Erica's Choice (32 page)

“He’s going to get through this.” Griff’s announcement was decisive, as if he had the power to make it so. “He’s fit and strong, and he has a hell of a motivation to get better—you.”

“And you. It must have nearly killed you to play down how badly you felt today, to act like Corey’s friend, but not his lover.”

“Corey’s family won’t find out about that from me. He’s got to decide if and when to tell them.”

Without a thought, he’d sacrificed his own need to emote for Corey’s sake. Erica had never felt more strongly about him than she did right now. “I love you, Dale Griffin. Lord help me, I love you both. What are we going to do if we lose him?”

Griff was undeniably strong but his weight sagged. It wasn’t at all clear who was holding who up. “Don’t even think about it. I love you, Red.” Griff’s laugh was pierced through with bitterness. “I love Corey too, and I never bloody told him.”

“He knew.” Which was more than Erica could say of herself. “But the last thing I said to him was that my life was none of his business. I need another chance to tell him how much he means to me.”

“We’ll get one—both of us.”

Erica wished she could believe the certainty in Griff’s voice was genuine, and not merely an attempt to reassure her.

Chapter Eighteen

“He should be awake by now.”

Erica’s words made the hair on Griff’s nape prickle. It was a concern that neither of them had wanted to give voice to, although it hung between them like an airborne virus, ready to infect whatever buoyancy they’d managed to muster. The doctor’s face had been impassive today as he’d checked Corey’s vital signs, but Griff could tell he’d been hoping for better results.

“Corey’s strong.” How many times had Griff said those words in the last few days?

Erica responded as she always did. “I know.”

The unspoken was as audible as the heart-rate monitor, as though they were telepathically linked.

But is he strong enough?

“Tell you what, I could go for a coffee. Feel like wandering down to the machine and getting me one?” Griff didn’t think he could stomach another cup of the tasteless brew, but he had to keep Erica busy. He could hear her mind ticking over and coming up with nothing but devastating conclusions. She was going to drive herself crazy.

“Okay.” With obvious reluctance, she walked out of the room, giving Corey’s motionless form a lingering look as she left. As though she feared he’d disappear while she was gone.

Unfortunately, Griff knew Corey wouldn’t be hopping up out of bed and leaving anytime soon—or possibly ever.

Fuck.
He’d promised himself he wouldn’t even let himself think that. He had to stay positive or they were all sunk. But the prospect was there, undeniable. Comas were unpredictable. Already Corey had been out for close to seventy-two hours. He might be like this for months or years.

Forever.

Brick by brick, Griff’s fortitude started to crumble. The hot sting of tears came, their progress down his cheeks unstoppable. He barely managed to quash the urge to sob out loud. He cried in silence, knowing he’d have to gather his composure before Erica returned. If she saw him like this, she’d give up hope and that was all she had right now.

“Jesus, Corey,” he rasped. “I don’t want to be here without you. I fucking love you, mate. I always have.”

Griff could vividly recall the day Corey had first walked into Ashton Heights fire station, as eager as a kid on his first day of school, flashing that irrepressible smile. Griff’s relationship with Anna and Jack had already begun its painful decline, and Corey had been like a light in the gathering darkness. A balm to his soul who’d become an integral component of Griff’s heart as the years went on.

Without Corey, Griff had no idea how his heart would keep beating.

Realizing Erica would be back any minute, Griff forcibly got ahold of himself. He wiped the moisture from his eyes with the heels of his hands. Then he saw Corey staring at him.

Griff’s heart skipped. He wiped his eyes again, praying the tears hadn’t blurred his vision to the point he’d hallucinated. But there they were—Corey’s baby blues, open and aware. “Cor?”

His lips moved, but his voice was too threadbare to be heard. Griff hurried to the side of the bed, bending his head close to Corey’s. “What is it?”

After a moment, Griff could make out one word. “…crying.”

Griff laughed, the tears making a reappearance. “Hell yeah, I was crying. I thought I was going to lose you.”

Corey’s forehead scrunched, as though he couldn’t quite comprehend that. Griff touched a hand to Corey’s head, tentatively brushing up against the crepe bandage and wishing he could feel Corey’s silken hair. “Don’t drift off again yet, I have to get the nurse.”

His head moved only slightly, but Griff easily interpreted the side-to-side motion. He remained by Corey’s side, waiting patiently while he struggled to form the words. “Sorry,” he choked out. Then, “Tell…Erica.”

Griff smiled. “Do I look like the town crier? Tell her yourself.”

The hospital bed was surrounded by medical professionals when Erica returned. Griff managed to catch the Styrofoam cups she held before they spilled their contents all over the floor. He held them out at his sides as Erica collapsed against his chest. “He’s awake. He spoke to me.”

She lifted her head. “What did he say?”

“He told me to tell you he was sorry.”

“Oh,
Corey
.”

“We have him back, Red. I know it.”

Griff had never been more relieved in his life, nor more determined. Corey was going to need a lot of TLC on the road to recovery, and they were going to give it to him.

He and Erica.

Corey figured he knew what lab monkeys felt like. He was poked, prodded and examined, all while being trapped in a bed that had bars on both sides. Why they had to cage him in, he had no idea. He could barely move, let alone fall out of bloody bed.

His family came by to see him. His sister Sasha and his parents who’d cut short the first vacation they’d been on in ten years. Corey felt bad about that and resolved to help them pay for another trip, as soon as he got his life, and his credit card, back.

The drugs they gave him took the edge off the pain, but Corey could feel the assortment of injuries leaving their impression on his body. He’d be in hell once they cut off the morphine. Still, that would be about the time he was ready to get out of here.
That
he was looking forward to. There was only so much he could take of being the center of attention. But the doctors wouldn’t give him a definitive time frame on his recovery, and Corey feared they didn’t want to depress him with the prospect of Christmas spent staring out a hospital window.

