80. Rosalyn

EIGHTY

ROSALYN

Everything hurts as I open my eyes, and I wish I was still asleep.

At least the room is dark.

Lying in the partially inclined hospital bed, I turn my head toward the door.

It's closed, but the glass top half of the door is letting in light from the hallway. Enough to see by, but not so much that my concussed brain screams at it.

I wiggle my toes and groan.

The doctors said it was a miracle I didn't break anything. And I'm glad for that. I am. But a miracle would be not getting hit by a car in the first fucking place.

But miracles aren't really my thing.

Foolishly, I try to flex my ankles.

My left protests at the attempt, the plastic brace cold on my skin as pain radiates up my leg.

I want another blanket.

I want to go home.

I slowly roll my head away from the door so I can stare at the ceiling.

A tear rolls down my temple.

This…

I close my eyes again.

This isn't how today was supposed to go.

I wasn't supposed to end up like this.

Hurt.

Alone.

With no one to help me. No one to rely on.

Another tear slips free.

They won't let me leave by myself.

Said they can't discharge me from the hospital unless I have someone to pick me up.

But I don't have anyone to pick me up.

I just need an Uber. Or Presley can give me a ride when she gets back from retrieving her car.

I'll crawl up my stairs if I have to.

It's not like I can afford to stay in a hotel for weeks until my sprained ankle is better.

And I can't afford to miss weeks of work either.

Another tear.

I wish Nathan was here.

I don't like hospitals.

There's a creak in the room, and I open my eyes again.

Maybe Presley fell asleep in the chair.

I turn my head toward the covered windows, where the pair of chairs are for visitors.

And one of them is occupied.

I try to narrow my eyes to see the person better.

They're leaned forward, elbows on their knees.

"Nathan?" My question is quiet, like maybe I'm seeing things.

His head jerks up to look at me. And he's close enough that I can see his eyes.

They're red rimmed and full of pain.

His throat works, like he's trying to talk, but he just ends up shaking his head.

I want to ask how long he's been here .

Want to ask if he's alright.

If that look on his face is for me.

But then someone walks past the door, causing the light to shift in the room. And my attention is drawn to the other chair.

To the shoebox sitting next to Nathan.

It's like a mirage.

A terrible mirage.

Because I know that box.

My heart clenches.

No.

No, no, no.

He can't have those.

"Those—Those aren't for you," I whisper.

Nathan shakes his head. "They are for me. You wrote them for me."

My heart feels like it's about to stop.

He…

I think about everything I wrote in those letters.

I think about all the awful secrets I've kept for so long.

The shame.

Maybe he didn't read them all.

But I know he did.

Of course he did.

"I'm sorry." Nathan's voice breaks. "I wish I'd known… The address."

He sounds shattered.

And I hate it.

All my fears.

All the reasons I tried to keep my distance.

They all come crashing down around me.

His voice hitches, and it's everything I didn't want.

I didn't want him to take on my darkness.

I never wanted to put this on him.

"You weren't supposed to read those." I can't raise my voice above a whisper. "They're nothing."

"Don't," he snaps. And it's loud in the silent room .

I wince, the noise too loud against my pounding skull.

"Fuck." Nathan drops his voice to a whisper. "Fuck, I'm sorry. But don't pretend they're nothing."

Nathan slides off the chair, his knees landing on the hard floor.

"Careful." I try to lift my arm to stop him, but my limbs are too heavy.

Nathan shuffles forward, putting us eye to eye.

"I'm not going to be careful, Rosalyn Kay Edwards. I know we just found each other again. But I'm here now, and I'm not going to be fucking careful." He grips the edge of the bed, leaning toward me, our faces inches apart. "I'm here. And I don't want you to pretend anymore. Please don't pretend anymore."

I think about that first moment when I opened the door and saw it was him.

How I pretended not to know him.

How I pretended seeing him wasn't exactly what I needed.

How I pretended my past wasn't awful.

How I pretended to be okay with casual.

How I pretended that just being near him wasn't healing something inside me.

"I'm sorry," I choke out, my voice loud to my own ears as my words turn to sobs.

My head throbs with each beat of my heart, but I finally get my arms to move, and I cover my face with my hands.

"No, Beautiful. No apologizing." Warm fingers wrap gently around my wrists. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

His kindness only makes the tears come faster.

He never changed.

In all this time, with all his success, he never changed.

Nathan slowly pulls my hands away from my face. "Please stop crying. Your head has to be killing you."

It is.

I try to shake my head, to deny it, but it hurts too bad to move.

"Shh." He guides my hands down until they're resting on my stomach. "I've had enough concussions to know what your head feels like right now. Shut your eyes. "

I do as he says. Then I feel his fingers ghost over my temples, lightly brushing away my tears.