Just Let Me Love You (18 page)

“Chase.” My voice sounds scratchy and rough, and when I’m tugged back by the seatbelt that probably saved my life, I let out a litany of curse words that would probably shock even my brother. That is, if he were conscious.

I’m thankful my life was spared by the seatbelt, but nothing is going to keep me from my brother. Needless to say, I unsnap that motherfucking piece of material and fling it out of the way.

Finally free, I lean over and touch Chase. My first action is to wipe away the blood from his forehead.

But more begins to flow. Like a faucet that’s been turned on, blood, bright and red, keeps coming and coming.

“What the fuck,” I grind out, my heart racing, my level of concern soaring. I am out of my league on what to do to help Chase and it’s killing me.

Quickly, I shrug out of my plaid cotton button-down, leaving me in just a white T-shirt. I fold the plaid fabric over once, twice. It’s soft and feels like it might be nice and absorbent.

Placing the shirt to Chase’s head wound, I try to stem the blood.

Talking to Chase seems like it may be a good idea. Haven’t I seen that in movies?

“You must have hit the side window,” I tell my still-unconscious brother. “I don’t know how that happened since you had your seatbelt on. But, who knows?” I pause. “Oh, Chase…”

The silence as I trail off becomes deafening. I gotta keep talking now. So, I continue, “Help is on the way, bro. Hold tight. You have a lot to live for. Don’t you dare give up now, okay?”

I hear sirens in the distance, their plaintive wails growing louder and louder. Someone must have called an ambulance, the police, whomever. Thank God. Crazy thing is I personally don’t need any help. Physically, I’m more or less fine. A little shaken up, yes, but that’s it.

But how can I be fine when Chase is so obviously not?

Sighing, I silently pray to God:
My brother’s been through enough shit in his life, he doesn’t deserve this.
He’s finally found happiness, God, so please let him live.

Chase isn’t waking up, or even moving, and suddenly, I feel a surge of anger, anger I thought I had under control. But this ire isn’t directed at my brother, or even my mom, who is all too often the target. No, this anger is directed at God.

Closing my eyes, I hiss, “You know what? Fuck you, dude. If you can’t help Chase, then what good are you?”

Shit, I am going to Hell, for sure, for that remark. But if getting God’s attention in this blasphemous way saves my brother’s life, I’ll go to Hell willingly.

His life for my immortal soul seems like a fair trade.

Someone knocks on the window just then, scaring the living daylights out of me. I just about jump out of my hide, and then look to see who it is.

It’s no one I know, but, damn, quite a crowd has gathered outside the car.

The guy who is knocking on the window, still—some middle-aged business dude with a basset-hound face—yells in, “Are you all right, son?”

His eyes go to Chase’s limp form, and then to where I’m holding the plaid shirt to my brother’s head. Instantly, the businessman’s basset-hound face falls when he sees how heavily the shirt is soaked with blood.

“Can you open the door?” he gently prods. “Your friend there doesn’t look so good.”

No shit.

I whisper, “He’s not just some friend, dude; he’s my fucking brother.”

“What?” the man outside the car says. “I can’t hear you. Open the door, son. Okay?”

I wish he’d quit calling me son. He’s not my father; my dad is dead.

Suddenly, I lose my shit. I start to shake and cry. The businessman tries to open the door on his own, but it’s locked. Between gasps for breath, I hit the
unlock
button.

The ambulance arrives at the same time the man who’s trying to help swings open the door. But paramedics rush over immediately and shoo him out of the way before he can help.

I close my eyes and tell God I’m sorry for cursing him out. And then, for the first time in a long time, I pray for real.

With all my heart and all my soul, I beg God to let Chase live.

A
n hour later, I am at the hospital, waiting in the appropriately named waiting room. It’s empty, and I’m glad.

After we arrived at the hospital, Chase was admitted immediately. Me? I was taken to an open ER room to be checked over, and since I was fine, I was released.

And here I sit, in the empty waiting room, waiting for my mom to arrive to take me home. Not that I want to leave anytime soon. I plan to stick around as long as I can in case Chase wakes up.

I just wish I knew more. But they won’t tell me anything.

One thing I did find out, though, I know exactly how Chase and I ended up in the accident. Listening to the paramedics on the way to the hospital, I overheard them saying that the lady who hit our car was some ninety-year-old who isn’t even supposed to be out on the road. Apparently, her license was revoked two months ago, when old age had taken away sixty percent of her vision.

Like me, though, she walked away from the accident unharmed. She’ll be fine, unlike Chase. He is nowhere near being fine.

Not that I have any real info to base that assumption on. I just know he was still bleeding and still not awake when we were wheeled in to the ER on stretchers. After that, Chase was taken to a different part of the hospital, leaving me in the dark as to his current condition.

Guess the staff is waiting for our mother to arrive to give out any updates. She’s been called and is on her way.

I sigh and glance around the waiting room.

Since no one is around, I can finally let go. Placing my head in my hands, I let the tears fall. And fall they do. Although a few minutes into my crying jag, someone clears their throat.

Quickly, like, lightning-fast, I straighten and wipe my eyes. Just in time, too. When I look up there’s a young nurse before me.

“Oh, hey,” I say to the girl.

The nurse is cute and not a hell of a lot older than me. Maybe she’s a candy-striper. She looks like she’s on an errand, since in her hand is a plastic drawstring bag.

