Текст книги "That Boy"

Автор книги: Jillian Dodd

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I zone out most of what he said because all I can focus on is the word was. He was a strong man.

Was?

I turn and glance at Phillip. “Was?” I put my elbow on my knee, hold my chin in my hand and close my eyes.

How am I supposed to do this?

I cannot do this.

A voice inside my head, probably the same stupid one that can never say no to a dare or take no for an answer, says, you have to.

“You didn't answer the when part.” I state.

He shakes his head and purses his lips, “Not long. Maybe a few hours, maybe a few minutes.”

“When do you need to know about the organ donation stuff?”

“When you make a decision, let his nurse know, and she'll get you the appropriate paperwork. You can all go in to see him, but please, no more than two at a time.” He gets down on his knees in front of me, touches my hand and says seriously, “Jadyn, I'm very sorry about both your mother and father. I was here when they both came in, and we really did everything we could.” And I realize that this has been hard on him too.

“Thank you. I appreciate everything you did,” I manage to say.

Mr. Mac comes walking back down the hall. Mr. Diamond heads him off and updates him on the situation.

“I'm going in there,” I state. I want to see Dad, but I feel sick to my stomach. Part of me feels like if I just pretend this isn't happening, then maybe it won't be. The other part of me needs to say goodbye. I feel like a big fat chicken.

Get a hold of yourself. You are so not a chicken.

I walk up to Mr. Mac, look at him with well practiced puppy dog eyes, and give him a hug. He really looked like he could use one and, truthfully, I'm hoping to soften him up a little. “Would you come in with me?”

Okay, so maybe I'm a bit chicken.

“I don't know if I can, JJ.” He answers truthfully. “It tears me up to see him like that.”

“Me too. But we have to. We'll do it together, okay?”

He shakes his head yes, and we walk into the ICU.

I hate to say it, but Dad looks worse. His skin is very gray. I don't know why this is such a shock to me, but it is. I shake my head to Mr. Mac, indicating he can go first.

He puts his hand on my dad's shoulder and says, “Hey buddy. Not our best night ever, huh? And we have had some nights, haven't we?” He pauses, remembering and smiling. Then he continues, “Things aren't looking so great for you, so I want you to know I'll take care of your angel as promised.”

Huge tears stream down his face, and he doesn't bother to wipe them away.

It's really hard to watch a grown man cry.

He slowly backs away from the bed, so I walk over and perch gently on the edge of it. The hospital smells like cleaner and medicine and disinfectant, yet through it all I can still smell my dad.

It's not even his cologne.

It's just him.

I lay my head across his chest.

“I love you, Daddy. So much. I don't know what I am going to do without you and Mommy.”

This sucks.

No one should ever have to go through this. It's just so horribly, incredibly awful.

The organ donation thing comes to mind, and I think if I can save even one family from having to go through this, I should do it.

I walk straight out to the nurse and say, “Let's do it. Let me sign the papers.”

While I'm signing she says, “You know you're doing a wonderful thing. In a few minutes people across the country will get the call they have been hoping and praying for. Because of you.”

“No. Because of my dad,” I say, and walk back in with Dad.

He dies a few hours later.

Phillip's parents drive us home. We get to their house and, like a robot, I wash my face, brush my teeth and pull on a pair of Phillip's sweats and a T-shirt. Danny's mom whips up some sandwiches. They look good, but I have no desire to eat. I sit there on the sofa and don't say a word.

Really no one says a word. I think we're all in shock.

Finally Mrs. Mac breaks the silence. “I think we should all try to get some sleep.” She turns to me and says, “JJ, the doctor gave us some sleeping pills for you. I think you should take one.”

I shake my head no. “There will be a lot to do tomorrow. Oh, I guess it already is tomorrow. I mean like later today. Anyway, I helped my parents plan Grandpa Reynolds funeral last year, so I know there'll be lots to do, and I don't want to feel all groggy.” I took a sleeping pill once after I broke my arm and had a hard time staying awake the next day.

Danny's dad says, “JJ, we can do everything for you, honey, you don't have to.”

“Yeah, I do,” I tell them. “I think I need to.”

Phillip's cell rings. “Danny,” he says to me, then gets up and walks into the dining room to talk. Obviously, so I can't hear. As usual, Phillip is trying to protect me.

Like I'm not already painfully aware of what happened tonight.

He walks back into the room and hands me his phone.

