Presently Perfect (Perfect #3) (36 page)

I thought the MRI scan Tweet had was the longest hour of my life. That didn’t compare to the two hours she was in surgery and recovery. I circled the hospital at least ten times trying to shake my nerves.

The first couple of days they had Tweet so doped up on morphine that she didn’t know what was going on. Her mom stayed with her during the day while her dad and Emily visited at night after they got off work. I took the overnight shift. There was no way in hell I was letting her spend one night alone in the hospital. Fortunately, I knew a couple of the nurses on the unit. When visiting hours were over, they brought me a blanket, and pillow and conveniently looked the other way. I told my mom I was staying at Carter’s and I never mentioned anything to the Kellys. I wasn’t in the mood for anyone trying to talk me out of being there for Tweet. Mrs. Kelly arrived each day by 8:30 a.m., so as long as I was up and out by then, my secret was safe.

My body jerked awake at the sound of Tweet crying. I bolted out of the recliner and ran to the side of her bed. Tears streamed out of her closed eyes, her head shaking from side-to-side, as her hands fisted the sheets against her chest. She was clenching to the point that her knuckles were white. I glanced at the clock on the wall: 3:27 am. She was having a nightmare.

“Noah!” she yelled.

I placed my hands on her shoulders and shook slightly. “Tweet, wake up.”

“Noah! Catch me. Please don’t let me fall,” she said through sobs.

I put more pressure on her shoulders and spoke louder. “Tweet, wake up. I’m here.”

Her eyes shot open. She blinked rapidly, her gaze darting around, before landing back on me.

“Noah.” Her voice was weak.

“I’m here. You were having a nightmare.”

She nodded, taking in a shaky deep breath.

Shifting, she made room for me on the bed. I crawled in, wrapped my arms around her body, and held her securely against my chest. Her arm draped across my stomach as her head rested over my heart. My right hand traveled along her forearm while my left stroked her hair.

“You want to talk about it?” My lips grazed her forehead.

“I was in this tunnel. You were standing at one end. I walked toward you. When I got close, I suddenly got sucked backwards into blackness. I reached out for you, but I kept falling until I couldn’t see you anymore.”

We both squeezed each other tighter.

“I got you, Tweet.”

Her body tensed. “Have you looked at it?”

I didn’t answer for a few seconds. My gaze drifted down to the end of the bed. You couldn’t tell she was missing anything with the blanket covering her.

“My leg, have you looked at it?” she repeated.

“No,” I whispered.

“Me neither. It feels like it’s still there.”

“That’s the nerve endings messing with your brain.”

We lay there, listening to the quietness for several seconds.

“A therapist came in this morning and told me they were going to get me out of bed tomorrow…” She looked over at the clock. “Well, later today.”

“It will be alright.” I placed a light kiss on her forehead.

“I’m scared.”

Tweet’s body trembled as her tears soaked through my T-shirt. I pushed her even harder against my body. I couldn’t get close enough.

“There’d be something wrong with you if you weren’t scared, but I’m going to be by your side. We’ll get through it together.”

“Noah, you’ve been here every night,
not
sleeping in that crappy recliner. I can’t ask you to stay during the day.”

“You’re not asking me. I’m telling you.”

Looking up, she placed a kiss on my cheek before nuzzling deeper into my chest. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“I don’t know either, but it must have been something awesome.”

After a few minutes Tweet’s breathing evened out and she drifted off to sleep in my arms.

Something heavy pressed down on my shoulder and it shook vigorously. My eyes opened, still blurry and groggy. I lay on my side, arms and legs wrapped around Tweet’s body. The entire room was lit up in sunlight except for the large shadowed figure of Tweet’s dad hovering over me.

Warm breath washed over the side of my face and down my neck. “I’d appreciate it if you’d get off my daughter.”

My heart exploded in my chest. I didn’t want to wake Tweet or piss off Mr. Kelly more. I quickly but gently unfolded myself and slid off the bed.

“You’ve been here the entire night,” Mr. Kelly said. There was either a sense of relief in his tone or my wishful thinking, but he didn’t sound angry.

“Yes, sir.”

Holy shit! He caught me in bed with his daughter.

“You’ve been here every night?”

“Yes, sir.”

Please don’t be pissed.

He offered me the Starbucks he had in his hand. I glanced from the cup and to him before reaching for it. Bringing it up to my mouth, I drank, cringing at the strong taste. Mr. Kelly lightly brushed the hair off of Tweet’s forehead.

“Did she have a good night?”

“Not really.” He glanced over his shoulder, eyebrow cocked in question. “Bad dream.”

He turned his attention back to his daughter.

“I thought you and Emily usually came by after work.” I took another shot of coffee.

He continued to stare down at Tweet. “We do. I have a dinner meeting tonight, so I figured I’d stop by before work just to check on her.”

The back of Mr. Kelly’s hand ran down the side of Tweet’s face, his slumped shoulders rising and falling with a deep sigh. He wanted more than anything to take her pain away, but like me, felt helpless. I sat in the recliner in the corner of the room, giving Mr. Kelly a little privacy with Tweet.

Not looking at me, he said, “Noah.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you for being here for Amanda.”

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

Grabbing one of the straight-back chairs in the room, he placed it next to me and sat.

“Your dad was always so proud of you. I miss him. He was a great man and a hell of a good listener. I know it’s been hard on you and your mom. Nothing will ever replace him in your lives. But I want you to know I’m here, and have two ears, no waiting, if you ever need them.”

