The Wedding Dress(67)

But this was new to Charlotte. Deadly sports and men who loved them. She’d just told him to be safe.

Around six the brothers arrived, still in their dusty racing gear. Around seven Tim was moved to a room. As soon as the doctor gave permission, the Roses flooded down the hall to see him.

Katherine held back for a moment. “I’m sorry about you and Tim, Charlotte.”

“It’s old news, Katherine. If you were sorry, you’d have called me weeks ago.” She wasn’t in the mood for games.

Her almost sister-in-law started to speak, then hesitated. “I want him to be happy.”

“That makes two of us.”

Charlotte continued to wait. The family had dibs on Tim first. Not the ex-fiancée. She wouldn’t be comfortable with them anyway.

Watching them pile into Tim’s room, Charlotte ran her thumb over her bare ring finger. Family. She wasn’t sure she’d ever known what that felt like.

With Mama it was “us girls” or “us two.” For birthdays. For Christmas. For Thanksgiving. When Mama died, Charlotte was the only relative listed in the obituary.

Moving to the window, she rested her forehead against the sun-warmed glass and exhaled her pent up emotions. Please, Jesus, be with Tim.

“Charlotte, hey—” She looked up as Jared approached, dressed in his blue scrubs and white coat. “Dix said don’t worry about the shop. She’s got it.”

“What’s the word on Tim?” Charlotte sank her hands into his. They were smooth and strong. Healing.

“Good for a man who landed on top of a bike, then had his five-hundred-pound bike land on him.” Jared squeezed her fingers. “He’s bruised and banged up. Had his spleen removed, and we have a tube in his chest to help reinflate his left lung. We’ll keep him a few days. He’s lucky he’s alive. If he’d landed an inch or two higher on his neck, he’d be paralyzed or dead.”

He’s lucky to be alive. The confession swirled in Charlotte’s head. What would she do without Tim? Friend Tim. She loved and needed him. She depended on him in a way she didn’t realize until now.

Jared drew her into a hug. “We’re here for you.”

Charlotte exhaled, releasing some of her burden on him, Dixie’s Dr. Hotstuff. If she had a brother, she’d want it to be like this.

“Charlotte?” Jack came from Tim’s room. His face was ringed in dirt. His tone, somber. “Tim’s asking for you.”

“Oh?” She gazed around Jared, down the hall.

“I’ll be back later.” Jared turned to go, and for a blip of a second Charlotte wanted to cling to his brotherly warmth. “I need to check on a few other patients.”

“Thanks, doc.” Jack watched him go, then looked at Charlotte. “Tim couldn’t care less about the rest of us. Just keeps asking about you. He’s in and out, so . . .” Jack motioned for her to follow him.

When Charlotte entered, the family exited, each one giving her a light embrace. “Darling, come by for dinner if you can.” Mrs. Rose, always the matriarch, smoothed her hand over Charlotte’s hair, like she’d done numerous times when she was in Tim’s life. “We’re going to be at the house.”

“Thank you.” But no. Charlotte stepped aside for Katherine to pass.

Tim’s room was quiet, lit with a soft lamp attached to the wall behind the bed. His window framed the last hurrah of the sunset. Charlotte leaned in to say “I’m here,” but he was sleeping.

Slowly, she sank to the chair by his bed. “Crazy boy, almost got yourself killed.”

Hooked to tubes and machines, he appeared peaceful in his sleep, a sweetness to his bruised, handsome face.

Hideous dark blue and black marks ringed his neck and ran down his right arm, straight through the cast and out the end to his fingertips.

“Oh, Tim, you have to be all right.” Charlotte rested her forehead against the edge of the bed and whispered, “What would I do without you?”

A soft touch on her head sent chills down her arm. Gently, Tim stroked her hair. “Tim . . .” she lifted her head.

“I’m sorry.” Tim swept his thumb over her wet cheeks, his voice a whisper, breathless.

“Sorry? For what? Being you? You don’t owe me—”

“For thinking there was anything in this world I loved more than you.” His words ebbed and flowed with his strength.

Charlotte pressed her lips against his palm. “Just don’t die on me. If you do, I’ll be mad.”

He smiled, then winced. “Everything hurts. Even the tips of my hair.”

Charlotte rose up and leaned against the side of his bed. “Sleep, rest, tell your lung to get back in shape.”

“Banged myself up pretty good, didn’t I?” Tim bent his not-so-banged-up arm until his fingers touched his lips.

“What? Do you need something? Water?”

“Kiss.”

“A kiss?” Charlotte brushed his sweaty, matted hair from his forehead.

“Makes the wounds feel better, right?”

“I can’t deny a wounded man, can I?” Charlotte stretched to kiss the side of his mouth. His eyes closed and his warm breath brushed her face. She slid her lips over his with another light kiss. Tim wrapped his good arm behind her back.