“Are you okay?” I ask Danny.

“Ohmigawd, Jay. Yes, are you okay? No, that's a stupid question. Of course you're not okay. I am so sorry. God, I should've been there with you.”

“You couldn't have known.”

“I'm headed out the door now. I'll be there as fast as I can.”

“Don't do that, Danny. It's been a long night, and I don't want to worry about you driving. And we're all just getting ready to go to bed, so get some sleep first and come in the morning, okay?”

“O-kay,” he answers.

There's silence on the other end and I wonder if the call dropped, but then Danny sighs, “Jay?”

“Yeah?”

“It wasn't just about making Jake jealous. See you in a few hours.”

Phillip takes the phone away from me and gives it to Mrs. Diamond.

“Alright. It's been a long night.” Mrs. Mac stands up and claps her hands together. “Everybody to bed.”

The Diamonds go home and I ask pathetically, “Is it okay if I sleep in Phillip's room? I don't wanna be alone.”

“Sure, honey.” Mrs. Mac says, hugs me and heads to her room.

Phillip grabs my hand and leads me upstairs. He lies on his bed, props a pillow behind his back and holds out his arm. I snuggle into the crook of it, put my head on his chest and close my eyes.

Phillip doesn't say anything to me, he just runs his fingers through my hair over and over again.

It was incredibly soothing and at some point I must have fallen asleep.

I wake up a few hours later, still lying on his shoulder.

“You're awake,” he whispers.

“Why?” I start to say, looking at him and wondering where I am.

Then it all comes rushing back.

“Oh God. It really happened?”

“Yeah, it did.” He strokes my hair again.

God, he's sweet.

“It seems like so long ago, but I'm sorry I yelled at you after the party.”

“I doubt it'll be the last time,” he chuckles.

“Phillip.”

“Well, at least I hope it won't be the last time because it would mean you weren't with me.”

I roll my eyes at him. I don't get mad at him that often. Just when he disagrees with me.

“I'll always love my Princess.” He smiles. “Even when she's mad at me.”

Then he winces and says seriously, “I'm really sorry about everything. This is going to be so rough, but I want you to know that I'm here for you. My family's here for you.”

And they were there for me.

Especially Phillip.

He stood by my side and held my hand through it all. As I picked out caskets and gravestones, planned the funeral, chose the pallbearers, picked the music, the scriptures, the speakers, and even when I had to decide what clothes they should wear.

And every night, the only way I could go to sleep was lying on his shoulder.

I never could've gotten through these last few days without him.

“May they rest in peace,” the pastor says, finishing the eulogy.

Now it's my turn.

I walk slowly up to the podium at the front of the church, turn, and gaze out at all the people who came to the funeral. My parents really did touch many people's lives. Mrs. Mac and Mrs. Diamond tried to discourage me from speaking at the funeral, which quite frankly, just made me want to do it more.

But really, how could I not?

Hopefully, I can say everything I want to say.

Deep breath.

Game face in place.

Okay.

“I want to share a quote with all of you from a book I've been reading. It goes, Do human beings ever realize life, while they live it – every, every minute? We're all busy people and it's easy to get so wrapped up in life, that we forget to live. My parents knew how to live. They enjoyed the little things in life, like sunsets, great parties, telling jokes, hanging out with friends,” I can't help but smile, “even silly things like giving piggyback rides. I'm pretty sure they wouldn't want us sitting around here crying over the fact that they are gone. I think they'd rather we celebrate the fact that they lived – every, every minute and would challenge us all to do the same.”

The lights dim and the presentation starts. My cue to step away from the podium and take my seat.

When we were at the church planning the funeral, it was very sad and somber. And I don't know what hit me, but I looked at Mr. Mac sitting there, not smiling, and I just thought, this is not what Mom and Dad's lives were about.

If Dad were here, he and Mr. Mac would be laughing and joking about something. They had more inside jokes than a group of seventh grade girls.

I know you have to do the religious part, and I wanted to do the religious part. But they sorta felt disconnected. The religious part felt more about what was next for them, and I'm happy that they are in heaven and all that, but what about us, the ones they left behind?

We don't really want them in heaven, we want them back with us.

I want them back with me.

So I told our pastor that I wanted to do something that would make people feel good. To help them remember the fun times, to see that my parents enjoyed their lives.

They loved to celebrate.

So I wanted to do something that would celebrate my parents' lives.

