“Do you know how you got here, Thomas?”
Flashes of the dark Buick skidding over the ice sliced through my brain.
“Hit by a car,” I replied. “Nicole? Nicole Skye?”
“She’s fine,” Doctor Winchester answered. “A few cuts and scrapes, but nothing serious. She’s all healed up now.”
“Where is she?”
“It’s about two in the morning on a Wednesday, Thomas,” he said. “She’s probably at home, asleep.”
I nodded, glad she wasn’t here in the hospital and still banged up or anything. Then a single question became really fucking important.
“How long?” I asked. Speaking more than just a couple of words at a time was pretty taxing.
The doctor looked over to the nurse before fixing his gaze back on me.
“What was the last date you remember?”
“Um…January thirtieth?” I guessed.
Winchester looked at me for a bit.
“It’s March fourteenth now,” he finally replied.
For a moment, I panicked.
“Same year?” I asked.
“Same year.”
I relaxed a little as I tried to digest some of this. That was like…six weeks. Six weeks of being totally out of it. Six weeks of lying in a bed, not using my muscles at all.
“I can’t move much,” I said as I looked up to him.
He nodded.
“Your body has been shut down for a while now after suffering significant trauma. You were almost pronounced dead at the scene, and we lost you once on the table as well. We had to induce coma just to keep your body in check long enough to try to fix you up.”
“Did I break a lot of bones?” I asked. I wondered about my legs because they definitely didn’t feel right.
“I think we should wait until your dad gets here,” the doctor said. His hand patted my leg, which made it feel all tingly. Everything felt all tingly, like my whole body fell asleep.
I guess it had.
“He’s on his way.”
Even through the blurriness inside my head, I had the feeling this was not going to be the most pleasant of encounters. I didn’t know the extent of the damage yet, but I was obviously pretty fucked up, and that certainly meant I wasn’t playing soccer in the next season. I gritted my teeth. I didn’t care what he would say—Nicole was okay, and that mattered more…
“Thomas?”
I awoke to someone prodding my arm. I didn't realize I had drifted off. It was Doctor Winchester doing the poking, but Dad was there, too—standing on the other side of the bed.
“Can you talk, son?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, and then tried clearing my throat. “Kind of.”
“Your vocal cords haven't been used for some time,” Doctor Winchester said. “It will take them a while to get going normally again.”
“How do you feel?” Dad asked with all the concern in his eyes a parent should have. His hand went to my head, and then he bent over and looked into my eyes with his little penlight.
“Weird,” I answered. I didn't really know how I felt.
“You were hurt pretty bad,” he told me. “I'm considering myself pretty lucky to be talking to you at all. For a while there…”
His voice trailed off, and he sighed.
“What's wrong with me?” I asked. I went into a coughing fit then, and the doctor held up the water for me to drink. My stomach lurched as it trickled down my throat.
They both looked at each other, and then Dad pulled up another one of those little rolling chairs to sit close to me. Doctor Winchester started listing all my injuries.
“The impact from the vehicle hit you in your shoulders and back,” he started. “There was a rough edge near the bottom of the car, which tore open part of your left side. There was damage to your kidney and spleen, and you collapsed a lung. Your left kidney had to be removed, as well as a portion of your spleen. Your left shoulder blade was shattered, your pelvis cracked, your right arm broken, and there was some trauma to your lower back. Your spinal cord took a lot of shock with the impact.”
“Shit.”
Doctor Winchester chuckled, but my dad's eyes narrowed at my comment.
“Yes,” the doctor continued as he gave me another drink of water, “you were in pretty bad shape.”
“How about now?” I asked, wondering just how much I had mended after six weeks.
“Your bones have healed,” he said, “with the exception of your left scapula, which had to be replaced. You're going to have a nasty scar down your side, but considering the circumstances, I would think you should wear that with pride.”
I looked up at him questioningly.
“From all accounts of the accident, you most certainly saved the Skye girl's life.”
I felt my mouth turn up in a bit of a smile.
Dad's eyes narrowed again.
Doctor Winchester looked over at his clipboard for a minute and then turned back to me.
“I want to talk a bit about your legs, though.”
I felt cold, and the muscles in my shoulders tensed.
“Your right leg got a nasty cut as well,” he said, “though not as bad as the one on your back. You lost a lot of blood there, but it's your spinal cord injury that is of the most concern.”
“He'll be fine,” my dad interrupted. “He's strong.”
“We don't know that yet, Lou.”
They didn't have to say it—I already knew.
“I'm not going to walk, am I?”
“You'll be fine,” Dad repeated.
“Thomas, it's hard to say at this point. I'd like to go through some tests first and see how you're responding now that you are awake. Without those results, it's hard to say for sure, but it's going to be difficult. With extensive physical therapy, you may walk again eventually.”
Eventually.
What the fuck did that mean?
“How long will that take?”
“I want to run some tests—”
“How long?” I asked again, raising my voice a little.
The doctor's eyes softened, and his lips smashed together.
