The Song Remains the Same (52 page)

Hit suddenly with a wave of nausea, I threw myself into the bathroom and dry-heaved up some bile.

“Fuck, Kenna! Are you sick?” Connor asked, barging into the bathroom, holding back my hair for me.

“Just stress,” I replied.

“When was the last time you ate anything?”

“I honestly don’t remember,” I told him, reaching up and flushing the bile down the toilet. “I think I went to bed around seven last night. I was only going to take a nap, but I guess my body didn’t agree with that.”

Getting back to my feet, Connor handed me a cup of water, and I rinsed out my mouth. Since I was there, I decided to scrub my teeth, too. He gave me some privacy to pee, and when I came back out, he was on the phone.

“Yeah, she’s right here,” he said before handing it to me.

I knew who it was, and I was in trouble. “Hello?” I said, sounding deflated.

“Baby Girrrl,” Phil growled.

“What? I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to freak everyone out. I just needed to be alone, and I guess I was desperate for more than a couple of hours of sleep.”

He sucked in a deep breath. “I just don’t understand how you could do that to us, given what we’ve all just been through.”

“It wasn’t on purpose!” I defended hotly. “I needed some fucking peace and quiet!”

“You should have told us you got a room! You fuckin’ scared us all half to death! We had no idea—”

Tossing the phone back to my brother, I marched into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind me.

A few minutes later, Connor softly knocked on it. “Kenna? Please let me in. Or come out.”

“Just go away!” I shouted.

“You know I can’t do that,” he said.

Wrenching the door open, I snapped, “Fine!”

Catching me before I could storm past him, Connor pulled me into a strong warm hug. “It’s okay, Kenna. Phil…I know he’s not easy to deal with right now. He’s like that with everyone, not just you. He yelled at his dad today. Well, I think mostly because he was terrified something had happened to you.”

“It was an
accident
,” I said before breaking down into tears. “I’m so tired. I just want to go home.”

“I know. Phil went in for another scan. They think, by the end of the week, he’ll be able to use a walker to get on a plane. He’s lost a lot of muscle mass, but with therapy, they’re confident he’ll make a full recovery within another four or five months.”

We’re supposed to get married next month.

“I guess I should go and see him then,” I said miserably.

“I’ll go with you. He won’t dare be an ass to you if I’m there.”

Bullshit.

For nearly four weeks, Phil had been in Saskatoon City Hospital.

Due to the nature of the fractures in his pelvis and femur, a physical therapist had been helping him stretch and exercise the muscles. It was a necessary part of the healing, one that Phil hadn’t particularly enjoyed, mostly because he needed the help at all. He was used to being big and strong, and it’d irritated him that he had to depend on others.

Afterward, he’d load up on opiates and conk out. When I’d asked about alternative pain relief, the doctors had shrugged it off and told me the opiates helped him rest. He was severely depressed, hurt, angry, and just foul in his spirit. His refusal to help us help him had started to wear down on me.

When Connor and I arrived though, the relief on Phil’s face spoke volumes. I’d truly terrified him, and I could see it still lurking behind his eyes. Wordlessly, he reached out his arms, and I went into them, curling up next to him on the bed.

“Baby Girl, you scared me,” he said softly. There was no accusation in his tone. It was merely a statement of fact.

“Honest, babe, I didn’t mean to. I fell asleep and didn’t wake up until Connor was banging on my door.”

“I know.”

For a few minutes, it was as it used to be—just the two of us, happy in our own bubble. Closing my eyes, I imagined we were back in La Place, the sun shining, the air warm, the breeze rustling through the walnut trees. I missed the laughter that always could be heard in some part of the house. I missed
his
laughter the most. The thought that he hadn’t laughed in weeks left an open sore on my heart.

“I want to go home,” he whispered. “They think I’ll be able to in a few days.”

“It’ll be good,” I said. “I miss it, too.”

His arms tightened around me. “Nothin’ feels right anymore. Except this. Us.”

“I promise, Phil, it won’t always feel like that.”

“I guess if anyone would know about that, it’d be you.”

The end of the week came, and Phil was discharged from the hospital. Louis called in a favor from a friend of his and chartered a private jet for us back to New Orleans. Four weeks
of frozen Canadian hell were just about over.

Ever since word had gotten out about NOLA’s Junk being in the wreck and of X’s untimely death, reporters and journalists had been camping around the hospital, looking for the guys, wanting interviews. We’d all decided it would be best to leave the premises in the middle of the night, through an employee exit. Security had been beefed up, and Tiny was back in action.