Phillip, Danny, and I would be outside shooting hoops or playing a game of horse, and Dad would come out and be like, It's gorgeous out, a day like today is worth celebrating.

I always thought “celebrate” was sorta code word for, if I say I'm celebrating something, my wife won't complain to me about sitting here smoking a stinky cigar. But that wasn't it. Because before you knew it, Mom would be out there sitting on his lap, drinking a wine cooler, and celebrating with him. Then pretty soon half the neighbors would show up, and they would all be drinking and eating and really celebrating the fact that they were together, that it was a beautiful day. I think they definitely appreciated daily life and not just special occasions, hell, they made every day occasions special.

So even though it was painful, Katie, Lisa, and I went through all our photos and selected a few that showed my parents doing just that.

Celebrating their lives.

Phillip scanned them all into the computer and created a slide show of them set to music.

Notes play and pictures flash by:

Mom as a baby.

Mom with no front teeth, in pigtails on her bike.

Mom with her high school friends, in their graduation caps and gowns.

Dad as a chubby, bald baby.

Dad dressed as a cowboy, with Uncle John dressed as an Indian.

Dad playing basketball in high school.

Then the two of them together in college, looking goofily in love.

Dad and Mr. Mac in college, togas on and cigars in their mouths.

A big group of dad's frat brothers, all holding red cups and making silly faces and gestures.

Mom and Dad at a fraternity formal, Mom with bright blue eyeliner and big hair.

Mom with her best friends on spring break at the beach.

Mom catching the bouquet at the Mac's wedding, Dad pretending to be scared.

Their college graduations.

Mom, with an amazingly happy look on her face, holding out her engagement ring while her friends were gathered around looking at it.

Mom and Dad dancing and kissing at their wedding.

Dad carrying Mom over the threshold of our new house.

A group of their friends in a hot tub on a skiing trip.

Daddy holding me at the hospital the day I was born.

Mom and Julie holding Phillip and me as babies.

Mom holding my hands in the air, teaching me how to walk.

Daddy holding my hands in the air, teaching me the signal for TOUCHDOWN, when I was two, with a Nebraska game on the TV in the background and everyone around him dressed in red.

Daddy teaching me to ride a bike.

Christmas morning, wrapping paper everywhere.

My parents at Disney World, watching the parade, with me asleep over Daddy's shoulder.

Dad, Phillip, Danny, and me playing soccer in the back yard.

Daddy blowing out the candles on a very pathetic looking cake I had frosted.

Mom and me at my eighth grade graduation.

Our families all standing in front of a fountain in Kansas City, with the Plaza lights aglow around us.

A Thanksgiving Day flag football game, with all our families.

All our neighbors together for the annual block party.

My family, with the Diamonds and the Macs this past 4 ^th of July.

I glance at Phillip, who's sitting next to me. When I was going through all the pictures, I realized how much Phillip and I have been together. He was in practically every picture with me, even if he was lurking in the background somewhere.

The screen flashes.

Dad, by the grill, holding a plate of very badly burnt hamburgers with Danny's dad and Danny laughing.

The slide show is incredible. Phillip didn't want me to watch it before the funeral, and now I see why. It's like he got me the perfect gift and didn't want me to open it early.

What would I ever do without that boy?

I reach over and put my hand on top of his.

He glances at me, and I mouth thank you to him. He smiles at me, as he wipes tears from his eyes.

At the visitations, all the ladies were telling me what a lucky girl I was to have such a devoted and supportive boyfriend. At first, I told them that Phillip was not my boyfriend, just one of my best friends, but most of the ladies I said that to sorta rolled their eyes at me.

Like Phillip was really my boyfriend, and I was trying to keep it a secret.

When Mrs. Mac told someone that Phillip and I were just very close friends, the lady sneered and practically insinuated that close meant, uh close, as in based on the way he is always touching me, we must be sleeping together.

Which, well, we are, kinda. Since I can't go to sleep without his shoulder next to me. But you know, not in the way that lady assumed.

So finally both of us gave up.

It was easier to just agree, than try to explain.

So when people asked him how his girlfriend was doing, he said, she's hanging in there. And when people said I had an amazing boyfriend, I smiled and agreed.

And of course, Phillip had to give me some shit about that.

So last night, when it was just us, he was referring to himself as my amazing boyfriend, my support system, my devoted lover, my, uh, close friend.

