Page 57 of Moving Forward

“It was an accident,” Conner tells me.

“I fucking know that,” I growl hotly. Grams chides me for cursing, but I ignore her. “That doesn’t make it better. Accidents don’t mean a damn difference between life and death.”

“C’mon, man,” Conner warns. “Don’t make me punch you again.”

This time I’ve lost all my anger. I don’t have the emotional bandwidth or the energy to back it up. I feel along the bridge of my nose then rub at the now-drying blood. “You probably broke my fucking nose. Again.”

“Sorry. But I had to do it, man.”

“Don’t blame you,” I tell him. I walk over to a seat in the corner and plop down, resting my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands.

Grams and Erin follow me. Grams’s frail arm wraps around my back and Erin sets her hand on my thigh.

“I’m sure Max is okay,” Erin tells me. “She’s a strong girl.”

There that word is again: strong. Strength doesn’t matter. Will doesn’t matter. Nothing matters when death and despair have got it in for you.

We sit in silence for a long time. Erin and Grams don’t bother trying to start a conversation. They both just keep holding onto me as if trying to ground me. Not that I would move if I could. All I can do is stare at those ER doors, waiting for any kind of word. What’s taking so long? Why haven’t they told us anything? Unless . . . God, no.

“She has to be okay,” I whisper hoarsely. “I can’t . . . I need her.”

Conner stands and rakes his hand through his cropped hair. “I’ll go talk to the front desk, man. See what I can find out.”

I nod curtly.

“Maybe we could get you a coffee,” Erin says. “Take a walk down to the cafeteria and get your mind off things.”

“I’m staying here.”

“Erin’s right, Cain. Sitting around isn’t going to make the time go faster,” Grams says, the voice of reason.

I sigh. “Alright.”

The doors suddenly open. The sight of Ellie and Danny sends my heart to my throat. Both of their eyes are bloodshot, their faces pale. Ellie marches straight toward me, a murderous look on her face. Danny, the normally levelheaded one, wears a similar expression, only grimmer.

Ellie pushes me and I stumble back, caught off guard. “This is all your fault!”

Does she think I don’t realize that? I catch her wrists, bending to see her better. “How is she?”

“Why should I tell you?” she yells, trying to thrash her way out of my grasp.

“Answer him,” Erin commands.

“No! It’s his fault!”

“No, it isn’t, Ellie, and you know that,” Erin points out in a calm, authoritative voice I recognize well.

“Yes, it is!” Ellie answers, kicking her legs now. “If he wouldn’t have been there . . .”

“How. Is. She?” I demand, my voice raising. She stills, her eyes widening. I can barely contain myself and I hope she can see that. It’s taken everything in me to not start throwing furniture and punching walls. The only reason I haven’t is because I know how much Max would hate it.

“Stable,” Danny says through gritted teeth. That word is the best word I’ve ever heard. She’s okay—alive. I let out a shaky breath and turn my head up to the ceiling, sending up a thank-you prayer to God and Ethan for getting her through this.

Ellie’s eyes narrow into slits. “Barely! You don’t realize what she . . . what could have . . .”

I let go of Ellie. I could have lost Max. She almost left me. Ellie’s right. It is my fault. Not because I should have stopped her, but because I got involved. I fell in love with her and now this is only a reminder that love, despite popular belief, doesn’t conquer all. Losing her would’ve marked the end of me. I wouldn’t have made it out of that.

It doesn’t matter if I have her for five more days or fifty years, I’ll lose her eventually or she could lose me. By putting myself in this situation—by loving her—I’m subjecting myself to being left behind again. To being consumed and devastated from loving and losing.

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