5. Brock

The echoes of the hospital room linger in my mind, haunting the corners of my thoughts even as I sit in a lecture hall, surrounded by the familiar hum of students and the drone of the professor"s voice. The sterile smell, the beeping machines, Layla"s fragile form on the hospital bed – it"s a vivid memory that refuses to fade.

I try to focus on the lecture notes in front of me, but my mind drifts, replaying the scenes from that hospital room. The sense of helplessness, the weight of uncertainty – they hang over me like a heavy cloak. I can"t shake the image of Layla"s pale face, the fragility of her in that hospital bed. The feeling of powerlessness gnaws at me, and every attempt to concentrate on my studies feels like grasping at elusive fragments.

The bell chimes, signaling the end of the class, but my thoughts are elsewhere. Layla"s face, etched with traces of pain and resilience, flashes before my eyes. I pack my bag mechanically, the motions of routine providing a fleeting distraction. The sun is low in the sky as I step out onto the campus, but the warmth offers no solace.

As I navigate the familiar paths, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, hoping for a message from Layla or any news that might offer a glimmer of hope. Instead, I see Eric"s name on the screen. I answer with a sense of trepidation, the weight of uncertainty pressing on me.

"Hey, Brock," Eric"s voice is steady but carries an undercurrent of seriousness. "I wanted to give you an update on Layla."

My heart quickens, a mix of anxiety and anticipation flooding through me. "How is she?"

There"s a moment of hesitation before Eric speaks, "She"s awake, Brock. She"s doing really well, all things considered."

Relief washes over me, a wave that momentarily drowns out the lingering shadows of worry. "Thank God. How is she feeling?"

"Physically, she"s recovering better than expected. Mentally, it"s a bit more complicated. She doesn't remember the accident at least."

"Maybe that's good."

"Maybe. It"s going to be a very long road to recovery for her."

The weight settles on my chest, and for a moment, I"m at a loss for words. Layla, with her vibrant spirit and infectious laughter, facing a journey of uncertainty. "How is she handling all of this?"

"She"s handling it as well as anyone could. But it"s not going to be easy. She's got enough injuries that she'll have to do physical therapy."

I run a hand through my hair, a gesture born out of frustration and helplessness. The image of Layla in that hospital bed resurfaces, and I can"t shake the feeling of being unable to protect her from the storm that has disrupted her life.

"She was supposed to leave for medical school in a month, right?"

"How do you know that?"

"I remember her talking to your mom about it," I lie.

"I don't see that happening. Mom's been talking to the Dean of Students. We're hoping we can postpone it all for now. She's always wanted to be a doctor, I don't see that changing any time soon."

"Yeah, I hope it works out for her."

"Me too."

"Do you need anything? I don't have much planned for the weekend. I can come up and bring you clothes or something."

"Aw man, you don't have to do that."

"It's not a big deal."

"Yes, I could use clothes. My psych book too. That would be great."

"I'll gather it up tonight and see you tomorrow sometime."

"Perfect. That would be great. Thanks, bro."

I hang up the phone.

I run a hand over my face, grappling with the overwhelming realization of Layla"s altered future. The dreams we had discussed, the plans for life to get to know each other better – they now seem like distant echoes, fading into the background of uncertainty.

The night is quiet as I gather a backpack, stuffing it with essentials for Eric. I can"t shake the restlessness that courses through me. Thoughts of Layla are a persistent presence that refuses to be ignored. It"s been weeks since the accident, and the weight of uncertainty lingers.

I toss in a change of clothes, a water bottle, and some snacks. Eric has been spending long hours at the hospital, and I figure he can use a break – a reprieve from the sterile environment, even if just for a moment.

As I lay in bed, the room bathed in darkness, sleep eludes me. The images of Layla in the hospital bed, and the idea that things aren't panning out how I thought they would is bothersome.

I barely know her, but I feel as though we've known each other forever. The thought of her being hurt, scared, and in any amount of pain is torture to me. I want to do whatever I can to protect her. I'm prepared to stand by her side through it all.

The moonlight filters through the window, casting a soft glow on the room. I toss and turn, the weight of the situation settling in. The plans we had made, the dreams we had shared – they now seem fragile, hanging in the balance of her recovery.

Unable to silence the whirring thoughts, I reach for my phone. The clock reads well past midnight, but I need someone to talk to, someone who understands. Chaz is the first person who comes to mind.

I dial his number, the anticipation building with each ring. He answers with a groggy "Hello?"

"Chaz, it"s Brock," I say, my voice a whisper in the quiet night.

"Brock, what"s wrong?" He sounds more awake now, concern replacing the sleepiness in his tone.

"I can"t sleep, man. It"s Layla. I can"t stop thinking about her," I admit, the weight of my words hanging in the air.

"Layla? How is she?"

"She"s awake, making progress, but it"s a long road to recovery," I reply, the gravity of the situation evident in my words.

"Damn. That"s rough. How are you holding up?" Beth asks as I realize my brother has me on speakerphone.