“It will be at least a year,” he finally answered. “Maybe eighteen months, if you really work hard, and there isn't any permanent damage. Even then, you may never have a complete recovery.”
“What about soccer?” I asked, glancing up at my dad. He glared at Doctor Winchester. The doctor looked at him, took a deep breath, and then turned back to me.
“Thomas, it's very unlikely you will be able to play soccer again.”
My stomach lurched, expelling the little water I had consumed. Pain shot up my back as I tried to lean over to get the water out of my mouth. Both my dad and the doctor held me to one side, and a nurse came in to help as well.
I still saved Rumple.
It was still worth it.
But what did I have now? If the only thing that had mattered in my life for years was gone, where did that leave me?
Dad closed the door to the room as Doctor Winchester left to schedule various tests over the next few days. As soon as the door was closed, I could feel the entire atmosphere of the room change.
Dad stayed at the door for a moment with his hand pressed against the frame, leaning into it before letting out a long breath and turning around to look at me.
Well, glare would be more accurate.
Here it comes.
“I always thought you were an idiot,” he said darkly. “I never realized how big an idiot you really are.”
He walked slowly over to the side of my bed, and I tried to shift around, though I didn’t know where I was going to go. I could barely move at all, and I could feel a strange panic building inside of me.
I couldn’t move my legs, and I could only move my arms a little. As soon as I shifted one arm over—even a little bit—I could feel the muscle fatigue from my shoulder to my wrist.
I was trapped.
“Do you realize what you’ve done?” Hi
s voice was still quite low and soft, and I looked over toward the door, wondering just how far away the night nurse was from my room. “You may very well have fucked up your entire life in one stupid, pointless move.”
“Not pointless,” I heard myself whisper and immediately regretted saying it out loud.
“What was that?” he snapped. “What?”
“Nothing,” I mumbled.
“Not pointless, is that what you’re telling me?” Contempt was evident in his voice. “You almost died, Thomas! It’s going to be at least two more seasons before you can play again! For what, huh? For a piece of ass?”
Two more seasons?
“I thought the doctor said—”
“That moron doesn’t know what he’s talking about!” Dad waved a hand toward the door. “You’ll play again—you just have to stop being a pussy and get the hell out of that bed as soon as you can. No more napping, you hear me?”
I looked up at him and then down at the blanket that covered my legs. I tried to moisten my lips, but my tongue was too dry, and I started coughing again. Once I got it under control, I tried to shift my legs like I had my arms.
Nothing.
They didn’t hurt or feel strained or fatigued. I just couldn’t make them move.
“Dad,” I whispered as I looked up at him again. The panic was back. “I can’t move them, Dad. They just…don’t.”
My heart was starting to beat faster, as evidenced by the increasing tempo of the monitor off to the side. My lungs expanded and contracted over and over, and I couldn’t seem to make them slow down at all. I strained—trying to just shift my leg a little, but nothing happened at all.
Nothing.
“Dad…”
“Stop that,” he said through a clenched jaw. “It may take a little time, but you’re going to work through it. You’re going to play pro.”
I couldn’t even listen to what he was saying. My head started to pound with the exertion of trying to make my leg move—or even to wiggle my toe. My breath came in gasps, and the monitor started going wild. My vision blurred, and I tried to grab onto the railing of the bed as my head started spinning, but my arm just flopped to one side.
“Dad!”
“Stop it, Thomas!” he yelled. I felt his hands on my shoulders, and then there was another set of hands—the nurse—holding one of my arms. “You are going to hurt yourself!”
“Relax, Thomas,” the nurse said. “Should I sedate him?”
“No, you aren’t going to sedate him!” Dad yelled at her. “He’s just coming out of a coma, for God’s sake. Did you even go to school?”
“Sorry, doctor.”
“Thomas!” His voice made me cringe, and that, along with the combination of his hands holding my shoulders, was not helping me relax at all, but it did make me shut down a little. The muscles I could control tensed and held still.
“I want Nicole,” I said as I looked up at the nurse. “Where’s Nicole?”
“You just need to rest now,” Dad said. He pushed my shoulders to the bed and started lowering it a bit.
“I hate sleeping on my back,” I grumbled.
“It’s better to keep all the tubes in place,” Dad said. His voice had softened a lot. “It’s just more incentive for you to work hard and get through this, right son?”
“When can I see Nicole?” I mumbled.
“I’ll look into it,” Dad said dismissively.
“She’s still trying to get in,” I heard the nurse say to Dad. “Shall I call for her in the morning?”
“Absolutely not,” Dad replied. He glanced back to me for a moment. “I’ll take care of it.”
As my head settled against the lumpy, stiff pillow, my eyes closed without asking me if it was okay, and the voices faded.
It was light in the room when I opened them again, and I was alone.
My head hurt, and there wasn’t a single part of my body that wasn’t aching in one way or another. I wanted to roll over, but there was just no way to do it. I didn’t have the strength, and all the tubes and shit all over the place didn’t help at all.
For the longest time, I just lay there and stared at the ceiling.
A nurse came by—a different one than who had been there overnight—and checked my vitals. She leaned down and changed a bag near the end of the bed, which I realized must be attached to a catheter.