A slight chuckle escaped me. “I know. Thank you.”

We both aimed our focus on Tweet.

“Her mom was a pain in the ass when we first met,” Mr. Kelly blurted out.

My head shot in his direction.

“But from the first moment I laid eyes on her, I knew she was my pain in the ass and always would be.” He gave me a big smile.

“I haven’t done a very good job of hiding how I feel.”

“Neither of you have.”

“I’d never do anything disrespectful to Tweet, sir.”

“I know you wouldn’t, son.” His large hand slammed down on my shoulder. “Cause I’d have to break your body if you did.” He gave me a wink. “Hang in there. Things will work out like they’re meant to.”

“I hope so. I can’t imagine her not being in my life,” I said.

“Then don’t.”

Six days had passed since the surgery. Tweet was doing as well as could be expected. I saw Brooke a few times briefly during the week. Our argument at the condo had blown over and she was being very understanding about my time with Tweet. Although, she reminded me each time we saw each other that Christmas day was still hers. I felt like I owed her at least that much.

Mr. and Mrs. Kelly went all out, setting up the spare room at Emily’s place. It was an exact replica of Tweet’s room from home. They felt she would be more comfortable surrounded by her things.

Tweet put on a happy face for the sake of her parents and at times even for Emily. She tried to fake me out with the painted-on smile the first day home, but I saw right through it and called her out. I caught her glancing down more and more at where her leg once was. The look in her eyes was familiar. It was the same look I had when Dad died. I had read every bit of information Dr. Lang had given us and did more research on the internet. Tweet was going through the natural grieving process on top of dealing with the chemo treatments that would start in a few weeks.

I tried to supply as much happy in Tweet’s day as possible. She was too self-conscious being in the wheelchair to go out, so I brought
out
in. She wanted a manicure, I hired a lady to give her one. She wanted her hair done, I got her hairdresser to come do it. She wanted ice cream sandwiches at eleven o’clock at night, I got her boxes of them at eleven o’clock at night. The happy was temporary, but it was better than none at all.

Emily, Tweet, and I had ordered pizza for dinner and we were watching
Sixteen Candles
, again. Emily was sitting in the big overstuffed chair, while I was sprawled out on the sofa. Tweet was in her wheelchair. For the past half hour she had been unusually quiet. When I looked over at her, she was rubbing the top of her left thigh.

“I’m going to go to bed.” Tweet unlocked the wheelchair and started to roll toward her room.

“You alright?” Emily asked.

“Yeah, I think I’m just tired.”

I sat up. “You need any help, Tweet?”

“No, I’ll be fine. Goodnight.”

Fifteen minutes passed when the worse sound I ever heard sliced through the room. Tweet let out a blood- curdling scream. I bolted off the sofa and burst through Tweet’s bedroom door. She lay across her bed, holding her stump, screaming and sobbing uncontrollably. I scanned the room, thinking I might see the reason for her screams. Then it dawned on me. She was having phantom pain. I read that some amputees experience anywhere from a mild discomfort to severe pain, like a vice tightening and twisting around the missing limb. Some medications help, but there wasn’t much you could do for it, other than applying pressure around the stump and riding it out.

I sat on the side of the bed, scooped her up, and cradled her in my arms. Tweet clenched my shirt and screamed into my chest as the pain grew more intense. Her body convulsed violently with each surge. Emily stood at the end of the bed looking as helpless as I felt, with tears running down her cheeks.

I rubbed Tweet’s back trying to calm her down, as I whispered, “I got you, baby. Squeeze me as hard as you need.”

One hour turned into two, turned into three. By the time we headed into the fourth hour, Tweet looked completely exhausted. The pain ebbed and flowed. She got a breather for fifteen or twenty minutes and then the process started again. She’d moan in pain, then scream as it intensified, and then convulse several times before the pain let up.

As the sun came up, the pain seemed to subside. I still cradled Tweet in my arms, rubbing her back. Her head rested on my chest. Both our eyes were closed. I was just about to drift off to sleep when the door opened and Emily stepped in.

“Noah, I think she’s asleep now. Why don’t you go home and try to do the same.”

“I’m fine,” I mumbled.

“You look exhausted.”

“I’m not leaving her, Emily.”

She didn’t force the issue. The next sound I heard was the click of the door as it closed. My arms tightened around Tweet as she nuzzled deeper into my side and we fell into a peaceful sleep.

On Christmas day we all gathered at Emily’s place to exchange gifts and have dinner. When I agreed to spend Christmas with Brooke, I didn’t consider Mom, and the fact that this would be the first Christmas without Dad. My focus was so wrapped up in Tweet that everyone else took second place. I felt like a complete jackass being so inconsiderate. I made the mistake of telling Brooke I had to back out while we were at my house one day. Mom overheard and insisted, in front of Brooke, that I go. She wanted me to live my life and not worry. She said the Kellys would take good care of her.

I’d been glued to Tweet’s side almost constantly since her surgery. Even though she let me take care of her, I knew the friend zone rules were still intact. It was harder than ever staying within the boundaries when she’d look at me with vulnerable eyes or clung to my body as if I were her lifeline. I wanted to say how much I loved her, but I was afraid if I did, she’d push me away.

Wine was poured and gifts were exchanged before dinner. Mom, Mrs. Kelly, and Emily retreated to the kitchen to put the final touches on the meal while Mr. Kelly went to open another bottle of wine. I was finally alone with Tweet.