Wethering the Storm

Chapter TWENTY-TWO

Okay, so in the world of music”—I start flicking through the music magazine that Dave brought me—“there is absolutely nothing worth telling.”
Closing the magazine, I toss it to the floor beside my chair, and it hits with a loud slap.
Leaning back, I stretch out my aching legs and push my fingers into my hair. “What else is happening? Right, so Vicky’s going home today. She’s stayed as long as she could, sweetheart, but she has to get back to the magazine, keep it running so you’ve got a job to go back to. Not that you need to work, but I know how much you love your job. Oh, and don’t worry about the book launch. The publishers said it can happen whenever we want, so there’s no worry on that score…” Taking a deep breath, I trail off and stare at Tru.
Her eyes are closed like they have been for the past four days.
As the swelling on her brain started to reduce, her eyes closed naturally, and now it just looks like she’s sleeping. My beautiful sleeping girl.
The good news is she’s breathing alone. Kish monitored her breathing and how much was assisted and unassisted for the first few days. Her unassisted breathing increased hourly, and when she reached 90 percent unassisted, Kish removed her ventilator.
He assured me this was very positive for her recovery.
I want to get my hopes up. But I’m afraid to.
So for those four days, like the three before them, I have sat here waiting for her to open her eyes and tell me to stop boring the f*ck out of her with the shit I spout.
Because that’s all I do, sit here and talk to Tru, waiting for her to wake.
Aside from the regular visits to my son, I never leave her. My son, who is still waiting for his mom to wake up and name him.
Leaning forward, I reach over and take hold of her soft, warm hand. Her unresponsive hand.
“Our boy is still waiting for his name, Tru, so you need to hurry and open those beautiful eyes of yours so you can choose it. It can even be one of those god-awful ones you were suggesting when we were trying to decide on names—you remember, sweetheart? What was that one you suggested? Skip? F*ckin’ Skip Wethers!” Shaking my head, I let out a laugh.
It echoes around the room and hits me back painfully in the chest.
Closing my eyes, I let my head hang back and I release a long sigh to the ceiling.
The ceiling that I close my eyes to every night.
I haven’t stepped foot out of this hospital since the day of the accident.
When I do manage to sleep, it’s beside Tru on a bed I had brought in for me. The times I do eat, it’s in here with her.
I fear wandering too far from this room in case she wakes. I have to be here when she opens her eyes. I have to be the first thing she sees.
I need her to know that I’m here for her, that I will always be here for her.
So here I wait. In a hospital, surrounded by medication.
Drugs.
Do I want a hit?
Yes. So very f*cking badly.
I want the fear and pain that’s consuming me to disappear.
I f*cking hate that I want drugs.
I hate that while my girl is lying in that bed, trying to fight her way back, I’m sitting here thinking about getting high.
I’m a shitty excuse for a human being.
How can I think of drugs at a time like this?
Because I’m a motherf*cking bastard.
And I hate that.
But for me, it’s life. The addict will always live inside of me.
The only resolve I have is that Tru doesn’t know just how much the addict still lives in me. And she’ll never know.
I couldn’t bear it if she did.
Currently I’m still clean, and I want to keep it that way…but I can feel my resolve slipping.
Only two things are stopping me from taking a hit.
One—my son.
And it’s not because I’m father of the f*cking year. I wish I were.
No, it’s because I’m all he has right now. I know better than anyone what it feels like to be let down by your deadbeat drug addict of a father. I won’t be him.
And two—Tru.
I made a promise to her, and I will do everything in my power to keep that promise. I never want her to look at me again the way she did when she found me that morning with that girl in my bed.
So that’s what’s stopping me from becoming the lowest scum of the earth. How long that will last, I don’t know.
Leaving my seat, I walk over to the window.
The city moves below like nothing is amiss. But everything is amiss.
My world has stopped turning.
It feels unjust that people’s lives are still moving forward while mine is trapped at a standstill.
I lift my eyes to the setting sun.
Another day will soon be over. Another day without Tru.
Another day without the sound of her voice, her smile. God, I miss her beautiful smile. Her laughter.
Most of all, I miss her touch.
The feel of her in my arms, her warm skin against mine.
I close my eyes tight and let my forehead rest against the glass. “Seven days, baby…” I sigh. “Seven f*ckin’ days without you. I just…” I bang my forehead against the window. “I need you to come back to me now, Tru. I can’t do this without you. I need you so very much. God, baby, I’m losing it without you.” Tilting my head to the side, I open my eyes and look at her still form. The empty shell of my girl.
I feel an intense rush of frustration and uncontrollable anger surge into me.
