Istartle awake and sit up, wiping drool from the corner of my mouth. I’d fallen asleep on Gabe’s arm, holding it hostage while he’s comatose and has no say in it. I sit back in the hard plastic chair beside his bed, and then the faintest movement catches my eye. His lids flutter. It’s so infinitesimal that at first, I think I’ve just imagined it, but he does it again and I hit the call button by the bed.
An hour and a half later, a respiratory therapist talks me through the process, and they begin a weaning trial to turn off his sedation. I swear I fail to breathe for the next ten minutes as I wait and watch and pray to all that’s holy that he’ll come out of this, that he’ll breathe on his own.
Gabe’s eyes flutter again and his hand twitches. He lifts his arm and swats at the ventilator tube in his mouth.
“Oh, my god. Gabe!” I shriek.
He struggles against the tube in his mouth, dry retching and choking, and a team of two nurses rush in, and shove me out of the way as they tend to him. He’s choking and gasping, and all I can do is stand here, helpless, and watch him struggle with the tubes in his mouth and nose, and the lines running from several different parts of his body.
“Gabriel, you’re in the hospital,” the respiratory therapist says. “You have a ventilator breathing for you. We’re going to remove your tube soon, okay? Try to remain calm. I know it’s uncomfortable.”
His eyes are wild as they meet mine across the room. I want so badly to go to him and take his hand, to tell him everything will be okay, but I refuse to get in the way of the people trying tomake him better, so I stand in the corner with tears streaming down my face as I give him a wistful smile.
“Switching to CPAP,” the respiratory therapist says. “Hang in there, Gabriel.”
The next thirty minutes is hell. Watching him struggle with the machines one minute and lose consciousness the next breaks my heart, but finally the RT orders a nurse to draw blood from the radial artery and says he’s oxygenating well.
The respiratory therapist removes the sticky strap from Gabe’s face and deflates the air cuff holding the tube in place.
“You might feel a little discomfort now, Mr. Laurier,” the nurse says as she squeezes his arm gently.
The RT removes the tube as Gabe trembles and gags. He’s trying so hard to remain calm and still, and in a matter of moments, it’s all over. The nurse bustles about checking vitals before fitting a canula under his nose. The RT explains that Gabe will be sleepy for a few days and may have trouble regaining his motor functions.
And then everyone is gone. Gabe’s head falls back against the pillow. His eyelids heavy. I don’t want him to go back to sleep, even though I know his body likely needs it.
“Three days wasn’t enough sleep for you, huh, Dash?” I say quietly.
The corners of his mouth lift in a tired grin. “F-freckles,” he rasps.
I grasp his hand in mine and gently squeeze, careful of his IV. “Love you too, Gabe.”
“A—” he grates. “Axl?”
“He’s with Clementine and Tommy. They’re taking good care of him.” I swallow the lump in my throat and let out a long, shaky breath. “Try not to talk. The doc said it’ll hurt for a while until the swelling goes down. You scared the shit out of me, Gabe.”
He nods. I know this isn’t the time for this conversation, but I need him to know I’m not okay without him. I won’t ever be okay without him in my life, and neither will Axl.
“We need you. Okay? Just don’t go making me a widow yet.”
He gives a sad smile and squeezes my hand and I fight back tears because I may not know what happened that night, but I know Gabe, and I don’t think he meant to wind up here. He’d never intentionally hurt me or his son like that, but I know he needs more support than I’ve been giving him. No matter what happens to us in the future, I owe him that much.
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
Gabe
Two months later
“Are you ready?” I ask Gabe as I climb in the passenger seat of his Charger. His recovery has been a long, hard road with PT and another round of rehab at a facility outside of LA. So when he asked me to accompany him to an AA meeting today, of course, I said yes.
He doesn’t look at me, just stares out the window at the empty street. “Yeah. I’m ready. Thanks for coming with me.”
I cover his hand on the gearshift with my own. “I’m really proud of you, Gabe.”
“Thanks.” He gives me a half smile but there’s so much sadness in it that my heart cracks and he finds his way in—as always—Gabe is perhaps the only person in the entire world who can get to me like that.
We’re quiet the rest of the way to the meeting, but as we walk in, I feel the tension in his whole body, so I grab his hand and lace my fingers with his. Gabe looks down at our joined fingers, and when his eyes meet mine, they’re shining with tears.
“We’ll get through this. You and me together. Always.”