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“It’s fine. I’m fine,” I say. I feel anything but fine. I’m looking forward to the rest, but I don’t dare admit that to anyone. “I will have all kinds of time to watch hockey!”
I hear TJ laugh. It’s true though. I plan to hide in my penthouse and watch hockey and maybe write music and try to keep Fynn from fretting over me endlessly. I may or may not have to have one more surgery. They won’t know until the healing begins. Everyone insists I’ll be playing again soon. Then why does my arm not feel like my own when I look at it?
I can barely move my fingers and I’m not convinced that is all to do with the bandage. But either way…I am leaving this hospital today and thank God for that.
“Okay, I’ve got to go,” TJ says. “Text me when you are home…I love you.”
The air goes still. The call hasn’t been ended…but time stopped. Holy fuck. Say it back. Say it back. Say it back. But the words are stuck. All words are stuck. I hear the call end…dammit, Nandy…. now he thinks…what? That I don’t feel the same way. Do I? Yes…right?
Fynn walks in and stops when he sees me. I’m still holding the phone. His eyes fill with questions. I can’t imagine what the look on my face reveals. Nothing, I hope. Although clearly something or Fynn wouldn’t be looking at me like that.
Fortunately, my surgeon breezes in, putting an end to any chance of a conversation. But I don’t hear anything he says. The words I love you. TJ’s voice was so clear and strong when he said it. And I was rendered mute.
The room goes silent. I look up.
“Mr. Reyes?”
“Nandy,” Fynn’s sharp tone breaks through.
“What? Yeah…got it,” I say. I sure as hell hope Fynn was paying attention because I don’t got it. Fynn can tell, and he furrows his brow at me, very annoyed.
A flurry of discharge papers and instructions occupy both of us for the next few hours. I don’t understand why it takes hours because multiple people keep coming in and repeating the instructions, so there was no need for me to worry about hearing them the first time. So much so, I’ve come full circle and am no longer paying attention to anything.
Except the words, I love you.
He didn’t mean it. There is no way. But…do I? Love him?
“He said ‘I love you.’” I stare at Fynn. His eyes go wide. Something flickers across his face, and he turns away for just a moment.
“I froze.”
I look down at my heavily wrapped hand. The finger that would hold a wedding ring buried under layer upon layer of cloth. Wedding ring. Well, that’s a gigantic leap from I love you to me thinking of a wedding ring. But for the second time in a couple of days, I’ve had the words wedding ring in my head. Both times regarding a wedding ring for me.
I sigh and look at Fynn again. He isn’t looking at me and he’s gone unusually silent. He shoves the few belongings I had into a paper bag from the gift shop. He’s wearing a sweatshirt with the Statue of Liberty on it.
“Nice shirt,” I quip.
“Well, you ruined my other one,” he snaps. He looks at me and tries for a smile. And fails.
“Sorry, I’ll try to avoid that next time I’m in a car accident.”
He smiles that same weak turn of his lips again and chuckles. “Please do.”
His attempt at humor is way off the mark and that is not like him. What the hell? He is quiet all the way to the airport but tries to make up for it by scurrying around the private plane, adjusting pillows and blankets and such to make me comfortable.
“It’s my hand, Fynn,” I say.
“Well, you hit your head too and your back…I just…never mind then,” he says and finds himself a seat as the pilot sticks his head in to make sure we are nearly ready and update us on flight time and weather.
I slump down on the couch instead of the seat and let my head fall against the back of it. The door is secured shut, and I close my eyes. I can hear the words better that way. The words TJ said. The words I failed to return. I fucking froze. I’m an idiot.
“Do you?”
I lift my head and turn to look at Fynn.
“Do you love him?”
Before the thought is even fully formed in my head, I nod.
