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Stupid Girl(107)

By:Cindy Miles




Despite how fast Brax drove it was a long ride back to Jasper. Halfway there he pulled into a Petro-Stop for fuel; while he pumped gas I ran inside to use the restroom and grab some coffee. A cold front had moved in, the weather dropping into the thirties. My breath puffed white ahead of me as I made my way to the passenger side of my truck. I handed him one of the steaming cups as he climbed behind the wheel.

“Thanks,” he said, and slammed his door shut. He reached over, his cold fingers caressing my knuckles. His eyes searched mine. “You okay?”

I felt raw, exposed, and frankly, I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t even look away from him. “I’m scared.” My throat tightened. I forced myself to swallow past the enormous lump there.

The muscles in Brax’s jaw flinched. “I know you are. Sit tight. I’ll get you home.”

Brax didn’t force conversation; he didn’t force anything. In silence we sipped our coffee, and I stared out the window and it struck me how bleak the scenery was. Leafless trees, brown grass. Occasionally I’d slip a glance at Brax. His features were tense, eyes straight ahead on the road, the gas pedal to the floor. He’d sense me looking at him, and his gaze would turn to mine, hold for a few seconds, and wordlessly he’d return to the road ahead. At some point, he’d reached across the seat and grasped my hand, lacing our fingers together, and I let him. It calmed me a little, and it felt right. We drove that way for a long time.

Finally, we hit the town square of Jasper, only a handful of blocks away from the hospital. Butterflies slammed into my gut as I directed Brax, and by the time we’d parked and were walking through the lobby it was just after noon. Brax had shortened the drive by thirty minutes.

I’d been to the ICU at Jasper Memorial before when Kyle had needed stitches in his head after getting bucked into the fence. He hadn’t needed a unit bed but apparently it had been the only one available. With Brax’s hand wrapped tightly around mine, I led him down a series of hallways to the waiting room. Mom and Seth leapt to their feet as soon as they saw us.

“Olivia,” Mom said, and gathered me in her arms. Her body felt warm through my brown down puff jacket, and Seth leaned over and kissed my forehead. “Hey, baby.”

“How is he?” I asked. My eyes searched my mom and brothers, and the worry I saw in both made my stomach feel sick.

Mom’s tired eyes sought mine. “He’s tired, sweetie. He’s awake, in his right mind, and made sure we knew his wishes.” A tear fell down her cheek. “His exact words were, Don’t let ’em hook me up to all that techno medical horseshit.” She smiled, but it was the saddest expression I’d ever seen on my mom’s face. “Crazy old fool.”

“They can’t do anything for him?” I asked.

Mom shook her head. “Heart’s too far gone. Blockages and damage from here to hell and back.”

My mind raced, and my stomach ached. “Did … they say how long?” The words felt heavy, wrong on my tongue.

She smiled wanly. “Only the Lord knows that, honey.” She inclined her head. “He’s been asking for you.” I noticed her gaze fall behind me, and I turned.

“Oh, Mom, Seth, this is Brax Jenkins. He … drove me.”

Seth’s hand shot out and he shook Brax’s. “Thanks, man. We appreciate it.”

“Glad to do it,” Brax answered Seth. He looked at Mom. “Ma’am.”

Mom gave him a smile. “Nice to finally meet you, Brax.” She pressed her hand against his shoulder. “There’s a snack machine down the hall.”

Brax nodded, and our gazes held for a few seconds before Mom and Seth led me out of the waiting room and down the hall to the locked door leading to the patient rooms. Seth pressed the intercom button, told his name, and the door opened.

“Honey, Jilly looks a little worn around the edges,” Mom said quietly as we walked by several curtained rooms. “Don’t be scared, okay?”

I was already scared, sick, and hated that we were all here. Seth stopped at room 113, and pulled the curtain back. As my eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room, my other two brothers rose from their seats. My gaze fastened on Jilly, lying in the bed. Oxygen tubing in his nostrils. Covers pulled up and folded neatly across his chest, arms straight by his sides. An IV hung beside his bed on a pole and ran into his hand. He looked pale, eyes closed, barely breathing.

“Lil’ Bit,” Kyle said quietly, and he and Jace both enveloped me.

I moved out of their arms, though, and made my way to Jilly’s side, and I slipped my hand into his cool one. Running my thumb over the big veins and callouses, I still couldn’t believe we were here, and he was sick.