“Are you angry with me because I wasn’t there when the accident happened? Is that why you’re not coming back? Are you punishing me, Tru?” Leaning back from the window, my muscles tighten as I turn to her. “Goddamnit, Tru, don’t punish me, please. I can’t bear this silence. Not having you here with me…it’s killing me.”
I let my head drop. Tears burn my eyes.
I rub my face roughly.
Then frustration flares through my veins again.
I snap my head up. “Goddamnit, Tru!” I know my voice is loud, but right now, I don’t give a f*ck. “Open your eyes and kick my sorry ass for failing you! God knows I deserve it. This isn’t you, Tru. You don’t give up on anything!”
Moving in strides, I’m at her bedside in a second, I place my hands on the bed.
Looming over her body, I search her face. I can feel all my want and anger and frustration pulsing under my skin.
“Goddamnit, Tru! Wake up!” I stare hard at her face, willing her eyes to open, as though my pain and longing alone will do it.
My fingers curl into the sheets.
“We f*ckin’ need you! I need you!”
The pain hits again. Sharp and sudden.
Exhaling in a rush, I move away from her, walking across the room.
Part of me wants to turn and walk out the door, out of the hospital, and to the nearest dealer I can find.
No.
I won’t fall. Not now. I can’t.
I just need to find a way to bring her back.
Forcing focus, I start pacing.
She can hear me. I know she can. She’s still in there. I just need to figure out what will bring her back.
Stopping, I turn to her again. “I know you can hear me, Tru. I know you’re listening.”
Then it hits me.
I pull my cell from my pocket, go to my music listings, and start searching.
I’ve been playing music to her every day. Songs I know she loves, songs we grew up listening to, songs I wrote…the song I wrote for her.
I even sing to her. But none of those songs have touched her, so now I’m last-resorting it.
Now I’m going to play the one song she wanted me to leave behind. I need her to hear me, and this is the last card I’ve got to play.
I need her to know how desperate I am.
That I’m more desperate than I was that night I sang it to her at Madison Square Garden. At least I knew she was here in the world, vibrant and living.
Now she’s…nothing.
I select the live version of Nine Inch Nails’ “Hurt,” hoping upon all hope that it will evoke the emotion I need her to feel. I press Play and set it on repeat. I then close my eyes under a silent prayer as the song starts, filling every part of the room.
I open up my eyes and carefully climb up on the bed beside her, put the phone between us, while Trent Reznor sings, reminding me of a troubled time, one I would right now give anything to go back to.
I lie beside her, my hand holding hers, as I will my girl to come back to me.


“Jake?” I feel a hand on my hair, fingers gently stroking.
My heart jumps.
Tru.
I flick my eyes open.
No.
My heart bottoms out.
Tru is still sleeping beside me.
Turning my head slightly, I see my mom standing over me.
“Hi, darling.” She smiles down at me. It’s a careful smile. A smile she’s been using around me a lot lately. I don’t like it.
“Mom?” I rub my eyes with my palms. “What time is it?”
“A little after eight.”
“Where’s Eva and Billy?” Picking up my phone, I turn “Hurt” off and sit up, sliding my legs over the edge of the bed.
“Next door with that beautiful son of yours.” Pulling a chair over, she sits bedside. “Have you eaten today?”
I cast my mind back. I can’t remember the last time I ate anything.
I shrug.
She lets out a light sigh, reaches out, and takes hold of my hand.
I tense up.
This isn’t the type of relationship we have. My mom is not touchy-feely with me. She used to be that way when I was a kid, but after that night, the night Paul Wethers changed everything for us both irreparably, a barrier slid down between us and it’s been there ever since.
The last time my mom touched me was at my dad’s funeral, and that was the first time in a long time. I know she did it purely out of guilt.
Maybe it’s guilt now.
“Jake, you need to eat,” she says in a quiet voice. “You need to take care of yourself. You never leave this room.”
“Yes, I do.” My look is as sharp as my tone.
I’m really not in the mood for this. My last hope at reaching Tru hasn’t worked, so I’m feeling pretty f*cking lost right now. The last thing I need is a lecture from my mother.
She shakes her head. “No, Jake, you leave this room to go to your son’s room next door. You shower in there.” She jerks her head toward the bathroom. “And the few times I’ve seen you eat, it’s been in here. I can’t believe I’m saying this, because you know how much I hate it, but you don’t even smoke anymore because it would mean leaving this room. Believe me, I’m happy you’ve stopped smoking, but honestly, if going outside to have a cigarette would get you out of this room for ten minutes, then I’d encourage it.”
“Why?” I yank my hand free.
Her eyes snap to mine. “What do you mean, why?”