His memory of the events leading up to his accident was hazy. He recalled nothing of the accident or the vehicle that had hit him or of pushing an accident victim’s stretcher out of its path.

“You’ll have to trust me then,” Griff had said. “You’re a hero.”

Corey had scowled, both at the concept of heroism, which he never had been able to get his head around, and at the glow of admiration on Griff’s face. Corey admired
him
. It had never been the other way around. Yet lately it seemed like Griff couldn’t stop staring at him with a goofy look on his face, like he’d done something miraculous. Like he wanted to throw his arms around Corey and squeeze.

And Erica. Every time she saw him tears sprang to her eyes. She would straighten his sheets and try to fluff his pillow and ask the nurse a million questions about his feeding and sleeping habits. She kissed him over and over, but on the cheek or the hand, her brown eyes filled with…what? Concern, admiration, affection maybe. But love? Corey couldn’t be sure. His memory of the day of the accident might be hazy, but he remembered one thing clearly. Erica screaming at him that her life was none of his business. Erica storming away from him, slamming the door. Griff yelling at him about what an idiot he was, how he’d let Erica down.

Were her visits about nothing more than obligation? He’d seen Erica and Griff hugging in the hallway a couple of times, clinging tight like a couple of shipwreck survivors. He’d witnessed the way Griff would kiss her on the forehead, his eyes closed like he wanted to concentrate all his attention on how she felt in his arms. He deduced from the details of their murmured conversations that Erica was staying at Griff’s place. They were practically living together as a couple.

So where did that leave Corey?

Stuck in here, that’s where. For weeks, maybe months, while Griff and Erica built a life together. Without him.

The notion was like a kick in the chest.

One day Erica came in doing her now-familiar Florence Nightingale impression. Corey watched her questioning the nurses, reading his chart, placing another vase of flowers on the windowsill and arranging the petals just so. Realization hit him like a fireball that sucked the oxygen out of his lungs.

Erica was used to taking care of sick people. She’d been doing it ever since she was a kid, with her mother, then more recently with her aunt. This was habit for her, a habit she should never have had to acquire. The last thing Corey wanted was to be one more person Erica had to take care of, someone she put her own needs aside for.

And she needed Griff, the man who hadn’t said the wrong thing that day. The man who, when the chips were down, was always there for the people he loved. Griff loved Erica, there was no question of that. He’d stand by her no matter what. By comparison, Corey was the broken man in hospital who hadn’t lent his support when she’d needed it most, and who couldn’t even wrap his arms around her.

It was pretty obvious who Erica would be better off with.

She smiled at him as she approached the bed, her face radiant.
False cheer.
“How are you feeling today?”

“Like crap,” Corey growled, thinking it was true right down to the core of his soul.

Erica’s expression turned to one of concern. “Are they giving you enough painkillers? Do you want me to go see if they’ll up the dose?”

“I’m on so many drugs I don’t even know what day it is.”

“It’s Saturday. You’ve been in here for eight days.”

She didn’t look at him as she gave him the information, and Corey could feel the tension radiating from her. Over a week and he was only now starting to gain some lucidity, starting to talk in full sentences. A chunk of Erica’s life that she’d put on hold so she could come here every day and sit by his bed. Keeping him company because she felt sorry for him. He saw the dark circles beneath her eyes. This was exhausting for her.

And it could go on for months. He had no idea when he was getting out of here or when he’d walk without support, let alone go back to work. He was practically an invalid.

“School must be finished,” Corey muttered. “You should be out enjoying your holiday.”

She laughed. “Right. When you’re ready to put on your dancing shoes, you can come with me.”

“I think we both know I won’t be going anywhere with you.”

His statement was curt and Corey noticed the way she flinched. “Not for a while, no,” she conceded softly. “This is a bad day, isn’t it?”

She must have experienced all this with her aunt—days when she was angry at her situation and took it out on the one person who was constantly there, reminding her of her own dependence. Guilt burrowed deeper in Corey’s gut. He couldn’t make Erica go through the same thing all over again. “You should go, Erica. I’m not in the mood for visitors.”

Deterring her wasn’t that easy. “If you’re not in the mood to chat, I’ve brought a few magazines with me.”

“Because flipping through the pages is going to be so easy.”

His sarcasm made her glance at his battered shoulder, which he couldn’t even move, and his other arm which was wrapped in a cast. A look of stark pain chased the brightness from her expression. “I can read them to you.”

Jesus, he even had to be read to like a three-year-old. “No thanks.”

“Okay.” Tenderly, as though afraid of hurting him, Erica slipped her fingers through his where they rested on the mattress. “We don’t have to talk. We’ll just sit.”

“Don’t you get it, Erica? I don’t want you in here at all.” Corey curled his fingers inward, forming a fist so she couldn’t hold his hand. One of the few movements he could make without hurting. Christ he was a mess. A beat-up, broken mess that Erica thought she had to clean up. “Leave me alone.”

Corey turned away from the sight of her but still heard the sharp intake of breath. He sensed her anguish, as though his own multitude of agonies made him more sensitive to it.
Direct hit.
Corey didn’t experience one iota of triumph.

At length, Erica announced tonelessly, “I’ll come back when you’re in a better frame of mind.”

“Don’t,” Corey snapped, not looking at her.

Dead silence. Then a rustling sound as she picked up her bag and walked out.

The city view beyond the window grew blurry, and Corey shut his eyes. He heard voices in the hallway, recognized one of them as Griff’s. A moment later his footfalls sounded on the linoleum. “What the fuck did you say to her?”