Page 18 of Love Wells Kept

Her hand gently raises to stop me. “It’s not like waking someone up from a normal sleep—it’ll take some time. Could be hours or even days, and it’s quite likely he’ll be agitated and confused. We don’t know anything about his cognitive function yet.”

Austin’s gruff voice fills the room. “When are you going to do that?”

“The anesthesiologist should be here any time now.”

The waiting for days and for hours and for minutes, never leaving this chair for a single second more than necessary, was all for this exact just in case. Just in case the doctor came in to wake him up. I don’t care much about what happens after that, so long as I get to see his rich, brown eyes, hear his sleepy voice, and feel the hand I’m currently holding tighten around mine.

—

A few hours later, the gentle clench of his fingers, like the reflexive squeezing movement of a baby, nearly throws me from my chair. The hair on my arm stands on end, leading the way for goosebumps to scatter across my skin.

“Oh my God.” I squeeze his hand back, swallowing hard as I search his face for more signs of consciousness. His face remains perfectly relaxed, but surely I didn’t imagine the squeeze. “H-he just—he squeezed my hand. Does that mean he’s awake?”

The nurse’s mouth curves into a slight smile, and she joins me in watching Jackson for any new motion. “It can take a while for people to become fully alert after such a heavy sedation—especially with a head injury. But he’s not receiving any type of sedative anymore, so it’s likely he’s slowly waking up.”

“Jackson…”

Chair legs drag across the ground with a grating sound—Austin and Denny sliding in close to the foot of the bed. Opposite me, Bennett’s hand repeatedly wrings the plastic bed rail.

“Jackson,” I repeat softly. “I’m here. Your dad, Austin, and Denny are, too.”

No movement.

I shake my head and glance at the nurse. “I wasn’t imagining things. He squeezed my hand before.”

“He might be drifting in and out of con—”

An unmistakable squeeze.

I breathe out my husband’s name with a relieved, tear-filled sigh and heat travels the length of my spine to settle warmly in my chest when I lean in to kiss the back of his work-worn hand. Somewhere amid the tears, the gentle brush of my lips on his skin, and the full-body ache from days spent in this chair, I feel laughter trying to break through.

I massage his hand. His thumb rubs a slow circle. My insides sing with giddy excitement over the simplest pleasure of having this man hold my hand.

“I love you,” I say with a slight waver in my voice.

For the first time since this process started, I take a full breath. Tears form in my eyes.

Denny angles himself, shuffling the metal feet of his chair a few inches to the left, so he can give his brother’s shin a reassuring pat through the hospital blankets. “We all love you, bro.”

When Jackson’s movement stops, so does my heart. I’ve spent more than enough time staring at his unresponsive body, backlit by the glow of medical equipment responsible for his life. Knowing his body is simply recuperating and tired, slipping in and out of sleep while the effects of his medically induced coma wear off, does nothing to ease the pang of fear deep in my gut when I squeeze his fingers together and receive nothing in return.

Hours pass, the long bouts of deep sleep lessen, and there’s a new fluttering of his still-closed eyes. A twitch of his foot. And a rumbling noise from somewhere in his throat when he takes his first full breath with the ventilator switched off.

Jackson may have been the one in a coma, but when his long, dark eyelashes flicker to reveal a sliver of espresso iris, I come back to life.

“Good morning, handsome.” I lose my words in a sob. “I’m…you don’t know how happy I am to see you.”

His eyes become slits again. Clearly he’s drowsy and struggling to keep them open; they fall shut in a series of long blinks.

Each time Jackson wakes up, his new nurse, Aaron, abandons casual conversation with Denny and Austin so he can focus on the various monitors tracking every aspect of Jackson’s health.

And I can’t stop staring at my husband. His hooded gaze drifts around the room, never settling in one place for long, and I grip his hand to keep him from floating away. Everything in me wants nothing more than to lock eyes with him.

Funny. Locking eyes with the cute, quiet, middle Wells brother was also my primary goal when I first moved to the ranch so many years ago. A brand-new graduate from the care aide program, I was thrilled when Bennett Wells, the boys’ father, offered me a job caring for his terminally ill wife. I grew up in the suburbs, with a love for horses and a grandfather who was willing to spend his retirement driving me to and from the stable multiple times per week. A live-in placement on a ranch? That was the dream.

Then Jackson sauntered into the big house with wavy, pushed-back hair and a natural uptick in his lips. He was adorably shy—it was weeks before he uttered a single word in my presence—and he averted his eyes the minute they met mine. Slowly we developed a friendship over sipping tea in the middle of the night. And before I’d realized what was happening, my dream became Jackson Wells.

When his eyes fully open, they’re awash with confusion and fear. Only a small ring of brown separates his massive pupils from the bloodshot whites of his eyes. In a frantic, uncoordinated movement, Jackson shakes me off and his hands fly upward.