Everything was white.
Not clean white, antiseptic white. Too bright. Too sharp.
My eyes burned, and when I tried to open them, the world swam in a smear of blinding light. Somewhere nearby, a machine beeped at slow, steady intervals, like an impatient metronome keeping time. My first thought was that it might be my phone. Maybe I’d left it on the nightstand. Maybe Shane was texting me.
But this wasn’t our apartment. The air smelled like bleach and plastic and something faintly metallic.
“Shane?” My voice came out as a croak.
No answer.
“Shane?”
Still nothing.
I tried to lift my head, but it felt as heavy as stone. Maybe I was dreaming. Maybe I was trapped somewhere between awake and asleep. I tried to swing my legs over the edge of the bed. A bolt of pain tore through me so violently that I gasped. The muffled groan that followed didn’t sound human at first, until I realized it came from me.
“Taylor?” a voice said quickly. “Try not to move. I’ve called for the nurse. This is Lyle. Remember me? Your second-best friend.”
His attempt at humor was shaky, but familiar enough to cut through the haze.
“You’ve been in an accident,” he continued, his voice gentler now. “You’re in the hospital. Here’s the nurse.”
Another voice joined his, low, even, and strangely soothing. “My name’s Bennet,” it said. “You look like you’re in pain. I need to ask you this, though. On a scale of one to ten, how bad is it?”
“Ten,” I managed. “It really hurts. Where’s Shane?”
“I’m going to give you something through your IV,” Bennet said, still calm, too calm. “It might burn a little. You’ll probably start to feel sleepy soon.”
“Where’s Shane?” I repeated, panic bubbling up as the beeping beside me quickened.
“Try to stay calm,” Bennet murmured.
“Hey, Taylor,” said Lyle again. His voice was closer now, softer. “Shane went to his class. He’s okay. I’m staying with you while he’s there. Everyone at the office sends their prayers. They’re all upset you’ve been hurt. Stan said he couldn’t believe how much work you got done that first day. He says he already misses you.”
“Shane’s okay?” I breathed.
I heard him chuckle softly, and the pain seemed to fade just a little, or maybe the drug had begun to work.
“You do have a one-track mind,” said Bennet with a teasing lilt.
Lyle laughed. “He and Shane have been attached at the hip since kindergarten. And Shane’s one hot tamale, if you know what I mean.”
The sound of their banter grounded me. I forced my eyes open wider. The world came into focus in fragments — the ceiling a sterile, endless white; the IV line snaking into my arm; Lyle’s face, smiling but tight with concern; Bennet, broad-shouldered and steady, a shock of red hair gleaming under the the bright ceiling lights.
“That must’ve been the man I saw yesterday,” Bennet said.
“Tell Shane that I love him,” I murmured.
“He knows,” said Lyle. “But I’ll remind him anyway. Freddie’s bringing him soon.”
“Y’all are so sweet,” I said, my words slurring as the medication took hold. “I feel funny. It doesn’t hurt anymore, but it’s like somebody filled my head with helium.”
“That’s the medicine working,” Bennet said, stepping back. “I’ll leave you in good hands. Push the call button if you need anything.”
He disappeared from view, and the soft click of the closing door sounded miles away.
I turned my head toward Lyle, whose badge caught a flash of the overhead light. “What happened?”
He hesitated, then said quietly, “The most horrible thing I’ve ever seen.” His voice cracked slightly, and he swallowed before continuing. “I was a few car lengths behind you. My dash cam caught everything. A car came out of nowhere in the wrong lane, high speed, and hit you head-on. The truck went up, came down nose-first, and flipped. People ran over right away. Shane was shaken at first; I think just stunned. You… you weren’t bleeding much, but your legs, well, we could tell they were broken.”
He paused, pressing his lips together. “I told the cops you and Shane were married so they wouldn’t pull that crap about who could talk to the doctors.”
That made me smile, weakly but real. It reminded me of when Gertrude had assumed we were married and Shane hadn’t corrected her. “Thank you, Lyle.”
Then something in my drug-fogged brain clicked. “Wait. Why aren’t you at work?”
Lyle looked faintly sheepish. “I told Martha what happened. The company takes its interns seriously. Mr. Nedderman told her someone should act as a liaison while you recover. Since Shane’s got classes, they picked me to help you out for a while. You’re gonna need someone, man. It’ll be a bit before you’re back on your feet.”
“How long?” I asked.
He hesitated. “Even with luck, most of the internship, I think. You’ve got rods in both legs.”
My head snapped slightly toward him. “What rods?”
“Taylor…” He exhaled. “You had emergency orthopedic surgery. Both your legs have steel rods inside them. They’ll stay until the bones heal. Actually, they stay in there forever.”
I stared at the ceiling, trying to process the words, then reached down carefully. My fingers brushed thick gauze just below my hip.
“Fucking hell,” I muttered. “Guess I won’t be a ballet dancer after all.”
