Page 97 of Unbearable

After a while, the silence was too deafening.

So I talked to him. I started telling him everything I could think of—memories of our childhood, stories from my time in Seattle, my dreams for my career, my friendship with Noah.

Anything to keep the silence at bay.

As the first light of dawn filtered through the window, I felt Trent’s fingers twitch in my hand. My heart leapt, hope surging through me.

He squeezed my hand gently, and I finally let out the breath I didn’t realize I had been holding for days.

THIRTY-SIX

Trent

YOU'RE STILL THE ONE (ACOUSTIC) - BAILEY RUSHLOW

The rhythmic beepingcaused me to stir.

I started to drift back into consciousness. I opened my eyes and struggled to make sense of my surroundings, the fog of sleep still clinging to my mind. The world around me was hazy and distant, like I had been dreaming. “Come back to me. Open your eyes for me.”

There was a sharp edge of desperation in that voice that had me fighting to open my eyes even when they felt so fucking heavy.

Gradually, sparks of light danced before my eyes. After a few blinks, the room around me began to come into focus. My brain couldn’t make sense of my surroundings, and all I could understand was that she was here, squeezing my hand, bringing me back to life.

My senses slowly sharpened, and reality came crashing back to me.

“Sunshine,” I croaked, my voice barely a whisper.

Tears of relief poured down her cheeks as I squeezed her hand. “You’re okay,” she sobbed.

I nodded weakly. “I’m not going anywhere.” Her grip on my hand tightening ever so slightly.

“Let me call the nurse,” she said, rushing over for the call button.

“How are you feeling? Wait, don’t talk. They said your throat would be sore from the breathing tube. Do you need water?” she asked.

I nodded, and she grabbed a cup with a straw and lifted it to my lips. I took a small sip. She wasn’t kidding. It felt like I swallowed a bucket of Legos.

A woman in a lab coat who seemed to be in her late fifties walked in. “Mr. Akers, I’m Dr. Cunningham. I’m so glad to see you awake. How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Could be worse.” My voice was coarse and barely audible.

She smiled. “You are a lucky man, Mr. Akers.”

“What happened? After?” I asked.

“You sustained a gunshot wound to your chest. The bullet entered your chest cavity, causing damage to your right lung and grazing the edge of your heart. This resulted in a collapsed lung and a small, contained hemorrhage around your heart. We acted quickly to stabilize you, relieving pressure from the collapsed lung, and addressed the bleeding around your heart during emergency surgery. You’re stable now, but recovery will require careful monitoring and rehabilitation. But things are looking good now, especially now that you are awake.” She walked over to the computer and started typing a few things. “You have a lot of people that care about you, you know? That lobby has been full since you got here.”

“How long have I been out?” I croaked.

“Just over forty-eight hours.” She took my vitals, writing on her clipboard.

My body ached, and it felt like I slept for four hours, not forty-eight. I gently moved the hospital gown aside, revealing my tattoo, unharmed. I smiled.

“I’ll give you two some privacy and let your family know that you are awake. Dotty, feel free to grab any of them to come back, but only three visitors in the room at once.”

“Chris?” I asked.

“Dead,” Dotty said, her eyes filling with tears. My body relaxed a fraction, knowing this was finally over.

---