One Good Reason (Boston Love #3)(95)
So many faces. So many memories. So much love.
Lying there, dying on a dirty floor at the hands of a psycho, I realize my mother’s words were never meant to be a curse. She wouldn’t have wanted me to live my life alone. She didn’t want me to spend my days just surviving, plugging along, going through the motions for lack of anything else to do.
My parents wanted me to live.
To dance.
To grab life by both hands and take it for a ride.
I never really understood how to do that, until I met Parker. I was so afraid to get close to anyone again, I didn’t realize how dead I was inside.
Until he made me laugh, I didn’t realize I’d nearly forgotten how.
Until he pushed my limits, I didn’t realize how guarded I’d become.
Until he showed me love, I didn’t realize how desperately I needed it.
Until he taught me to fly, I didn’t realize how deep beneath the earth I’d buried my hopes and dreams.
And it really f*cking sucks that I’m going to die without ever thanking him for that. Without telling him that he’s my family. Without admitting how much I need him.
How much I love him.
I try to hold onto that thought as I drift into the darkness.
I always thought needing anyone else meant I was weak. In reality, it’s the opposite. Asking for help doesn’t make you spineless; it makes you strong. Leaning on people isn’t cowardly; it’s courageous.
It’s a shame it took dying for me to figure that out.
* * *
When the darkness starts to clear, I hear a familiar voice reciting a familiar story, his words occasionally catching on particular quotes as if it’s a struggle to get them out without being overcome by emotion.
“Never say goodbye,” he whispers, his voice shaky as he reads from the book in his lap. “Because goodbye means going away, and going away means forgetting.”
My eyes sliver open and I see Parker’s bronze head bowed over a thin green book, one hand gripping the pages and the other resting on my leg.
“Are you reading me Peter Pan?” I whisper, my voice cracking pathetically.
The book falls to the floor as he jumps to his feet, eyes flying to mine. There are deep shadows beneath them, as though he hasn’t slept in ages, and I read worry and fear clearly in their hazel depths.
“Zoe,” he breathes, his arms sliding around me as he hauls me to his chest. His mouth hits my hair as he whispers my name like a mantra. “Zoe, Zoe, Zoe.”
“Honey, I’m okay.” I reach a hand up to twine with his. “What happened?”
He pulls back to look down into my face, his big hands cupping my cheeks as he presses a flurry of kisses on my forehead, my nose, my lips.
“How do you feel?” he asks, totally ignoring my question. “What hurts? Should I call the doctor in?”
“Parker, I’m fine. Sore as hell, but fine.” I narrow my eyes at him. “What the hell happened to me?”
“You don’t remember?”
“I remember being lost in the dark with Birkin. I remember him catching me. I think he threw me against a wall and I felt something break.”
“Two ribs.” Parker grimaces.
“Ah. So that’s why it’s so tough to breathe.”
“The tube they put down your throat probably didn’t help matters,” he says softly. “They took it out yesterday, when you started breathing on your own.”
I blink, startled by this information. “How long have I been here?”
He hesitates.
“Parker.”
“Three days.”
“What?” I exclaim, sitting upright — and instantly regretting it, as pain slices through my broken ribs. “Ow.”
“Shhh. Don’t move.” He looks worried. “Maybe I should call the doctor.”
“Please, don’t.” I sigh. “I’ll behave. I promise.”
He shoots me a doubtful look. “You don’t know how to behave.”
I smile. “Yeah, but that’s what you like about me.”
His eyes soften. “I like everything about you.”
“You’re corny.”
“Yeah, but that’s what you like about me.”
A weak laugh escapes my lips. “Tell me what happened.”
His expression gets somber. “You had a concussion and a brain bleed. They didn’t have to do surgery, thank god, but they weren’t sure how severe the damage was. Judging by your ability to insult me, I’m going to assume you’ll be making a full recovery.”
I roll my eyes.
He kisses my forehead. “But I really do need to call the doctors now, so they can make sure.”
“But…” I take a shallow breath.
“What, darling?”
“You’ll stay, right?” I ask in a small voice. “You won’t leave?”
“Zoe.” His hands cup my face again. “I’m never leaving you. Ever.”
“Good.” I press my eyes closed as relief floods my system. “I guess you can call the doctors, now.”
* * *
After a full examination by a team of doctors who, according to Parker, have been watching me like a hawk for the past few days, I’m lying in my bed eating a chocolate pudding cup, listening to his version of what happened that night.