Page 90 of Split Decision

Andi keeps her voice low, but I can hear the disappointment in it. The label cared more about its bottom line than her health and well-being. I'm partly chastising myself for believing it and partly for not recognizing its language sooner.

"Do Mack and Shane know what really happened to you?"

"Yes."

And they didn't tell me.

"Tell me about it. What really happened?"

She moves her arm and looks up at me. Surprise registers in her eyes, along with something else. Leeriness.

"A drunk driver crossed the center line, clipped the motorcycle tire, and we lost control. The force of the hit threw me off the bike. That's why I have cuts, scrapes, and bruises everywhere—along with my broken leg, broken ribs, and a damaged spleen. As I lay on the highway, all I could think about was you. Thoughts of dying without being able to tell you how I really felt gave me a panic attack. The paramedic said I was going into shock from internal bleeding, and I was airlifted to the hospital.

"I just got out of the hospital today, and my first stop was here. So now you know."

I'm floored. Pissed off. Relieved. Furious. Grateful.

"Why didn't Mack or Shane tell me the truth about your injuries?"

"I told them not to," she admits.

"Why would you do that?"

"Because I didn't want you to decide you wanted to be with me because of a close call. Intense circumstances cause people to make rash decisions. I didn't want that." Her voice is precise even now, even broken and exhausted. "I needed your choice to be yours."

Slowly sitting up, she winces in pain, and her hand covers her abdomen.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"My incision site is just still sore when I move in certain ways. I'm okay."

Picking up her cast, she turns until the foot on her bad leg reaches the floor and then moves her good leg to join it. "Can you bring my crutches in here, please?"

Her bottom lip quivers, and she pulls both of her lips into a thin line to try to stop it. It doesn’t work. She waits for me to move without looking at me. She just stares at the floor, her face crestfallen, and her normally bright eyes are now flat.

I fold my arms across my chest, inhale deeply to further expand my chest, and take my rigid stance before answering her.

"No. I'm not bringing them to you."

She looks up at me, and I expect her to fight me tooth and nail like she always has. I expect my Andi to tell me where I can shove those crutches. But her feistiness is not what I see in her eyes.

I see defeat. No, it's actually worse than that. I see heracceptanceof defeat.

She's broken.

Now I'm broken.

"Okay," she says sadly.

Then she stands on her good leg and uses the bed to steady herself. As she looks around the room, she contemplates how she'll move from the bedroom back to the door where her crutches are waiting. She crouches slightly, preparing to hop on her good leg, when I almost lose my shit over her obstinacy.

"Stop," I command sharply. "Sit down."

She looks around, unsure of whether she should do it. She spent a lot of energy just to get into an upright position, and she doesn't want to do it all over again. I can see it written all over her face. Her skin has paled in just the last few minutes, and I know she's already spent too much energy way too fast. She can be so damn stubborn.

"Andi," I say, softer, "sit down before you fall down. You're not going anywhere right now."

She looks back at the bed, visibly more frustrated now.