Crashed (Driven, #3)(14)
Dr. Biggeti puts her hands up to quiet the murmuring among us. “Now there are still a lot of unknowns at this point. The bleeding and swelling were quite extensive and we had to remove a small section of Colton’s skull to relieve the pressure on his brain. At this time, the swelling seems to be under control but I need to reiterate the words at this time. Anything can happen in these cases and the next twenty-four hours are extremely crucial in telling us which way Colton’s body will decide to go.” I feel Beckett sway next to me and I detangle our hands and wrap my arms around his waist, and take comfort in the fact we are all here, feeling the same way. That this time I’m not alone in watching the man I love struggle to survive. “And as much as I have hope that the outcome will be positive, I also need to prepare you for the fact that there may be possible peripheral damage that is unknown until he wakes up.”
“Thank you.” It’s Dorothea who speaks as she steps forward and grabs a surprised Dr. Biggeti in a quick embrace before stepping back and dabbing the tears beneath her eyes. “When will we be able to see him?”
The doctor nods her head in compassion at Colton’s parents. “Like I said, right now they are getting him situated and checking his vitals in the ICU. After a bit, you’ll be able to see him.” She looks over toward Andy. “And this time, I must follow hospital policy that only immediate family be allowed to visit with him.”
He nods his head.
“Your son is very strong and is putting up one hell of a fight. It’s obvious he has a strong will to live … and every little bit helps.”
“Thank you so very much.” Andy exhales before grabbing Dorothea and Quinlan in a tight embrace. His hands fist at their backs and expresses just an iota of the angst mixed with relief vibrating beneath his surface.
As the doctor walks away her words hit me, and I close my eyes to focus on the positive. To focus on the fact that Colton is fighting like hell to come back to us. To come back to me.
All of us—crew and family—have been moved to a different waiting room since we were taking up all of the space in the emergency area. This one’s on a different floor, closer to the ICU and to Colton. The room’s a serene light blue, but I’m nowhere near calm. Colton is near. The thought alone has me hyperventilating. I’m not immediate family so I’m not going to get to see him.
And that alone makes every breath an effort.
Leaves every emotion raw, nerves bared as if my skin has been peeled back and exposed to a fire hose.
Each thought focused on how much I need to see him for my own slipping sanity.
I stand and face a wall of windows overlooking a courtyard below. The parking lot beyond is swarming with media trucks and camera crews all trying to get something more on the story than the station next to them. I watch them absently, the mass becoming one big blur. You were a spark of solid color to me in a world that’s always been one big mixed blur of it …
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I jolt when someone places their hand on my shoulder. I turn my head and meet the grief-stricken eyes of Colton’s mother. We stare at each other for a moment; no words are spoken but so much is exchanged.
She’s just come from seeing Colton. I want to ask her how he is, what he looks like, if he’s as bad as the images I have in my mind. I open my mouth to speak but close it because I can’t find the words to express myself.
Dorothea’s eyes well and her bottom lip trembles with unshed tears. “I just …” she starts to say and then drifts off, bringing her hand to her mouth and shaking her head. After a moment, she begins again. “I can’t stand seeing him like that.”
My throat feels like it’s closing as I try to swallow. I reach my hand up to my shoulder and squeeze hers, the only solace I can even remotely offer. “He has to be okay …” The same words I’ve uttered over and over today that fix nothing, but I say them nonetheless.
“Yes,” she says with a determined nod as she takes in the circus of the parking lot. “I haven’t had nearly enough time with him. I missed the first eight years of his life, so I’m owed extra ones for not getting the chance to save him sooner. God can’t be that cruel to rob him of what he deserves.” She looks over toward me on her last words, and the quiet strength of this mother fighting for her son is unmistakable. “I won’t allow it.” And the commanding woman that had slipped momentarily is back in control.
“Mom …” The sob is hiccupped as Quinlan re-enters the waiting room. We both turn to face her as she walks toward us, all eyes in the room on her. I watch Dorothea’s face shifts gears as she goes from fierce protector to maternal soother. She pulls Quinlan into her arms and kisses the top of her head, squeezing her own eyes shut tight as she whispers words of encouragement that she fears are lies.
I feel like a voyeur—wanting my own mother more than anything right now—when Dorothea looks up at me over the crown of Quinlan’s head. Her voice is a hushed murmur but it stops my breath. “It’s your turn now.”
“But I’m not …” I don’t know why I’m so shocked that she’s giving me this opportunity. The rule follower in me bristles, but my traumatized soul stands at attention.
“Yes, you are,” she says, a tight smile on her lips and sincerity flooding her eyes. “You’re helping make him whole—the one thing I’ve never been able to do as a mother and that kills me, but at the same time the fact that he’s found it in you …” She can’t finish the sentence and tears well in her eyes, so she reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Go.”