She toys with the tie for a few seconds, and then asks, “Are you Will Gartner?”

“Yes,” I respond.

She hands me the bag. “These are your brother’s clothes and belongings. He won’t need them—”

My whole world drops out from beneath me.

“What…” I whisper.

I can’t even go on. What does she mean Chase won’t need his things?

“Oh, no,” she says. “I didn’t mean your brother won’t need his belongings because he’s gone, like,
gone
. Mr. Gartner is just going to be staying here at the hospital for a few days, that’s all.”

I can breathe again, and I slump down in the chair on a long exhale of air. “Jesus,” I say to the candy-striper, “you just about gave me a coronary.”

“I’m sorry. I should have mentioned that he was okay first.”

“You think?” I mutter.

I’m not trying to be a dick. I’m just tired and worried and out of patience.

Embarrassed, the young girl’s face turns beet red.

She starts to leave, but I stop her. “Hey, can I see Chase? You said he’s going to be okay, but what’s wrong with him?”

Glancing around, she says softly, “It’s not really my place to tell you how he’s doing. I could get into a lot of trouble.”

Jeez, she must be a new employee, all hip to abiding by the rules and all. “Well, okay. Thanks, anyway,” I say flatly.

“The doctor will be in to talk to you soon,” she assures me. “Um, are there any parents on the way?”

“Our mom,” I reply.

“Okay, well, I’m sure the doctor will want to speak with your mom as soon as she arrives.”

The young girl leaves, blonde ponytail bouncing behind her. I sit for a minute before I start to search through the plastic bag she gave me, the bag with all of Chase’s things.

I find most of the clothes are covered in blood, no surprise there; blue jeans, a T-shirt with some ancient band’s name on it.

“This shirt must be from the seventies,” I muse, smiling when I think of how Chase told me he found a bunch of our dad’s old record albums up in Gram’s attic this past summer.

“Must have found this old thing, too,” I say as I place the T-shirt back in the bag.

Under all of Chase’s clothes, I find his cell phone.

I take it out and power it on.

I know the hospital has contacted our mother, but they have no idea Chase is actually married. My brother has thus far only shared
that
information with me, which makes me feel kind of special.

Time to make a decision, kid
—that’s what Chase would say.

I know he would want me to notify Kay, like, immediately. His wife deserves to know what has happened to her husband, right?

Without another moment’s hesitation, I scroll through the contacts. When I find Kay’s number, I take a deep breath, and then I hit
call
.

Kay

I’
m outside of the church, laughing and talking with Missy when my cell buzzes. She and I have just made plans to go see a movie when Chase returns home, a double date—possibly this weekend—me, Chase, Missy, and Nick.

Wow, who would have ever dreamed such a plan would be possible?
Not me. But I’m happy we’re past, well, the past. It feels right and good to forgive and move on.

I glance down at the phone when it buzzes a second time. Chase’s number lights up and I say to Missy, “It’s Chase. I better get this. He’s probably about to board his flight and is calling to give me an update.”

“Sure, of course. We can talk more about everything later.” Missy starts to walks away, waving good-bye as she heads to her newly repaired car parked a few spaces away. “Take care, Kay,” she calls out over her shoulder.

“You too, Missy. Bye.” I give a little wave, and then turn away and answer the call coming in.

“Hey, Chase. What’s up?” Before he can reply, and in a low, seductive voice, I add, “You better not be calling to tell me you missed your flight. I have big plans for you when you get home.”

“Um, this isn’t Chase,” the voice on the other end quietly—and embarrassedly—informs me.

“Oh.”
Shit.

I know who the voice belongs to, even as Chase’s brother says, “Uh, it’s me, Will.”

“Will…” I trail off.

I am perplexed as to why Will would be calling me from Chase’s phone. I’m also appalled by what I just said to my new brother-in-law. Mentally, I am face-palming myself.

And then Will says, “Kay, I have some serious news. Chase and I were in a car accident,” and I forget all about being embarrassed or appalled.

Oh, my God, is this even happening?

I forget every emotion and every feeling. I’m too busy trying to catch my breath, trying not to crumple to the ground.

Leaning against my car for some much-needed support, I whisper, “Chase…he can’t be hurt. Oh, God, Will, is he okay? Please tell me he’s all right.”

My world is crumbling, and it’s oddly reminiscent of another time in my life when my world was shattered—the day I lost the person closest to me at the time, my baby sister, Sarah.

I whisper her name, and Will says, “What? Who’s Sarah?”

Will doesn’t know… No, he wouldn’t. He’s aware that I lost a sister, but he doesn’t know her name.

“Nothing,” I say. “Chase is okay, right?”

Maybe if I say it again and again it’ll make it true, and not just some hopeful plea.

Maybe my crazy ploy works too, since, as I recite my make-it-real mantra in my head, Will says, “Yes, Chase is going to be okay.”

But then there’s a sigh of sadness, and I dread Will’s next words. “What is it? I say.

“You should probably fly back out to Vegas if you can. Chase hit his head pretty hard. I don’t know much, Kay, but I do know they’re keeping him for observation.”

“You’re okay, right?” I say. I’m still kind of stunned. How could I not have asked that yet?

“Yes, I’m fine,” Will replies.

I blow out a breath. I’m glad he is okay, but I’m still so worried for Chase. Head injury? That can’t be good.

All I know is that I need to go to my husband. Forget about packing, forget about everything. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I tell Will.