He really does make me laugh. And being able to laugh occasionally, in a situation like this, has helped release some of my pent up stress.

At least I haven't blown yet.

The video ends, and the pastor requests that everyone join us at the place of rest.

And seriously, this is the part I have been dreading.

This is the part that freaks me out.

The place of rest.

As in the Cemetery.

Where they will be BURIED.

And I will never see them again.

Okay, yes, I know they are dead. I know they aren't coming back.

I know they are never going to talk to me again.

But for some strange reason, and I know this sounds kind of sick, but having their bodies still here, like at the funeral home and here at the church, it's like they are still a little bit here.

It kills me to look at Mom and Dad laying there in their caskets, not smiling at me, not teasing me, or telling me they love me.

But at the same time, they are still here.

Well, sorta.

I mean, I definitely believe in God and Heaven and all that. And I believe that their souls have gone to heaven, and that someday, when I die, we will be reunited.

But that doesn't mean I am ready to let their bodies go into the ground.

It feels so harsh.

It feels like the wrong thing to do.

Because it feels like that is all I have left of them.

And I'm hanging on by whatever threads are left.

As Phillip walks me to the limo, I tell him, “Phillip, I don't know if I can do this part.”

And of course, Phillip and I can't carry on a conversation because people are wonderful. They keep coming up to me, and hugging me, and holding my hands, and telling me what wonderful people my parents were, how sorry they are for me, how my parents are watching in heaven, all that stuff people say at funerals to try and make you feel better.

And it does, I know they are being sincere, but still, I have a horrible feeling of dread inside me.

Because this is it.

After we bury them, I am going to be all alone.

Phillip pulls me aside, next to the limo. “Princess, you can do this. You've got this. You stood up there and gave that little speech without crying. This will be easy compared to that.”

I whisper, “But Phillip, this is not the easy part because when they bury them, I am going to be alone. All alone.”

And really, that is the part of all this that scares me the most.

Phillip tenderly cups my shoulder with his hand and pulls me into a hug, then he smiles at me, touches the tip of my nose with his finger, and says, “Don't think you can get rid of me that easily. As long as I'm around, you'll never be alone. I do have my reputation to uphold as your, uh, very, close friend, you know. Heck, I'm going to be around so much, you'll probably be begging me to leave.” He gives me a sly little grin.

I give Phillip a little smile, but I don't get to reply because Aunt Sara and Uncle John barrel between us and hop in the limo.

Phillip rolls his eyes at them, then says, “I guess it's time to go.”

I follow them into the limo and it takes all my strength not to pull Phillip in with me.

To protect me.

I have to sit with just them, as in just Aunt Sara and Uncle John for the next part of the service.

I really don't know why I agreed to it, but it was important to John that it be JUST FAMILY, so I did. I figured since I planned everything for the funeral of his brother without his input, it was the least I could do.

But now, I wish I wouldn't have been so nice.

Especially when I get in the limo and Uncle John doesn't say a word to me. On the ride to the cemetery, I thought maybe he would say something about how I was brave to stand up there and speak, which so many other people have said.

Or how amazing he thought the slide show was because it showed them, as we all remember, so full of happiness and life.

But no. Nothing.

I don't think I like Uncle John very much.

At the cemetery, I take my seat next to John under the tent covering the two freshly dug graves.

We wait for the twelve most important men in my life, the pallbearers, to get the caskets out of the hearses. There's Mr. Diamond and Danny; my dad's fraternity brothers, Mr. Mac, Scott, Lance and Barry; my friends, Joey, Neil, and Brandon; my dad's work friend, Jeff; and his best high school friends and weekly basketball teammates, Todd and Mike. I really thought my mom's friends should be able to carry her casket, but it was explained to me that pallbearers are traditionally men, and I would be smart not to stray from that because caskets are apparently heavy. So I made my mom's best friends honorary pallbearers, which I hope made them all feel special too.

Of course, Phillip was going to be a pallbearer. But when we were planning the funeral, they told me the pallbearers all sit together, which meant that I was going to be sitting in the front row all by myself.

Well I mean, John and Sara were going to be there too, but I wasn't expecting any love or support from them.

That's when I begged Phillip to take on an even more important role.

When we were lying in the hammock, looking at the stars the other night because I couldn't sleep, I told him that he's been my rock through all this and asked if he would continue that most important job and PLEASE sit with me at the funeral and hold my hand, so I wouldn't fall apart.

Actually, I kinda begged.

