Page 125 of Just Between Us

“I think I’m done,” I say. “But—” I look at the mesh underweararound my ankles and the toilet paper holder that seems so far away for a hospital bathroom. If I lean too far, will I fall?

Liam unrolls the toilet paper without being asked, hands it to me. When I’m done wiping, he helps me stand and pulls my unsightly underwear back up without a lick of awkwardness.

At the sink, I take a look at my reflection. This is the first time I’m seeing myself, and I don’t even recognize the face staring back at me. One hand goes to the bandage and my eyes zero in on the hair, or lack thereof, peeking out beneath it.

“My head is shaved?”

“They had to for the surgery. Personally, I like it.” When my face starts to crumple, Liam steps around and ducks so we’re eye to eye. “Hey. Hey, hey, hey. This is nothing. Remember the bangs? They grew.” I cut my eyes to my bangs that are currently a greasy curtain hanging down one side of my face. “This will grow, too.”

I lean in closer. There’s a gash at my temple with a perfect row of stitches and one side of my face has a dark purple bruise. “I look like hell, Liam.”

Liam steps into the reflection beside me and pulls me close. “You look alive.” His voice cracks on the word alive. “That’s all I care about—do you hear me? You’re standing in front of me, breathing the same air as me. There is nothing more beautiful than you.”

I fight back the tears that threaten, because I know he’s right. Scars and bruises be damned, I’m alive.

“I think maybeI could rock a side shave,” Cassie says, coming from the bathroom with her hair parted right at the shaved section of her hair. It’s already grown out a little less than an inch and usually the rest of her hair covers it. “I guess it’s growing on me.”

“You can rock anything, babe.”

This earns me a tiny smile, but I hate that it never reaches her eyes. Gripping the hem of her pajama top, she works to lift it, but only manages it up halfway before she sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth. Bruises from the seat belt are still angry and purple across her chest and torso, making movement sometimes difficult for her. She squeezes her eyes shut, waiting for the pain to pass.

“Hey, whoa. Let me help.” I take over, slowly lifting her shirt, careful not to scrape the incision on the side of her head.

“I’m tired of feeling helpless.”

The crack in her voice guts me. I hate seeing her like this, so defeated. I know Austin told me I’m not to blame. I’ve doubled up on my therapy appointments, and Ben says the same thing. I’m working on it. There are times I fully believe it. This though, is not one of those times.

Setting the shirt on the bed, I rest my hands on her shoulders as gently as possible, ducking my head to meet her eyes.

“You’re not helpless. You’re healing. Those are two very different things.”

“It doesn’t feel different.” She drops her gaze to the bruise across her abdomen. “It hurts to dress myself. I lose words mid-sentence. They had to put me on…on…” Her eyes narrow as she searches for the word. I know what she’s thinking, but I don’t rush to fill in the gap for her. They prescribed something for panic attacks. We learned the hard way the other night that storms are now a trigger for her, and it is prime storm season in Alabama. “See what I mean?” Her chin starts to tremble and a tear rolls down her cheek. “I’m not myself anymore.”

“You’re three weeks out of brain surgery, Cassie. You’ve been cooped up in the hospital while your body overcomes monumental trauma. Remember they told us as you heal there would be times your brain would struggle to keep up. You’re not supposed to be yourself yet.” I keep my voice even, though everything in me wants to crack. “But you will be. Maybe not the same version, but you’ll get there.”

“What if I don’t? What if this is it?” She sweeps a hand up and down. “What if I can’t do my job? How am I supposed to—” She stops and squeezes her eyes shut. “How am I supposed to focus on what my clients tell me when I can’t even focus on my own words?”

And there it is. It’s not just the pain, the headaches, the brain fog. It’s that she might lose the career she’s worked so hard for.

“Then we’ll figure it out together. For now, you rest. You give your brain the same patience you’d give one of your clients.” I notch a knuckle under her chin, lifting her dropped gaze, back to me. “What would you tell a client? If they were on the other end of a session saying the exact words you just said to me?”

She’s quiet for a long moment. Her jaw works, and I can see her turning the question over, the therapist and patient within both fighting for dominance.

“I’d tell them that healing isn’t linear,” she finally says, her voice small. “That I need to be kinder to myself and that setbacks aren’t the same as failure.”

“Bingo. And you bet your cute ass I’ll remind you of that until you also believe it.” I grab a clean shirt from her suitcase. It’s an old button-down of mine, worn soft over time. And I’m glad I thought to bring it after seeing the struggle removing her pajama top. “Arms in,” I say, holding the shirt up.

She slides one arm in, then the other and I move in front of her to button her up.

“I love seeing you in my clothes,” I tell her, pressing my lips to hers.

This time, when she smiles, there’s light in her eyes, and because I can, because she’s alive standing in front of me, I kiss her again, teasing her mouth with mine. In a silent question, my tongue brushes lightly over the seam of her lips and she opens, melting into me. I’m enveloped by her sweetness, her taste, everything I thought I might never have again. I should kiss her every hour for the rest of our lives to make up for every second I wasted where my lips weren’t on hers.

“Transport,” a voice booms, followed by a knock on the door.

Cassie drops her forehead to my chest, muffling what sounds almost like a giggle. “Give us a sec,” I call out.

She looks up at me, cheeks flushed, lips pressed together to keep from laughing. There’s my girl.