Page 32 of Shattered

He nodded once. “If you need anything, or if there’s a change in his status, call.”

“I will.”

“I’ll come by in the morning. Try to get some sleep.” He laid a hand on the top of her head, his expression full of admiration and tenderness. “No wonder he calls you Little Warrior.” Squeezing her shoulder gently, he rose to his feet and switched off the light on his way out of the room.

She spent a fitful night on the floor next to her husband, reaching up for his still hand in the darkness, letting the beep of the heart monitor reassure her that he was still with her. Time dragged, the hours blurring, but he survived the first forty-eight hours. Then seventy-two. And ninety-six. And still the doctors kept him in the coma.

Over the next nine days she became intimately familiar with the hospital routine. Nurses came and went at all hours to check Nathan’s vitals, check his catheter, adjust his medication levels or draw blood. Within a few days she knew pretty much every nurse working in the ICU, and greeted them by name whenever they came to tend to Nathan.

A doctor stopped by once in the morning just after breakfast, and again before dinner. Sometimes it was one of the surgeons who had operated on Nathan. Sometimes it was a thoracic specialist or a neurologist. None of them had anything useful or hopeful to offer. Every day, the same verdict.

Nathan was surviving, but he wasn’t improving.

Her dad and brother were godsends, keeping her fed, letting her nap while they kept watch over Nathan. She refused to leave the hospital, using earplugs when she absolutely needed sleep. Nathan’s teammates came in every day, three of them arriving for a fifteen-minute shift at regularly spaced intervals that didn’t interfere with the nurses or Taya’s sleep schedule.

The women came too, checking on her and bringing her little treats or things to make her stay more comfortable. A pair of fluffy slippers and a memory foam pillow. Pink flannel jammies with little black skulls on them from Zoe. Flowers and chocolates, an electric kettle, mug and collection of herbal teas. Books and magazines. It was all so thoughtful and overwhelming, to be looked after like that.

And yet…

Even with such a solid support system behind her and around her, after the first ten days came and went without any change, she began to lose hope. She didn’t dare tell anyone or let it show, but the guilt was terrible.

Then, on day eleven, the doctors decided it was time to wean Nathan off his meds. They’d removed the staples from his chest and abdomen. His skin had healed. Now it was time to see if his brain had as well.

Taya remained perched at his side over the next three days, waiting and praying for an uptick in brain activity. For him to wake up, open his eyes. Anything.

But nothing happened.

On night fifteen, dispirited and crushed, she changed into her pink and black bat-print pajamas and crawled into her makeshift bed on the floor beside Nathan’s bed while her father hovered over her, his face lined with concern.

“Sweetie, you sure you don’t want to go home for a while tonight? You’re done in, you should see the circles under your eyes. I’ll stay with Nathan. If anything changes I’ll call you right away.”

“No, but thanks. I promised him I wouldn’t leave him.”

Her dad sighed and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “You sure?”

“Yes.” There was no conviction or heat behind the word. She was too damn exhausted to argue, too numb to expend another ounce of energy.

When the beeping started to quicken, she assumed she was dreaming. Then her eyes popped open, and every muscle seized as Nathan’s heart rate began to pick up. Taya shoved into a sitting position and stared at his profile in the dimness. “Nathan?”

The beeping stayed steady. Taya rose and took his hand, leaned over him to peer into his face. “Nathan, can you hear me?” He didn’t react. The increase in heart rate had to be a positive sign, right?

What if it means the opposite?

She hurried around the other side of the bed, flipped on the bedside light and grabbed for the call button, her hands unsteady. Shit, was he going into cardiac arrest or something?

The plastic device was cold in her hand as she slid her thumb over top of the button.

The sheets rustled.

Taya smothered a gasp and jerked her gaze to her husband. “Nathan?” She leaned over him, grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Nathan.”

His eyelids flickered. Theyflickered.

She held her breath, waiting. Praying.

Please, baby. Please wake up and look at me.

A slight frown twitched across his forehead. And then those beautiful, familiar hazel eyes flipped open and peered up at her.

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