Something about having Phillip squeeze my hand helps me keep it all together.

The pallbearers each grab a handle, as the caskets are slid out of each hearse.

Then they start the long walk up the grassy hill. Before today, many of the pallbearers didn't even know each other, but right now they look like brothers, all in dark suits and all with the same solemn look on their faces.

I forget what they told me the caskets weigh, but I remember them saying they were easily supported by six men. What they didn't say, was that the emotions they seem to be carrying are much, much heavier than the caskets ever could be.

They all look like they are carrying the weight of the world.

I'm sure if I could see my own face, it would probably look the same.

The pastor has started speaking, and I'm trying to pay attention.

I listen to the words and prayers he says, trying to find some comfort in it. And well, honestly, I'm not really feeling it.

Because internally, I am freaking out.

The pastor asks us to stand for the final prayer, and I know its getting close.

As pre-planned, the caskets will get lowered into the ground. John, Sara, and I are then supposed to sprinkle dirt over the tops of each. Then we are supposed to slide one of the long stemmed roses out of the floral arrangement and drop it into the hole, as well.

I wanted to fight that part too.

I was fine with the dirt because I get the whole ashes to ashes and dust to dust thing, but the rose bothered me for some reason.

Throwing the rose in, I thought, would feel like it does when you throw a coin in a fountain and make a wish.

I mean how sweet would it be if I could wish them both alive, throw the rose in, and have them pop out of their caskets, alive and laughing.

I don't know. The rose feels wrong to me, but I agreed to do it.

I don't know where my will power has gone.

I did ask why people throw the rose, and I didn't really get a clear response. No one seemed to know why, they just knew people do it.

Finally, John got frustrated with me and told me it was out of respect. And you want to be respectful, don't you?

But then I looked it up on the internet and found out the reason you stay to watch them get lowered into the ground is not out of respect. This process is supposed to be harsh and difficult for the mourners. It is supposed to force them to face the reality and finality of the death. Which in turn, is supposed to help the grieving process.

We'll see about that.

All I know is when you start doing google searches on caskets, pallbearer etiquette, and funeral traditions, something in your life has gone very wrong.

As you can imagine, lots of people have been giving me advice about how to handle this. About how to handle death.

And how to feel.

How to deal.

And I can't remember all of it, but one piece of advice evidently stuck in my mind.

I was sitting on the couch at the Diamond's house. We had all eaten dinner there and were getting ready to go to the visitation. Danny wrapped his arm around me, pulled me in tight, kissed the top of my head, and told me everything was going to be alright. Mrs. Diamond, who lost her own mother when she was only 22, was sitting next to us giving me advice, but I was having a hard time concentrating because Danny looked so sexy that I wanted to just jump on top of him and start kissing him.

Sadly, I haven't kissed Danny since the night of the party. With him going back and forth to Lincoln for classes and offseason football workouts and me being constantly surrounded by people who are worried about me, I haven't even had a second alone with him.

But when I look over and see two butterflies flitting around a nearby gravestone, well, I remembered what she said. She told me to let myself see a little of God everyday. And for some reason, watching those butterflies offered me more comfort than any of the prayers.

But then, while I am standing there getting my courage up, I watch in horror as John and Sara walk up to the caskets, do what we were supposed to do, and then walk away.

Uh. HELLO!?

Wait a minute!

They were supposed to wait for me.

We were supposed to do that TOGETHER!

And then, boom!

All my comfort and courage are gone.

I seriously feel like I could faint, or puke, or die myself.

I am frozen in my spot, and I want to scream out loud.

I CAN'T DO THIS!

I CAN'T HANDLE THIS!

THIS IS SO NOT THE WAY MY LIFE'S SUPPOSED TO BE!

I AM NOT SUPPOSED TO BE BURYING MY PARENTS!!!

The pastor clears his throat to get my attention. He is waiting impatiently for me to come up and do what I am supposed to do.

He might as well have yelled at me, MOVE IT, MISSY, it would have felt the same.

I know you're probably not supposed to cuss at a religious ceremony, but I can't help but scream aloud in my head, SHIT!!!

My hands start to shake, and I think my head may explode.

I am also seriously contemplating jumping into the dirt myself, so they can just bury me with them.

I feel a hand on my back, turn my head, and there's Phillip.

“I can't do this,” I whisper.

“We'll do it together, okay?” The same words I used on his dad at the hospital.