Watching Phil dress himself in his usual Dickies with the left pant leg cut away to accommodate for the cast, black shirt, and hoodie nearly did me in. Emaciated, his enormous frame looked fragile in comparison to how he used to be. He insisted he could do it on his own, but I could see just how much he had shrunk as he stood to pull up his pants, putting all of his weight on his good side.

“Fuck me,” he gasped, realizing it himself.

We had to drill another hole in his belt. Otherwise, his pants would’ve immediately dropped to the floor.

“You’re still beautiful,” I assured him, coming up and helping him cinch the belt.

His eyes met mine, and behind them, a spark flickered, reminding me of Little Zephyr, the child inside me that would never have a chance.

Slowly, Phil sat back down on the edge of the bed, his hands encircling my waist. His eyes never left mine, burning now, heating me up from the inside.

“Kenna Baby,” he said softly, pulling me in closer, “I haven’t told you how beautiful you are in a long time.”

“It’s okay,” I replied. “You’ve had more important things to think about.”

“Ain’t nothin’ more important to me than you. I’m sorry.”

“There
are
more important things, Phil. Like you getting better. I need you to concentrate on that.”

His hands slid around to my back, slipping under my shirt and sweater to caress skin. “You’ve lost so much weight…” He pulled back and
looked
at me, actually taking in my appearance for the first time. “
Shit
, Baby Girl…”

“I haven’t had much of an appetite either,” I explained, which was true. It was hard to summon an appetite for anything when I carried our lovechild and knew I couldn’t have it. “I’m sure it’ll bounce back once we’re home.”

Please, don’t feel it. Don’t realize there’s something in me. Because we can’t have it. It’s not meant for us…not yet.

He rested his forehead against my heart. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I told him, running my fingers through his long hair.

“Don’t ever stop, Baby Girl. The day you do, I’m a dead man.”

“I feel like an old fuckin’ geezer,” Phil grumbled as he used the walker to board the plane.

“You sound like one, too,” I ribbed, hoping it’d get a twitch of a smile.

He only scowled deeper.

Heaving a sigh, I told him, “It’s only until you’re healed.”

In the hospital, Phil had to be wheeled to the employee exit in a chair. Then, Tiny had to actually
pick
him up and put him in the car. Once at the airport, Phil had to be wheeled to the terminal. He was going to put up a huge stink if Tiny dared to pick him up again, so we let him use the walker. It had taken longer, but at least he wasn’t acting like a diva. It was a battle we’d picked wisely.

When seated, the only flight attendant took and stowed his walker out of sight, and he fished out his bottle of Vicodin. Popping out two into his hand, he tossed them into his mouth and swallowed them dry. Dropping his head back onto the seat, he angled his face toward me.

He was sweating lightly, but the spark was in his eyes again. “When can we have sex?” he whispered.

Biting my lip to keep myself from grinning, I shrugged. My grin won out.

“You’re makin’ me chub, Baby Girl. I don’t even remember the last time I had one.”

“We have to wait until your pelvis is fused, Phil.”

“When’s that gonna be, you think?”

“That depends on you really. If you eat what I tell you to and keep doing your exercises, it should be smooth sailing. But, on average, we’re looking at another four to eight weeks.”

“Oh, fuck no!” He groaned in defeat.

“I’m afraid so.”

He leaned in close. “Can I at least get a blow job here and there?”

Smiling, I replied, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“I wanna eat the fuck outta you, too. Is that on my get-well diet?”

My face went up in flames, and he grinned wickedly.

“Hells yes,” he said. “When we get home, Baby Girl, I want full buffet access—”

“Phil!” I admonished.

“What?”

“Not in front of your father and my brother!” I hissed. “Or Tiny!”

“Pfft! They can’t hear us—”

“I wouldn’t mind a bit of buffet,” rumbled Tiny from the seat behind us. “I’ll have to talk to my woman when we get back to Louisiana.”

Phil’s eyes bugged, and I laughed right in his face. Despite the slight pink tingeing his cheeks, Phil bit his lip and chuckled.

Life just might be getting easier.

Returning to New Orleans lifted our spirits tremendously.

Back at the Plantation House, our friends and family gave us a jubilant reception. Jason and Flipper ran down the front steps as the black van pulled into the driveway, Siggie taking over Tim’s vacant chauffeur spot. If Phil had thought of that, he’d said nothing about it.

Wrenching open the sliding door, Jason and Flipper pulled Phil out, and the three of them embraced. Connor stepped out, reaching for my hand, and assisted me from the van as though I needed the help. Not an original member, he felt out of place with his brothers since they had lost a founding father of their group.