Page 25 of Mind

It’s close to ten at night when a very tired looking doctor makes his way to our group. Chase extends a hand. “Dr. Roberts. We’re Phillip’s friends and family. How is he?”

The hallway is so silent, you could hear a pin drop. “He made it through surgery but not before coding on the table, twice.” Bree and I both gasp. Tears slip down the faces of every woman standing here waiting to hear about the man we all love. “Phillip’s a fighter that’s for sure,” the doctor smiles briefly. “Aside from the broken legs, and ribs, he sustained a collapsed lung and serious bleeding. The explosion did a number on him. He’ll be in a medically induced coma for at least a week. Not only is there swelling in his brain, we have to let his body heal a bit. Otherwise the pain would be excruciating.”

Bree slips to her knees, overrun with grief. Kat and Maria lift her up and hold her as she breaks down. I stand still, as if time has completely stopped. The doctor is speaking but I can’t hear anything. It seems as though I check out somewhere around “medically induced coma” and “excruciating pain.”

“Can we see our boy,” Phillip’s mother asks the doctor.

“Because of the risk of infection, I can allow you a few minutes at his bedside but only next of kin.” Those words send Bree into hysterics. I wasn’t far behind.

“Doctor, I’m sure we can work something out. This is Phillip’s girlfriend and his best friend, my fiancée. I’m sure you can let them just take a peek after his parents have had a moment. Consider it a professional courtesy,” Chase says while clapping the surgeon on his shoulder, the intent clear. You help me, I help you. I’ve seen it many times over the past few months and I’ve never been happier about how much influence my man carries in this town before now.

The doctor takes a breath and shakes his head. “Fine, just the two, and only under escort. But they’ll need to control themselves. There are a lot of people in various stages of healing that cannot handle an outburst such as the one I just witnessed,” Dr. Roberts looks at Bree. She wipes away her tears and pushes back her shoulders as she brings herself under control.

“I’ll be just fine. I promise. I have to see him, if only for a moment.” Her voice cracks on the last word, and I clasp her hand and tug her to my side.

The surgeon leads the Park’s in to see their son first. After they come out, I hug his mother tight. Growing up, I always loved Phil’s mom, the quintessential June Cleaver. Now she looks as though she’s suffered a great loss. Her shoulders are slumped over, her hair is a wild mess from running her fingers through it, and all traces of make-up are long gone, revealing her true age of late fifties. Even still, she’s beautiful and I kiss both her cheeks.

“Kiss my angel girl for me, and tell her I’ll visit tomorrow.”

Phillip’s mom cups my cheek and pats it lovingly. “You always were a lovely girl. So good to my boy, especially after Angela. There’s a special place in heaven for women like you, Gigi.” Then she kisses my cheek and turns to her husband.

Bree starts to tug my hand towards the door to visit Phil. I glance over my shoulder at the pure love I see in Chase’s eyes, and the gazes of our friends, basically telling us without words, that they are there for us, and for Phillip in spirit. Chase mouths “I love you,” as the doors to the unit close behind us.

We’re led to a wall of glass. Behind the panes is Phillip. Bree places her hands and forehead against the glass and closes her eyes. Her lips move and I imagine she’s praying. I take the quiet moment to catalogue every injury I can see from here. Aside from his wrapped chest, he has a row of stitches over his eye, another down the side of his face. His arms are speckled with bruises, cuts, and wounds from the blast. There’s an oxygen mask over his mouth providing him life-saving oxygen. That means he’s not breathing on his own. I close my eyes and send my own prayer, this time asking my Mother in Heaven to pull some strings with the big guy, and save my friend. He’s got far too much to live for to lose his life now.

A warmth fills my chest and slowly expands throughout my body. The feeling of complete and utter serenity lifts the black cloud hanging over my head. The one that has been there from the moment we raced to the hospital. I look at Phillip and send him everything I have. Love, light, friendship, loyalty, peace and happiness. I just hope it’s enough. Something in me believes it is. I just know he’s going to make it.

