Sweet Nothing(87)

“He called you? From the scene?”

Quinn nodded. “I called nine-one-one, but I got there a few minutes before they did. I was still at the hospital, trying to score a date with Nikki Liberty.”

I smiled. “She’s pretty.”

Quinn frowned. “When I pulled up, I ran up and had to look through your back window to see you both. His arms were around you, Avery. He held you until he was unconscious. I still can’t figure out how your Prius was thrown back into his car—on that side—in that way. It doesn’t seem physically possible.”

My eyes burned, and I nodded. None of what happened was possible, yet it had happened. All of it.

“So, I think it’s nice that you dreamed of him. I don’t think it’s weird at all. Matter of fact, I bet he’s dreaming of you, too.”

I blinked, letting tears fall for only a second before wiping them quickly away. “Have you heard any news? They won’t tell me anything.”

Quinn sighed. “His dad wanted to try to take him off the ventilator today. He has brain function, but he didn’t do well off the machine. They’re considering how much longer to keep him going.”

“They’re going to pull the plug?” I asked, sitting up.

“They don’t have a lot of money, Avery. Josh had minimal insurance. They’ll keep him alive as long as they can. I know. It makes me furious. The guys have started a fundraiser.”

I bit my lip. Desperate times … “Quinn? Mind if I ask you something incredibly weird?”

“Sure,” he said, amused through his sadness.

“Is your last name Cipriani?”

He nodded.

I looked at Deb. She shrugged. “You could have heard that or seen that, Avery. You know I want to believe you, but that doesn’t prove anything.”

“Doesn’t prove what?” Quinn asked.

“Does your mom make really, really great pie?”

Quinn stiffened, hesitating before he spoke. “She’s Italian. Everything she makes is amazing. Josh loved her pies.”

I breathed out, smiling.

“Avery,” Deb warned.

Quinn narrowed one eye. “What are you trying to say, Avery?”

“It wasn’t a dream, Quinn. I need you to believe me.”

Deb walked over to the opposite side of the bed and touched my shoulder. “Quinn, Avery’s very tired. Maybe you should head out.”

I pushed her hand away. “I can describe your mom’s apartment. I can describe the way her pies taste. I can tell you about Josh’s parents.”

Quinn stood, staring at me as if I were suddenly dangerous. “I don’t know what you’re doing, Avery, but it ain’t right.”

“I know what you’re thinking. I’m not a crazy stalker, Quinn. I’m married to Josh. We spent time together, a lot of time together, and I have memories of things I couldn’t possibly have memories of. It wasn’t a dream. It was another life, and I want to go back.”

“I’m sorry, Avery. You haven’t been to my mom’s house.”

“House?” I asked, swallowing.

“Avery, stop,” Deb begged.

“What do you want me say?” he asked.

“I want you tell Dr. Weaver that you believe me. I want you to convince her to put me back under.”

“Avery!” Deb said.

I looked down, resolute. “Medically induced comas are done all the time. You can sell all of my things and put me in a nursing home.”

“Avery, enough,” Deb said, getting angry.

“He’s probably worried sick about me!” I yelled. “I have to get back to him somehow!”

Quinn took a few steps back, and Parsons rushed in. “Is everything okay in here?”

I looked at Quinn. “You were in love with Deb. You were so happy, Quinn. You were going to ask her to marry you.”

Deb’s face flushed bright red, and she gestured for Parsons to escort Quinn out of the room.

Quinn complied, turning around to look at me once before Parsons closed the door behind them.

Deb shook her head. “Why didn’t you tell me this was your plan? I do a favor for you, and you lie to me?”

“I’m sorry.” I wiped my cheek. “I just have a few days left, and I don’t know how much longer they’ll leave Josh on the ventilator. It was a last-minute decision.”

Deb sat, digging her elbow into my mattress and resting her head in her hand. “Tell me more.”

I sniffed. “Really?”

She nodded, sincere.

“We’d just finished hanging the last painting on the wall of the apartment.”

“Really? I thought you didn’t like to put holes in the walls.”

“Because it didn’t feel like mine. Josh didn’t understand why it made me so happy to watch him hammer holes into the paint.” My breath caught. “Because it was ours. We’d made it into a home.”

Deb nodded, resting her chin in her hand.

“Josh had just finished setting up the crib. He wanted to decorate her nursery in fire and rescue stuff.” I made a face. “So we compromised. Pink and gray firetrucks and ambulances.” I touched my flat stomach. “He was such a proud father. Now he’ll never be able to hold her. I’ll never be able to hold her. I might never be able to hold him.”