I run a hand through my hair. "I don"t know. I want to be there for her, but I also feel this pressure, this responsibility. I don"t want to let her down."

Chaz sighs on the other end. "Bro, you can"t carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. You care about her, and that"s clear. But you can"t fix everything. What did Eric say?"

"He said she"s doing well physically, but mentally, it"s complicated. He also doesn't know about us."

"He doesn't know how you feel about his sister?" Beth asks. "This is like a romance novel."

"I don't know what to do. I thought we'd both be near Nashville together and…"

"Brock, you need to be there for her, but you can"t put your life on hold for her recovery. You have your path and your dreams. You can support her, but you can"t carry her burdens," Beth advises.

"I know, but it"s not that simple. We had plans – plans to spend time together when I"m in Nashville for hockey, and she"s at Vanderbilt for school. Now everything feels uncertain, and I don"t know what to do," I confess.

"Bro, I get it. But you need to talk to her. Find out how she"s feeling, and what she wants. Be there for her in whatever capacity you can, but don"t let it consume you. Resentment can build up if you put your life on hold. It won"t work out in the long run."

I take a deep breath, the weight of Chaz"s words settling in. "Yeah, I guess you"re right. I just... I don"t want her to feel alone in this, you know?"

"I get it. But you need to communicate. Layla needs to know what you"re feeling, and you need to understand her perspective too. It"s a two-way street," Chaz advises.

"Thanks, guys. I appreciate it. I just needed someone to talk to."

"Anytime, little brother. We"re here for you. Take care, and keep us updated," Chaz says before hanging up.

The room falls silent, and I"m left alone with my thoughts. Layla – her recovery, our shared plans – become the focal point of my contemplations. The desire to be there for her wars with the realization that life doesn"t come to a standstill for anyone, not even in the face of adversity.

***

The next morning, after a fitful night"s sleep, I gather the backpack I prepared for Eric and left our apartment.

I grab my phone as I start the car. I text Eric.

I'm leaving now, is there anything you want me to grab?

Did you get my psych book?

Yeah

That's all I need. And my laptop charger

Got it

Thanks, man

I'll be there soon. How's she doing today?

Laughing through the confusion. Typical Layla

That's good

When I arrive later that day, I don't let Eric know I arrive. I immediately go up to room 215.

The door to the room opens and a nurse, a brisk figure in scrubs, exits her room, and I seize the opportunity to approach.

"How is she?" I inquire, my voice a blend of concern and anticipation.

"She"s resting now. A bit agitated, but everything looks fine. We"ll keep an eye on her. You can go in and see her if you"d like."

Nodding my thanks, I enter the room, my gaze landing on Layla. She appears delicate, surrounded by the sterile whiteness of the hospital sheets. Despite the tubes and monitors, there"s a certain vulnerability about her.

Before informing the family that I'm here, I decide to spend a few moments alone with her. I approach the bed, trying to gauge her mood. As I reach out to take her hand, her eyes fly open. The moment is fleeting, but something in her expression changes. Her eyes narrow, and with a sudden burst of hostility, she rips her hand away.

"I hate you! Get out!" she screams, her voice filled with anger and fear.

She begins screaming for help and slamming her thumb down on her call button.

I take a step back, shock and confusion clouding my features. "Layla, what...?"

But before I can finish my sentence, her screams escalate. The nurse, alerted by the commotion, rushes back into the room. "Sir, you need to leave. Now!"

Stunned, I comply, glancing back at Layla, who looks terrified and enraged. The door closes behind me, leaving me in the sterile hallway, my mind racing to make sense of the sudden turn of events.

I make my way to the waiting area where Eric is pacing anxiously. As soon as he sees me, he rushes over. "Brock, what happened? Is Layla okay?"

"I... I don"t know," I stammer, the confusion evident in my voice. "I walked in, and she... she screamed at me to get out. The nurse made me leave."

"That doesn"t make sense. Why would she suddenly react like that?"

"I have no idea," I admit, my mind still trying to process the abrupt shift in Layla"s demeanor. "She looked terrified and angry, Eric. I don"t understand."

"Thanks for coming, though," Eric says, his gratitude sincere. "I appreciate you being here for Layla."

As he heads back into the room, I find myself lingering in the hallway, unable to shake the unsettling feeling that clings to me. I replay the scene in my mind, searching for clues or explanations, but everything remains shrouded in uncertainty.

Unable to stay in the hospital, I make my way outside and sit in my car. The events of the last few minutes replay in my mind, each moment etched with confusion and unanswered questions. Layla, who had been making progress in her recovery, suddenly hated me and demanded I leave – it"s a reality that feels like a surreal nightmare.

I lean back in the driver"s seat, the weight settling on my shoulders. I"ll respect Layla"s wishes, and if she wants me to stay away, I"ll have to honor that. But uncertainty gnaws at me, leaving me grappling with a sense of helplessness.

Should I have insisted on staying?

Was there something I missed?