Fucking awesome.
Note sarcasm.
Once she gave me some more water, which I managed to keep down, she left me alone again. I tried moving my fingers, one at a time, just picking them up and putting them down again. It seemed to work out okay and wasn’t making me tired. I tried lifting my wrists next, and that seemed okay, too.
My arms were a whole other thing. After two tries, I was exhausted again.
I fell back asleep.
Tests, tests, tests.
All fucking afternoon and most of the next morning.
Could I feel this and could I feel that? Lift this; flex that.
I wanted to punch something, but I couldn’t make a complete fist without wearing myself out so much, I had to take a fucking nap.
Maybe Dad was right, and I was a pussy.
I wanted to see Nicole, but when I brought her up, he changed the subject or just told me to shut up.
I woke to voices in the hallway.
“I’m going to talk to him, Lou.”
“He’s not ready.”
“Well, I need to talk to him anyway.”
“I will not allow it.”
“At this point, I have an incomplete accident report, and police business overrides your authority here at the hospital. I’m going to talk to him.”
“Don’t screw around with me. You’ll regret it.”
“Police business, boss.”
The door opened, and I looked up to see Greg Skye walking into the room. I could still see Dad in the corridor outside with his hand gripping his hair and his eyes boring holes into Greg’s back. Greg shut the door behind him.
He walked over to me slowly with a tentative smile across his face. His hand grabbed the rolling chair, and he pulled it up next to the bed before he sat down.
“How’s my hero?”
I smiled and chuckled a little, which really fucking hurt. I tried to take a deep breath as I looked back up to him.
“How’s my Rumple?” I asked.
Greg shook his head and smiled.
“Nicole is fine,” he said. “She’s really been missing you.”
“Is she going to come here?” I asked.
Greg looked over his shoulder.
“I’m hoping to get her in here very shortly, but your Dad doesn’t like the idea too much.”
I thought about that for a minute. Yeah, I was pretty sure he didn’t like it at all.
“He hasn’t let her visit, has he?”
“She was here in the beginning,” Greg said, “but she and your Dad had a bit of a…confrontation, shall we say? He’s denied her access since then.”
“I want to see her,” I told him. “Tell her that, okay?”
“I will, son,” Greg said, “but we need to talk about the accident a little so I can really say I’m here on official business and not just because I wanted to thank the man who saved my daughter’s life and almost cost himself his own in the process.”
“Worth it,” I said quietly.
His hand lay on top of mine, and he gripped it for just a second.
“Thank you, Thomas,” he said, and his voice faltered a bit on my name. “I’ll never be able to say it enough, but thank you.”
I looked up at him and saw his eyes were shining just a bit in the harsh, fluorescent lights. I nodded to him once, and he nodded back to me.
“Now let’s get down to business before you need to rest some more, okay?”
“Okay.”
“First question,” he said as he pulled out a mini clipboard and a pencil. “What the hell is a Rumple?”
If he kept up questions lik
e this, we were literally going to follow Shakespeare’s words and “laugh ourselves into stitches.” Somehow, just having him here made me feel better.
Now how was he going to get Rumple into my room?
CHAPTER 26
PLAY ON
After a quick explanation of the origin of RumplestiltSkye and the painful laughter that occurred along with it, Greg gave me the details of the accident. As I had pretty much already figured out, the brunt of the impact from the car was on me, and the trajectory of Nicole's body and mine when we were hit resulted in her being partially shoved underneath a car parked at the diner entrance, which kept her from suffering much harm. She had to get stitches in her right shoulder from getting caught on something under the car and had a mild concussion but was otherwise okay.
The whole conversation lasted maybe a half hour, and when it was done, I was completely exhausted. The idea that just lying there and talking could wear me out was frustrating, to say the least. Greg was still talking when I dropped off.
I could feel soft, warm fingers over my cheek and temple and then through my hair. Instinctively, I turned my head toward the sensation, and when I awoke, I was met with her beautiful blue eyes.
“Hey there,” Nicole said softly.
“Hey,” I managed to croak out. Nicole picked up my cup and held it up to me. With the bed lying back too far, the water just managed to dribble down my chin, and we played around with the bed controls until I was more upright.
Once I was settled comfortably, I just looked at her—taking in her appearance and noticing a lot of changes. She was thinner, no doubt, and she looked tired. I also noticed she was wearing one of my practice shirts, and I wondered where she got it. Would she have gone to ask Dad to let her take one? Maybe she got it out of my locker or my soccer bag.
“You look good in my shirt,” I said with a smile.
She blushed and looked down at her hands, which held one of mine.
“It needs to be washed,” she replied. “I kind of wear it a lot.”
I thought about that and decided I definitely liked it.
“Thomas?” Nicole said softly.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
I looked from where she held my hand to her face and saw there was a tear running down her cheek. I tried to raise my hand to brush it away, but it just kind of flopped back down on my stomach. She seemed to understand, and with a small, sad smile, she picked up my hand and brushed it over her cheek.