Page 102 of Living with Fire

Her eyes are open, glassy, but wider this time. She’s forcing herself to look, to focus. I’m sure the medication is trying to pull her back under, but she’s fighting it. Then she looks away, taking in her surroundings before she finds me again, confused. Again she tries to say something, but nothing comes out.

“You’re okay. You’re safe,” I whisper, fearing my voice may break. “Banged up a bit, but nothing that won’t heal. You don’t need to worry about anything, okay? He’s never going to hurt you again, Sav. He’s gone for good.”

I can see relief shine briefly in her eyes before she loses the battle, and they close on her. Still fighting the medication, though, she forces them open a moment later. It’s taking everything out of her, I can see it in her eyes, but before I can tell her to close them and go back to sleep, her lips are moving again. This time I realize she’s asking for water.

An orderly just brought a fresh cup of water for her in case she woke up. I grab it and bring the straw to her lips, helping by keeping it steady as she takes a small sip. When she’s done, her eyes close again and I pull the cup away, setting it back on the tray.

“Nate,” she croaks, her voice hoarse, hardly loud enough to be considered a whisper.

“Yeah, babe, I’m right here. But don’t talk. I know you’re tired. Just go back to sleep, sweetheart,” I tell her, squeezing her fingers gently.

Again she forces her eyes open, peering up at me with intense focus that I didn’t expect to see.

“Nate… I love you,” she breathes before her eyes close again.

My mouth opens, then closes. Inside my chest, my heart feels like it cracks wide open at her declaration. I heard her yell it through the phone, knew she meant it then, just like she does now. What I didn’t know until this moment was how terrified I was that I’d never get to hear it in person. I’ve allowed the guilt and self-loathing to rule my thoughts the past thirty-six hours because I couldn’t bear, or dwell, on the thought I may never hear her tell me in person. Or worse… she wouldn’t hear me say it back.

“I love you too, Sav,” I choke out. There’s the faintest squeeze on my fingers in return.

It’s only a few seconds before I know she’s succumbed to the exhaustion and medication she was fighting against so desperately. That’s when I bend over her bed, pressing my face against her arm above her cast and let the tears fall, yielding to every emotion I’ve felt for the past two days.

Over an hour later, I’m back in the hospital chair, staring numbly at my phone. I’m exhausted. Seeing Savanna’s eyes, hearing her voice, and what she had to say, destroyed the little thread that was keeping me together. Everything I’d refused to feel since the day before, plus everything I’d allowed myself to feel, bore down on me like a torrential rainfall. There was no compartmentalizing this.

I managed to pull myself together after a while. Managed a phone call to Connor to let him, Devin, and Savanna’s dad know she’d opened her eyes. It had sounded like the three of them were on their feet to rush back before the words were out of my mouth, but I got them to relax and settle down when I explained she had slipped back into unconsciousness, and being awake even for a couple of minutes had taken everything out of her. They agreed to at least finish their meal before heading back, but I expect them soon.

When I hear footsteps entering the room, I switch my phone off. It’s not the three large men—the footsteps are too dainty for that—but my mom who walks in, holding a glass bowl of whatever she made for dinner. Her eyes sweep over Savanna first, then move to take me in. A frown as deep as any I’ve ever seen my mother wear creases her forehead and tugs her mouth down.

“My sweet boy,” she sighs with sadness, moving further in the room with outstretched arms.

Christ. A wave of emotion tugs at my heart. It’s unlike the one from earlier, less intense and heavy. More relief and comfort. I get up from my chair, taking the couple strides across the room, and allow her arms to engulf me in a hug only my mother can give. It makes me feel like a boy again, warm and safe, and wholly protected.

But I’m not a boy. I tower over my mom these days, and as I hug her back, I can’t help the smile that tugs my lips upwards.

“I’m okay,” I tell her quietly, rubbing her back in an effort to convince and comfort her.

She hums her disapproval, releasing me. “You’re exhausted. Have you had any sleep?”

I shrug, taking the container of food still in her hands. A welcome distraction so I don’t need to meet her eyes as I move to set it down on Savanna’s bedside tray. “Some. Thank you for dinner.”

My mom says nothing more about it, but I can feel her displeasure radiating through the room. She knows there’s nothing she can do. Instead, she changes topics, moving closer to the bed on the same side as me. “How is she?”

“She opened her eyes since I talked to you,” I tell her with a small, thankful smile.

My mom’s hand comes to her chest, her eyes glowing with hope. “Oh, honey, that’s wonderful. It’s a good sign, isn’t it?”

I nod, my fingers brushing over Savanna’s knuckles as I gaze down at her, thinking of the clear focus that had been in her eyes as she managed to tell me the words in her heart. She fought so hard to get them out. Fought the medication, the pain, the drowsiness. For me.

“If you plan on running off to marry the girl the second she’s out of here, could you at least invite your mother?” There’s a teasing tone to her words, but I think I also detect a level of seriousness.

Stepping sideways so we’re shoulder to shoulder, I sling my arm around her and pull her to my side. The thought of Savanna standing before me, in a dress she chooses with me in mind, chases every wretched emotion from my veins, and I smile, warming from the inside out. “If that day comes, mom, I promise you’ll be there.”

“When Nathan. Not if.”

My smile grows and I bend enough to place a kiss atop my mother’s head. I amend, “When.”

A moment later music begins to play, the sound coming from my mom’s purse. She rifles around in it, throwing me an apologetic look, probably for not having it on vibrate.

“Oh, it’s your sister,” she says when she pulls it out and reads the screen. It’s not a phone call, I realize, but a video call. My mom swipes right on “accept”.

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