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“I love you,” Ali whispered. “I love you a lot.”
For the first time, the words coming from Ali brought a frown to his face and an anxious uptick to his heartbeat in the worst way possible. “Ali, tell me what’s going on.”
She’s still off from the concussion probably, right? Cornell wondered. Maybe her head throbbed, her ribs ached, her bruises stung. There had to be something, something he could soothe if he couldn’t entirely fix it.
“Ali?”
“I’m just tired,” she said quickly. “I should go back to sleep.”
“Al—”
“I love you,” Ali told him again.
Cornell pressed his lips tightly together, willing himself to not badger her more. “I love you too. I can’t wait to bring you home.” A few more hours, he told himself as he hung up. You’ve just got to make it through one more night.
* * *
Cornell knocked on the side door of Bobbi and John’s home when he found it locked. Frowning, he debated going around to the front to ring the doorbell before John appeared.
“Oh.” John almost sounded surprised. “You’re here early.”
“I brought beignets.” Cornell held up the brown paper bag. It wasn’t that early—just after ten. “Thought maybe you guys might want some brunch.”
John took the bag of pastries from Cornell as he stepped inside. “Thank you.”
“Is she awake?”
“Ali’s in the shower.”
“Can I ask you something? Is it normal… I don’t know, for someone to seem so down after this kind of thing?” Cornell sighed. “She just sounds so… not right. And that nightmare—”
“Cornell—”
“The appointment with the neurologist is Tuesday, right? I’ll take her. Maybe it’s worth—”
“Cornell,” John’s voice was more forceful this time, enough that it fully got his attention. “Look, Bobbi and I were talking, and we think maybe Ali should stay here a little longer.”
“What?” he asked, taken aback. “Why?”
John fiddled with the bag. “Like you said, she’s not quite herself. She still needs someone to look after her.”
“I can look after her.” There was a twinge of irate possessiveness that stained Cornell’s voice. That’s my job, that’s what I’m supposed to do. “I don’t understand, the other day you—”
“It’s what Ali wants. She wants to stay,” John said firmly. “She’s okay, she just needs a little more time.”
She wants to stay? She called me just to hear my voice last night. Why wouldn’t she want to come home? Ali needs to come home. Cornell couldn’t make sense of any of it.
“Concussions can make people anxious, emotional.” John’s voice was different. It was the voice of a doctor, not of the man Cornell knew and respected. It wasn’t the voice that responded, “You’re the exact kind of man I’d want Ali to marry,” when Cornell had fumbled asking for her hand in marriage.
Instead, John’s voice had the same ring to it as a doctor preparing someone for the worst.
“I want to see her.” Cornell went to step around John, who quickly placed a hand to his chest, preventing him from doing the one thing every fiber of his being needed to do—be with Ali.
“She’s in the shower,” he told Cornell again. “I just think it’s best if you head home. Please, Cornell. I need you to trust me on this.” John’s eyes shifted, now soft, hurt, pained, so similar to how they had been in the hospital on the night everything began to go wrong.
“Why are you keeping me from her?” Cornell asked angrily.
“I’m… I’m not. It’s not you, Cornell. It’s Ali.”