Getting to my feet, I stand over her. “Why do you even care what I do?”
I see the hurt in her eyes, but she neutralizes it quickly. Pushing the chair back, she stands.
“Because you’re my son, and I love you. I might not have given you that impression over the last fifteen years—”
“Eighteen. It’s been eighteen years, Mom.” The disdain in my voice surprises even me.
What the f*ck is wrong with me?
I move around her, rubbing my suddenly achy head.
“I let you down, I know that,” she says quietly. “But not for one moment did I ever stop loving you.”
I hear the break in her voice, and I see that’s she crying.
I haven’t seen my mom cry in a very long time. The last time was that night.
It sparks a pain deep in my chest. One that’s been buried for eighteen years.
“I can’t do this right now.” I start to back away.
“I know.” She pulls a tissue from her pocket and dries her eyes. “I just want you to know that I’m sorry I pushed you away.” She drives her fingers through her perfectly styled hair. “I just couldn’t bear what I’d let happen to you. The look in your eyes that night…it was something I never wanted to see again.”
“So you pushed me away?”
What I want to do is yell at her. Tell her that we’re not discussing this. But I’m immobile.
“Jake, I didn’t know I was even pushing you away until it was too late. I was so consumed with making a better life for you after everything you’d been through because of your dad. With that job at Dale’s firm, I was trying to earn enough money to take us away from Manchester before your dad got out of prison. But I was in debt. Your dad had taken a second mortgage out on the house without my knowledge, and when he went to prison, I was left with all of it to pay. I wanted to clear everything up and get you out of there before he came back for you.”
“I didn’t want to leave, though.” I glance at Tru. “But you never asked my opinion, did you, Mom? You just did what suited you.” Then the realization dawns on me. “That was why you married Dale, wasn’t it? You knew all along he would be transferred to New York.”
The look in her eyes tells me everything I need to know.
“You took me away from Tru,” I say, pointing in her direction. “The only person I’ve ever loved. Things didn’t get better for me, Mom. They got worse. Yeah, I met Jonny and started the band, but all I did was turn into Dad, and you just stood back and let it happen.” I know my voice is getting louder, but I don’t care. “If I had been with Tru all along, that would never have happened. She would have kept me straight. None of this would have happened.” I sweep my hand angrily across the room.
I’m being irrational, I know, but I don’t f*cking care. I want to hurt her.
“I was doing what was best for you.” She reaches for me, but I jerk away.
“No. You did what was best for you, like you always do.”
I yank the door open, stepping out into the hall, trying to find my balance and breathe. I shut it behind me, leaving my mom with Tru.
My body is thrumming with anger.
Dave’s already on his feet, eyes on me. I’m guessing he heard all that.
“I’m going to get some air. Watch Tru for me.”
He gives me a brisk nod and heads for Tru’s room as I move past him.
I’ve just reached the exit door when Dave shouts my name.
Turning, in what feels like slow motion, I catch his eye.
And I know.
I don’t think I have ever moved as fast as I do now.
Barrelling through the door, I push Dave and my mom aside.
Over the sound of my own heart pounding wildly in my ears, I can hear the monitors attached to Tru beeping loudly.
Falling to her bedside, I look straight into her open eyes.
“Tru?” I almost choke on the word, my voice strangling to get it out. I reach out my shaking hand, wanting to touch her, but fear holds me back. “Tru, baby, I’m here.”
Turning to Mom and Dave in the doorway, I yell, “Get the doctor!”
Dave exits the room, leaving Mom.
“Get Eva and Billy!” I yell at her. I’m surprised they haven’t heard all the commotion yet.
Mom hurriedly leaves the room.
Turning back to Tru, tears blurring my sight, I touch her face gently with my fingertips.
“I’m right here, sweetheart. I’ve been here waiting for you. God, baby, I’ve missed you so much.”
She blinks. Once. Twice.
I hold her stare, my heart, and my breath as I wait for her to find focus.
Fear seeps into my stilled heart.
I’m so very f*cking scared that this isn’t the same Tru. That she doesn’t recognize me. Or worse.
Kish had warned me that her memory could be affected. Or there could be irreparable damage to her brain.
Either way, whoever I have here, I’ll take her. I’ll take any version of Tru I can get.
Her lips part, but the only thing I hear is a light breath escape.
“Shh, don’t try to talk, sweetheart.” I smooth her hair back. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
I watch her eyes, waiting. Desperately waiting to see if this is my Tru.
She closes her eyes, and I see a tear trickle from the corner of her eye.
My heart implodes.
When they open, her gaze hits mine, and I see Tru’s fire in there, the recognition of me in her eyes, and I know she’s back.
I’ve got my girl back.