the back of my neck and dip my chin, unsure what to do. Two months have whirled by in this painful purgatory and I have no idea how to fix it.

Swallowing, I slowly spin to face her. "If you need space…time…" I begin, watching her lips quiver with emotion. "I can do that. I'll wait. But if it's over…just tell me. Say it. Make it quick."

Tears trickle down her cheeks as she clutches the bouquet to her chest. Then she lifts a hand to me, beckoning me forward.

Biting down on my lip, I release a strained sigh as my legs carry me toward her. I sink down in the chair across from her and pull it forward until we're inches apart. Our knees kiss. My hands reach out to take hers and I bring them to my lips, peppering kisses along her dry knuckles.

Ella pulls free and wraps her arms around my neck, tugging me close.

I practically moan at the contact. At the feel of her face burrowing in the crook of my neck. I hold her. I hug her. I squeeze her tight, feeling her slight frame mold against me. Warm and alive. Small but strong.

She never does answer me.

She doesn't tell me if it's over, or if she just needs space.

But I don't press the matter. I don't beg for more than what she's giving me.

I just hold her.

And I pretend we're on the bridge again, dancing and kissing underneath the stars, forever caught in that moment of stopped time.

***

McKay stands from his seat the moment he spots me rounding the corner. "Hey," he mutters, tousling his shaggy hair, looking just as fidgety as me.

I don't say anything as I zip past him and barrel through the double doors into the warm sunshine. His footsteps catch up to me. He calls my name as I dig through my pockets for a pack of cigarettes.

I went months without smoking. I always knew it was a bad habit, but it lessened my burdens and eased my stress. Then Ella came along, and she became my reprieve. Instead of reaching for a cigarette, I reached for her.

But nothing good ever seems to last.

"Max," he says again, latching onto my elbow to halt my quickening gait through the parking lot. "How is she? What did she say?"

"You can go ask her yourself," I reply, my answer muffled around the paper and nicotine. Smoke fills my lungs with sweet relief and I blow it back out through my nostrils. "You'll probably make more progress than me at this point. Let me know how it goes." I try to keep walking, but he pulls me back.

"She didn't say anything?"

I sigh, finally turning to look at him. My brother looks pale, the sun brightening the sheen of sweat casing his brow. "Not really. She hardly says anything to me."

He releases a slow exhale, his shoulders slackening. "That's…so weird," he says. "Do you think she has amnesia? Lost memories?" McKay stares off over my shoulder, shuffling on both feet.

"According to the doctors, she remembers everything."

Which is why none of this makes any sense.

Nodding slowly, he rubs a hand across his jaw. "Fuck, man. That's gotta suck. I can't imagine having to live with those memories…" He swallows, ducks his head. "Falling off a cliff like that. Waiting for someone to find you. Not knowing if you were going to make it or not."

My heart aches, my stomach coiling with fresh knots.

I can't think about that. The images haunt me enough in my dreams.

"Let's go," I mumble, tucking my misery away. I take a few more hard drags off my cigarette before stomping it beneath my shoe. "We should check on Dad, then try to figure out that electrical issue with the wiring."

McKay has been surprisingly helpful over the last couple of months with the home improvements and helping me take Dad to a slew of doctor appointments as we try to get to the bottom of his strange behavior. His initial hospital visit was put off by a few weeks due to Ella's fall. But then, after a trip to the emergency room that came on the heels of another bizarre night terror—one that earned McKay a bruising slug to the jaw—the tests came back inconclusive. We were referred to a specialist and still have another appointment on the horizon.

We don't have answers, but they've ruled out a lot. Vitamin deficiencies, thyroid problems, a brain tumor, various neurological conditions. The relief I feel when nothing serious is revealed always shrivels up and dies the moment Dad has another episode. Last night he was convinced Rick was outside, lurking in the bushes. He made us turn off all the lights and lock the doors as he hid underneath the kitchen table, armed with a baseball bat.

The stress is eating me alive.

Ella. Dad. Knowing high school will be over soon and I have no fucking clue what I'm doing with my life. No college aspirations, no grand plans, and no Ella to guide me through the terrifying unknowns. I've never felt more beaten down and defeated.

McKay follows me to the truck as we hop inside and I rev the engine.

"It'll be okay," he says to me, leaning back in the seat and staring out the window, his expression tight. His knees bounce up and down as he repeats, "It'll be okay."

I don't reply as I reverse out of the parking space and speed off into the deceptive sunlight.

In another life, I might believe him.