* * *
I pull my hands away from my face when I hear Kim’s car pull up. She stops right in front of me. Sam’s in the passenger seat, a worried look on his face.
They came the second I called, just like they always have.
Both of them hop out and help me off the curb, getting me safely into the front seat, my body too exhausted to do it on my own.
The three of us sit in silence, Sam’s arms resting on the center console, his eyes downcast.
I feel like a complete idiot. “You were right. I should have listened to you.”
He gives a sad shake of his head and lets out a long exhale. “I should have come with you.”
“No,” I say, defeated. “You knew it wasn’t going to be her.”
“Which is exactly why I should’ve been here,” he says, frustrated with himself even though I’m the one to blame for all of this.
“You’re here now,” I say, my voice cracking. I reach for Kimberly’s hand, but she pushes mine away, pulling me into a tight, bone-crushing hug instead.
She’s stronger than most of the guys from the football team even with one arm in a brace.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you guys,” I say, my eyes meeting Sam’s over her shoulder.
Sam leans over the seat to wrap his arms around both of us, tears running down all of our faces.
We pull apart and I rub my eyes, trying to get myself back together. “I’m sorry for all this.”
Kim gives me a sad smile, all of the weirdness since I woke up completely erased. She reaches out to squeeze my hand. “I’m sorry you lost your Marley,” she says, meaning it. “I know how you love, Kyle, and if you love her like this, then…”
“I’m so fucked,” I say, the three of us laughing through our tears.
Then my laugh gives way, and I just sob.
Because Marley isn’t real.
35
The next morning, Dr. Benefield checks my IV line while my mom stands in the corner with her arms crossed. Both of them are decidedly not psyched about my nighttime escape. After checking my leg and shining a light into my eyes, she lets out a long sigh.
“What you did last night was really, really stupid. You could have seriously damaged your leg again,” she says as she hangs a small bag of morphine and attaches it to my IV, clearly disappointed that I’m back on it.
“I don’t need that,” I say, and her hand freezes in midair.
“Kyle, just take the medicine,” my mom says. “You were in so much pain last night, you could barely speak.”
I ignore her, keeping my eyes on Dr. Benefield.
“You sure?” she asks, arching an eyebrow. “You’re not impressing anyone here by playing it tough. Although, maybe the pain will keep you out of trouble.”
I try to return the smile, but it comes up flat. “I’m done chasing dreams.”
She gives my hand a small squeeze. “No pain, then?”
“Not that kind.” I shake my head.
A flash of sympathy crosses her face, and she removes the bag.
“Okay,” she says, pointing to the call button. “If you change your mind, just—”
“I won’t,” I say, cutting her off. After a year of living in a dream, it’s time to know what is real.
She nods, studying me for a moment before she leaves. I curl up in bed, turning away from my mom, this feeling of loss so overwhelmingly familiar. Because what comes to mind isn’t the big-deal days, where we went to the Winter Festival or celebrated Halloween night. It’s all the small, inconsequential moments I took for granted. Feeding the ducks popcorn together, or watching her make one of her bouquets, or going on walks with her and Georgia. Things I thought we’d do a hundred times more.
All gone.
* * *
The next afternoon, I finally find the strength to get out of bed. To face the world. My mom wheels me down the hall to the courtyard, where the warm sun is making the water around the fountain shimmer.
“I’m going to go grab a snack real quick,” she says, nodding to the outdoor café, perched just on the other side of the courtyard. “You want anything?”
I shake my head and give her a small smile. “I won’t make a break for it. Don’t worry.”
She gives my shoulder a squeeze and heads down the path, disappearing from view.
I look around at the cherry trees. The honeysuckle. The yellow and pink flowers, their petals intermixing along the path.
She was never real, but everything I see reminds me of her.
How’s that for screwed?
I see Sam making his way toward me, his hands shoved in his pockets as he unknowingly crushes the petals underneath his feet.
“You okay?” he asks as he comes closer.
I nod and pull my eyes away from the smooshed petals. “Yeah. You?”
He nods and sits down next to me on the bench, both of us falling into silence. Sam finally breaks it. “Kim wants to come by later, if you’re up for company.”
“Will you be coming with her?” I ask, nudging him. “Like with her?”
Sam shifts uncomfortably, rubbing at the back of his neck. “You know, man, it hasn’t been as long out here as it was in your coma world,” he says, giving me a small smile. “We’re going to feel things out. Maybe see how we feel when she gets back home for fall break. So leave it for now.”
“That’s not a no,” I say with a grin.
Sam chuckles. “You’re right. That’s not a no.” He pauses and sizes me up. “What about you? What’s next?”
I take a deep breath, looking up at the cherry trees, the sunlight trickling through the branches. “I have no idea,” I say, watching the petals slowly fall, my eyes meeting my mom’s as she walks back from the café, coffee in one hand, biscotti in the other.
I let the wave of grief wash over me, trying not to let it take me under.
I was able to move on once, and it was the hardest thing I ever had to do. But this feels a million times worse. I understand now what Sam meant that day on the field.
I would never let her go.
I still love her. I’ll never be able to stop. So what the hell do I do with that?
* * *