Chapter 8

Gillian

The next two weeks are touch and go. Phillip is out of the intensive care unit but hasn’t woken from his coma. Originally, the doctors said it was “medically induced,” but when they tried to bring him back a week after the accident, nothing. Yesterday, they were finally able to get him off the breathing machines since his lungs started working on their own. Bree is a wreck. We all are. She’s been at the hospital every possible minute. When she’s not there, one of us girls or Phil’s parents are holding down the fort. Recently, she hired her yoga mentee. The little thing who subs for her is now taking on her full load. Bree doesn’t care. She doesn’t care about much of anything. I don’t blame her. If Chase was hurt, almost killed, and still in a coma, I’d never leave his side.

I turn off the shower and grab one of the towels on the warmer. Heated towels. Only my man would make sure his towels are warmed before getting out of the shower. I make quick work of drying my hair and pulling it into a tight ponytail. Standing in front of the mirror, I notice how much thinner I’ve gotten. The stress of the last few weeks has taken its toll. My body has seen better days. I’ve always been a good size six, bordering on an eight, which normally looks good on my lengthy body. Right now, my size sixes are loose. Scanning my body from head to toe in the mirror, I can see the indents for each of my ribs and the hip bones are actually coming to a bit of a point. There’s definitely less for Chase to grab onto. Even my full, size C breasts seem smaller. When was the last time I ate? I’m trying to remember as my phone on the vanity rings.

Quickly, I grab a pair of skinny jeans, a form fitting tank, and a tunic style sweater that comes down to mid-thigh. Hitting the speaker button, I throw on a pair of heather grey panties and matching bra.

“Hello,” I say while slipping up the jeans and buttoning them. I turn to look at my bum in the mirror. It’s still a good heart shape but not nearly as rounded as it usually is.

“Gigi, when you leave the hospital today can you come by the theatre for a quick fitting? I have a nice template, but it would be better if I could pin some of the fabrics to the sample where I want them while you’re in the dress,” Kat says in a rush.

I groan and slip the tank over my head. “Kat, I really need some time at home. I have a million things to do for work and for the wedding.”

“Um, hello? Dressmaker here. What the hell do you think I’m working on night and day? If your man didn’t have to marry you in the next four weeks…” she starts on the same rant I hear every few days.

“Okay!” I cut her off before she goes into the extra-long diatribe. “I’ll be there around two. Does that work?”

A loud huff comes through the speaker. “Yeah, I guess. Plan to stay at least two hours though.”

Two fucking hours? What the hell is she making, a dress for the Queen Mother? Christ on a cross this is going to end me. “Fine!” I yell and then hit the end button. I can’t talk to her anymore. I have things to do. It’s my rotation to be with Phil, and I need to get down to the hospital to relieve Bree. Once I throw on the tunic, I pull a pair of ballet flats at random out of the closet and tip toe through our dark bedroom.

Through a miracle, Chase is still sleeping. He’s been working incredibly long hours trying to get past a major merger as well as locate anything on my stalker. There’s been little activity, which makes me hopeful that he’s gone for good. Maybe he was caught for something else. I’m still suspicious about Justin, and the fact that nobody knows where he is. It’s as if he’s fallen off the face of the earth. Chase is convinced he’s the culprit. His rationale is, why would anyone else have such an obsession? My question to him was, “I don’t know; why are you obsessed with me?” He snickered and played it off, but, really, it’s a solid question.

Making my way into the kitchen, all I can think about is the sweet cup of heaven I’m about to drink. Bentley, our chef, sets up the machine so it will make coffee for me each morning. He adds some special spices in the coffee and leaves me creamer that he made fresh in the fridge. It’s the closest thing to a Starbucks vanilla latte as I can get without having to go to a physical location.

When I enter the kitchen, I’m bombarded by my fiancé’s assistant. “There you are, Gigi. I’ve been waiting for you!” Dana says happily while sitting on one of the barstools. In front of her is a huge, three-ringed binder with multiple colored tabs sticking out the edges. I glance at the clock on the microwave.

“It’s seven thirty, Dana.” Why the hell does she have a key to our private quarters? That reminds me that I need to have a chat with my hubby-to-be about his over-achieving assistant and her instant access to our home at all hours.

---