“Come here,” he says. His voice is rough. He sounds tired.
I wonder how much pain he’s in. Maybe he isn’t sleeping well.
“Are you comfortable right now? Are they giving you anything?” I ask, hooking my thumb behind me as I keep my spot in the doorway. “You can ask them for something stronger. If what they have you on isn’t working, they need to give you something else. I can ask them.” I drop my hand and begin to pivot around. “Let me ask them . . .”
“Riley.”
CJ’s voice halts me. I stop mid-turn and look back at him, meeting his eyes.
“Come here,” he repeats, a little firmer this time. His mouth is tight now.
I exhale a breath, then I step into the room and move around the bed so I’m on his non-injured side. I take a seat in the chair pulled up to the bedside and knot my fingers together in my lap.
The monitor CJ is hooked up to beeps when he shifts back and sits up taller. I follow the tubing coming from his IV bag to the needle going into his arm.
“Are you in pain? Does your leg hurt?” I ask, lifting my gaze to his face.
“I’m all right,” he says through an easy smile. It does nothing for my nerves or the guilt I feel eating away at me. That’s deep in my bones. I fear it will never go away.
“And your back? Is your back okay? Did you need stitches there?”
CJ shakes his head.
“Anywhere else?”
“You’re blaming yourself for this. You need to stop,” he orders, reading my worry and ignoring my question. His face is serious now. “This wasn’t you, babe. You didn’t put me in here.”
“He didn’t want to go. I made him go,” I reply. “I . . . I begged him. I don’t know why it was so important to me. I should’ve just gone by myself. This never would’ve happened.”
“You get him the coke he snorted?” CJ asks, even though I think he knows this answer already.
I bite my lip and shake my head.
“You push me into that window? Was that you?”
“No, but I—”
“Wasn’t you, Riley,” CJ interrupts. “What he did, the drugs he took, those consequences are on him. You’re not taking the blame for this, babe. The only thing you did was ask your man to accompany you to shit he should’ve been going to in the first place. That’s it. Me being here is not on you. That’s on me and that’s on your man.”
“He’s not my man,” I rush out, watching CJ’s eyebrows raise. “I, uh, ended it.” I shrug. “When he got arrested, I ended it. It’s over.”
“You ended it `cause he got arrested?”
“We weren’t doing good,” I confess, and I see understanding flash in CJ’s eyes. “Richard getting arrested and everything else that happened that night, that was just the final push. I think I would’ve broken up with him even if that wouldn’t have happened. We just weren’t working anymore.” I sigh, shaking my head. “I was so stupid to think some concert he didn’t even want to go to would fix that.”
“You weren’t stupid,” CJ corrects me. “Wanting your man with you is not you being stupid, babe. So quit thinking that. Okay?”
I nod, letting CJ know I hear him. Then thinking back to his words from a minute ago, I tilt my head and ask, “What do you mean, this was on you? What did you do? It was all Richard.”
How can CJ think he was responsible for any of this? He was trying to protect me.
CJ stares at me for a breath, then he rubs at his mouth and scratches his jaw. His eyes cast down to a spot on the bed. “I wasn’t watching him like I should’ve been watching him,” he begins to explain. “I’m trained to look out for stuff like that. To be ready for it. I wasn’t. I was watching you.” CJ lets his hand drop to the bed. Our eyes meet. “I couldn’t brace when he hit me. I wasn’t ready for it.”
“He hit you really hard. I saw him.” My stomach drops at the memory. “I don’t think you could’ve braced for it. It was out of nowhere.”
CJ’s mouth twitches. He drops his head back, laughing a little. “Nice, babe. I’m already out for five months with the injuries I got. Are you trying to bruise my ego on top of it?”
I feel my eyes widen. Something sick twists in my gut.
Five months?
“Five months? You’re going to be laid up for five months?” I ask, leaning closer to the bed. “They said that?”
CJ lifts his head again and jerks his shoulder, answering, “Close to it, probably. Depending on how my PT goes. There’s potential nerve damage.”
I inhale sharply through my nose, feeling it tingle.
Nerve damage?
Oh, no. Nononono.
Oh, my God . . .
“Potential,” CJ repeats, watching me. “They’re not saying it’s definite. I’m not worried about it.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, emotion breaking in my voice.
CJ’s mouth goes tight. “Babe,” he starts, head tilting as he looks at me, wanting to shut me down again, I just know it, but I ignore him. I keep going.
“I hate that this happened. I know you were just trying to protect me. That’s why you got me away from him before we were separated, right? You knew Richard was on something.”
CJ nods.
“I should’ve stayed with you,” I continue. “I never should’ve let him take me outside. This is my fault. I’m so sorry, CJ.”
He pulls in a deep breath through his nose and exhales it noisily. His jaw is set. He looks ready to argue with me again, but a knock on the door turns his head and then mine.
I watch a nurse walk into the room. She’s holding a folder in her hand and smiling at CJ. She doesn’t even take notice of me.
“Hello. I just wanted to bring in the home nurse information I was telling you about. I went ahead and got it from your insurance company for you,” she informs him, sounding proud of herself. She sets the folder on his food tray that’s pulled up next to the bed.
“Thanks. Appreciate it,” CJ replies.
The nurse smiles bigger. I think I see her batting her lashes, but maybe it’s just the dry hospital air causing her to blink rapidly.
Or maybe she has a twitch she’s not aware of . . .
“Shall I change your linens while I’m in here?” she asks, looking eager for that possibility. “It’ll only take me a minute.”
I look at the linens on the bed. They appear freshly changed to me. The top sheet still has creases in it.
My gaze returns to the nurse and narrows.
What’s her deal?
Laughter rumbles in CJ’s chest. “I’m good,” he tells her, sounding polite. “Thanks. I’ll let you know if I need that.”
The nurse keeps her smile and fiddles with his IV, checking the line. Then after pressing a button on the monitor and messing with the leads on his chest, something I’m not sure needs to be done since his vitals seem to be registering just fine, she announces she’ll be back in to check on him later and leaves the room.
I watch this happen, feeling CJ’s eyes on my profile. And when I turn to look at him, at the bed he’s in and the hospital gown his chest seems too big for, that same guilt hits me. But before I can open my mouth to apologize again, CJ grabs the folder off the tray and drops it in his lap.
“Do you live with him?” he asks, meeting my eyes again.
My brows pull tight. “Richard?”