Page 92 of Free to Dream
“Love you, Caleb. Always. Understand why. Talk with Keene. Told him. Office. He’ll understand. Painting.” Her lips are against mine the whole time she says what she did, so I’m not sure I got it right.
But I understood the most important thing.
“I love you too, baby.”
“Go get the others. Come back.”
“Always,” I vow, my lips still on hers.
She smiles. “Okay.” Then her eyes close again.
As I push the button for the nurse to come in, I thank God for miracles. It’s going to be okay.
Eventually.
40
Cassidy
I’m back at the carriage house after having been checked out by what seems like every doctor at Greenwich Hospital. It was a long eight-day stay.
The final damage? A required haircut as a result of the stitches in the back of my head. A scar along the crease of my neck which will be barely noticeable after it fades. Bruises galore from the hits Mildred inflicted to my face that get worse every day. Fortunately, even pistol-whipping me with her gun, she didn’t manage to break my zygomatic bone. Instead, it left a hell of a bruise and a gash which was taped up by the time the EMTs got me in the ambulance.
I was discharged today. Caleb is thoroughly pissed because he couldn’t be there with me. The Attorney General has flown up to New York to discuss the impact of what Mildred did to the AG’s overall case. Even though we were both busy—me being discharged and him with the AG—I was getting increasingly concerned pings from Caleb.
Missing you.
Is everything okay?
Can you just ping me to let me know you’re okay?
And then, finally.
We’re done. Keene and I are on our way. I’ll be there soon to hold you.
Tears welled up in my eyes when I got that one. I sent him a quick“Good. Going to rest now”before I put my phone down and relaxed back in my bed.
I could hear my family moving around downstairs, their voices a comforting background noise, but I was missing something.
Caleb.
I really wanted his arms around me and the sound of his heart under my ear.
Moving slowly, as the adrenaline has sucked out more energy than Ali on a five-mile trail run, I swing my legs over the side of my bed and start to walk to my bathroom.
“Busted,” an amused male voice, not the one I’m waiting for, but a beloved one nonetheless says.
Turning, I find Phil lounging in my doorway with what appears to be one of my serving bowls filled with ice cream on a tray.
“Is that Baskin Robbins Chocolate-Peanut Butter?” I ask, my glands salivating at my favorite ice cream flavor.
“Is there another kind?” He smirks as he strolls into my room.
“There shouldn’t be. Hey, what the hell are you doing?” I ask as he starts to lift the spoon to his mouth.
“Oh, I figured if you were out of bed, then you must be fine and this was up for grabs,” he remarks innocently. But I can see the dark edge in his eyes, daring me to argue with him.
Sighing, my shoulders droop. “Phil, I’m still in gross hospital clothes. All I really want to do is pee, wipe the hospital smell off me and change into something soft and comfortable. Is that too much?” I’m almost in tears with the effort it’s taking me to have the discussion.
