It's Complicated

Epilogue

Breathe in. Breathe out. I need to calm down.

Hospitals make me nervous. Ever since I woke up in that one hospital so many years ago, hospitals have freaked me out. All of the white and the smell of antiseptic make me shudder. I close my eyes and take in another breath. I’m just glad they didn’t use anesthetic on me. Apparently, my ankle fracture wasn’t severe enough to need surgery, so they put me in a black ankle brace that I can remove temporarily whenever I absolutely need to.

I grip Travis’s limp hand in mine tighter. He, unfortunately, needed a minor surgery to fix one of the bones in his shoulder. They had to put him out for the surgery, and the anesthesia still hasn’t completely worn off of him. He has woken up a few times, but each time, he just went right back to sleep again. So now, he is asleep on the hospital bed next to the window, and I am sitting on his left side, the light filtering through window hot on my back, his hand in mine for my own reassurance.

I open my eyes and look at him again. His brown hair is brushed out a bit and his eyes are unmoving behind his eyelids, meaning there is a good chance he’s not dreaming. I can’t help but wonder if his dreams are anything like mine. I hope not. No one deserves to go through what I go through every night now.

My eyes roam down to his bare chest. They took his shirt off for the surgery and didn’t want to cover his chest back up, saying the wound “needed some air”. I don’t understand the reasoning behind that considering his whole right shoulder is bandaged up. I could understand that his shirt is dirty, bloody, and contaminated. But the wound “needed air”? Sometimes I wonder how some people got past high school. But I don’t mind it, either. I feel the blood rush to my cheeks and my stomach flutter as I realize I’m still staring at his chest.

“Like what you see?” a voice breaks my thoughts. I smile and look over to see Travis, his eyes partially open and watching me. A slight smile lights up his face. His fingers tighten around mine and I smile back at him.

“It depends on what you think I’m looking at,” I say lightly. His smile widens a bit. “How are you feeling?” He shifts his position a bit and winces slightly.

“Like I got hit by a bus while running a marathon in last place,” he says.

“That bad?” I laugh. I rest my elbows on my knees and lean down into a more comfortable position.

“That bad,” he groans, twisting and propping his head up with his left hand, my hand still in his. I twirl his hair around my finger carefully, making sure not to catch on any knots. He gently rubs his thumb across the back of my hand, his eyes glancing around the room, taking in his surroundings. He doesn’t seem at all tired any more.

“What? You’re not going to go back to sleep again?” I ask jokingly. His eyes meet mine and he grins, his eyes twinkling. I’m glad I’m sitting, because if I were standing, I’m sure I would have gone weak at the knees.

“I’m wide awake,” he replies, the way he said it sending goose bumps up my arms and making my heart pound in my chest. I don’t think he noticed my heart nearly double in speed. “I told you I missed you, right?”

“Yes, I do believe you did,” I reply nonchalantly, watching my finger as it twirls the same lock of hair over and over again. “Multiple times, actually.” I smile. He closes his eyes for a second and then opens them. I can’t stop myself from glancing over and counting the different shades of blue in his eyes. I never have been able to count them all. There are just so many that every time I try, I get lost…

“Have I told you I love you?” he asks softly. I stop twirling his hair and look into his eyes, searching almost. Ever since I told him my story, I’ve been afraid that he’ll think I’m a freak, or some kind of criminal. But, right off the bat, he seemed to accept it, and he has yet to show any sign of thinking of me differently. I told him everything. Everything except for the dreams. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to tell anyone about those.

“Not recently,” I say, unknotting my fingers from his. I absentmindedly touch the almost healed bruise on his cheek. It feels like that was so long ago when in reality, it was only a less than a week ago. Even as I gently touch the bruise, his eyes stay locked on mine.

“Well,” he says. “I love you.” I lean closer to him.

“Hmm,” I say quietly. “Say it again.” He leans in a bit closer to me. He’s so close that I can smell the blood and sweat still lingering on his skin.

He smiles and slowly whispers, “I love you, Kacey Emerson. I love y—”

I breathe out something between a sigh and a moan as I press my lips to his, closing my eyes instinctively. His lips are rough and chapped against mine, but I could care less. I cup his face in my hands, my fingertips barely brushing his hair. He sighs against my lips and falls back against the bed, my eyes flying open as he brings me with him. I laugh for a second before he pulls me back into him with his left hand. He kisses me again, gently running his fingers through my hair. I’m not sure how I could have possibly gone so long without this. For two years, I had no idea what I was missing out on. And now, even though we have only really kissed two times, it already feels so natural, so comforting. It’s almost as if every time I kiss him, the rest of the world disappears, even if only for a second, and all that is left is his lips against mine.

“If you two are through,” someone says from the door. Phil. I jump away from Travis and land in my chair, my right foot hitting the ground and making it hurt again, my face surely red from embarrassment. How did I not hear the door open? Phil is standing in the doorway, a look of amusement on his face. If my face could get any redder, I’m sure it did.

“Really Phil?” Travis asks him, the both of us trying to catch our breath. He pushes himself up so that his back is against the metal headboard of the bed. “You have the worst timing.”

“Well,” Phil goes on. “I’m sorry to have to break up your make-out session—”

“Phil!” I exclaim. He waves me off with his hand.

“Kacey. There is someone here you may want to see,” he says, a bit more seriously. Now I’m curious. I have no idea who could possibly be visiting me here. My first guess would be Stephen, but I doubt it. He already explained that he was working with Monroe to get on the inside of their operation, and that he also works for the same boss I do, so he won’t turn me in to the cops. The only other person I can think of is Jordan, but I highly doubt she even knows I’m here.

“Who?” I ask him. I sit up a bit straighter in my seat, straightening my gray shirt a bit. Phil glances to his right, out the door.

“In here, boss,” he says. Boss? Our boss? He came to see me? Phil backs out of the doorway a bit and lets the man in. The second I see the man, my breath catches in my throat and I think my heart stops. Memories flood my mind so fast I barely have time to register them. I remember rides to school and knife throwing lessons and so much more. It’s so much that my head hurts. But I ignore it.

The man is a little taller than the average man. His black hair is cut short against his head, and his blue eyes are the same blue eyes I see in the mirror every day. I think he recognizes me, too, because he takes in a sharp breath.

“Kacey?” he says. I have always loved hearing his voice, and it’s been too long since the last time I heard it. “Kacey, is it really you?”

Even as I take in a deep breath, I find it hard to breathe. I manage two simple words.

“Hi Dad.”