Phillip holds my hand and guides me up to the caskets.

Well, maybe pulls me up to the caskets is a more accurate description.

I am seriously shaking.

He gives me a handful of dirt, and together we sprinkle some dirt on the caskets.

And I don't know where it comes from, maybe the butterflies, but I decide to stick to my guns.

I pick out two roses, put them up to my nose and breathe in their wonderful smell, but I don't drop them into the dirt.

I can't.

I'm keeping them.

Taking them home with me.

I'm sorry, but I don't need any more harsh reality.

I've had enough of that.

So I repeat the mantra I've been telling myself all week, through the planning, the visitation, and the funeral.

Don't lose it. Stay in control. Put on your game face and get through this.

You can do it.

And now with Phillip holding my hand, I think maybe I can.

We turn away from the caskets, toward everyone. I take a deep breath, clamp my back teeth down tight, hold my head up high, and walk away from my parents for the very last time.

And I didn't know it, but apparently after I dropped the rose, the people who attended the graveside service were supposed to come up and do the same thing.

Say goodbye and drop a flower.

But they didn't.

They followed my lead.

When people start coming up to me to give me their condolences, most all of them are also carrying two flowers.

And I realize I started a trend.

I look around the cemetery grounds and see that nearly everyone mingling about is taking two flowers home with them. For their own in remembrance.

And that comforts me more than the butterflies.

God, I am going to miss them.

Even Mr. Mac, who comes marching up to me because he is furious with John, is clutching two roses in his hand. He tells me, “JJ, you're riding home with us and not in the limo with that jerk, John. I can't believe he just left you up there by yourself. Some family.”

He shakes his head at John and herds me to their car.

The funeral luncheon is at the Mackenzie's house. It has a much lighter tone because for everyone here, the worst is over. But I know when everyone leaves, my worst will just begin.

Because regardless of how sweet Phillip is, now I'm alone.

Truly alone.

Last night, Uncle John offered to take me back to Seattle with him. I don't know John that well. I see him once a year, if I'm lucky. I'm not sure why, but he and Dad weren't that close. All I've ever heard him say is something about John being selfish and only worrying about himself.

I never used to understand, but I get it now.

Phillip's mom was not happy about his offer.

Here's how the conversation went:

“JJ is staying here with us. That's what her parents wanted.” Mrs. Mac said firmly.

“JJ, you're 18. You can do anything you want. I think it would be good for you to get away from all of this for a while. Get a fresh start,” Uncle John said, scowling at Mrs. Mac.

Mrs. Mac grunted, “Well I disagree. JJ, you need to stay with us. We love you.” Then she cried.

How come everybody around here can cry so freely? People must think I'm a horrible daughter because I haven't cried since the hospital.

I just haven't been able to.

I'm either very callous or still in shock.

Or something might be seriously wrong with me.

Or maybe not, I think it's just that I have become an empty shell.

My body is still here, true, but I'm pretty sure most of me died when they did.

And an empty shell should not be fought over, so I pretended to be grown up and replied diplomatically with something like, “I need to stay here and finish high school, Uncle John. Maybe I could visit this summer?”

It's getting late and by now most of the funeral people have left. I'm sitting out on Phillip's front porch, alone for a few minutes. It feels good to just sit here in the rocking chair, not having to be polite, not having to say, I'm fine, when I'm about to fall to pieces.

Danny strides through the front door.

I know that I'm in mourning, but mourning or not, the boy is overwhelmingly hot.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” I say back. “Please don't ask me how I'm doing, or I may have to hurt you. I'm tired of lying and saying fine.”

“Do you know that in the last two days Phillip and I counted you being asked how are you over 167 times? Then we lost track.”

“It feels like it.”

He grins at me. “So, how are you?”

I roll my eyes at him. “Fine.”

Phillip told me that Danny and Jake hadn't done all that much fighting. Evidently Jake ended up with just a black eye and that was courtesy of the pipeline. I'm so glad Danny wasn't hurt. Phillip was right about that. I never should've let him risk getting hurt for something so stupid. I mean if I have learned nothing else throughout this whole ordeal, it's that life can change in the blink of an eye.

Danny takes my hand, pulls me up, and wraps me into a hug. I practically melt against him. Then he pushes my chin up with his hand and kisses me deeply.

My mind is immediately rendered incapable of thought. It's the first time in days that my brain has finally shut up and stopped thinking.