Lyle grinned faintly, though his eyes shimmered. “Nah. But you’ll make one hell of a story when you’re back on your feet.”
The process of healing and getting back on my feet felt endless, though Dr. Boneman—whose name still made me smile every time I saw it on his white coat—assured me that I was ahead of schedule. “You’re stubborn,” he told me with a grin. “That’s a medical asset.”
When I was finally released from the hospital, the world felt too big, too bright. The smell of antiseptic gave way to the scent of home—coffee, detergent, and the faint citrus cleaner Shane favored. I discovered he’d arranged for us to move into a ground-floor apartment. No stairs, no uneven steps to trip on—just an easy layout and wide spaces for me to maneuver. He’d thought of everything.
The first few weeks were a blur of physical therapy, exhaustion, and small victories. I traded crutches for a walker, then for a wheelchair when my energy flagged. Each movement hurt, but each movement was mine.
Shane was patient in a way I hadn’t seen before. He’d joke around to distract me while I practiced walking from the kitchen to the living room. “You look like a baby deer,” he’d say. “Adorable, but wobbly as hell.”
“Keep laughing,” I’d shoot back, “and you’ll be cooking for yourself tonight.”
He’d smirk. “Worth it.”
Mr. Nedderman had one of his lawyers take on the insurance negotiations. Within a few weeks, Shane ended up with a new truck—sleek, polished, far fancier than he’d ever have picked. “This thing could drive itself,” he grumbled the first time we went out together. “Too many buttons. Too many gadgets. I just want something that hauls lumber, not does my taxes. Like over here.” He pointed at a button that I couldn’t see. “This one wipes your butt.”
I grinned from the passenger seat, watching him wrestle with the touchscreen. “Admit it—you like the air-conditioned seats.”
He side-eyed me. “They’re… tolerable.” A pause. “Maybe.”
It took time, but I began easing back into work. One day a week at the office, the rest from home. Lyle made a point to visit every lunch hour, bringing sandwiches and stories from the team. Half of it wasn’t even work-related—who was dating whom, who’d broken the copier again—but it reminded me that I wasn’t forgotten, that I still mattered.
When Mr. Anderson’s office sent over the paperwork about Welcome House, I signed electronically. Gretchen and Roger would be informed that the transition was official, and a new LLC would handle operations. Everything would be in motion by my birthday. The new manager, a retired hotel guy, had experience in hospitality and community programs. It was the first thing in weeks that made me feel like I was stepping toward a future, not limping away from the past.
Still, my days were long. Fatigue hit me in waves; sometimes I’d wake up and feel like I’d run a marathon in my sleep. Dr. Boneman said it was normal—my body was rebuilding itself, using energy I didn’t realize I had. He was confident I’d walk unaided before six months. I clung to that.
Then came the day of Shane’s final exam. He burst through the door with that crooked grin I’d missed seeing. “I aced it!” he said, setting his bag down and practically glowing. “Can you believe it? Me, loving this stuff! Something that finally clicks, you know? Without being beaten into my head. It honestly makes sense.”
I smiled. “I never doubted you for a second.”
“Liar,” he said, laughing, and caught my hand. But, I wasn’t. He kissed my knuckles softly, his voice dropping to a teasing murmur. “Now, since I’ve earned it, how would you feel about stripping down and letting me give you a very thorough check-up? Doctor’s orders.”
I laughed, warmth flooding my chest. “Depends,” I said. “Will that check-up involve your one-eyed snake? He’s been very quiet lately. I think he misses me.”
Shane grinned, leaning close. “Oh, he misses you all right. He’s been complaining nonstop about his long-distance relationship. Says his favorite tunnel’s been closed for repairs.”
I tried to push up from the couch, but the walker was just out of reach. Before I could protest, Shane scooped me up effortlessly. My arms went around his neck on instinct. The world tilted, then steadied as he carried me toward the bedroom.
“You know,” I murmured, “you’re supposed to let the patient do his own walking.”
He smiled against my temple. “Yeah, well, this one’s special care.”
When he set me down on the bed, his movements slowed, deliberate. The air between us became soft, electric, full of unspoken things. He brushed a strand of hair from my forehead, his eyes searching mine.
“You okay?” he whispered.
“Yeah,” I breathed. “Better than okay.”
Our lips met, slow and deep, not the frantic kind of kiss that used to come after long nights or argumentative discussions, but something steadier, an anchor. The weight of him pressed me into the mattress, familiar and safe. My body responded before my mind could catch up; the ache, the longing, the spark that had been buried under months of pain came alive again.
I slid my hands over his back, feeling the muscle shift beneath my palms. “How I have missed this,” I whispered.
He smiled against my lips. “Then let’s take our time. We’ve earned it.”
Shane’s mouth trailed from my lips to my jaw, leaving behind a soft heat that lingered long after he moved on. Every touch felt new, startlingly gentle, as though he were rediscovering me piece by piece and afraid I might vanish if he pressed too hard.
His fingers traced the outline of the scars along my legs, the faint ridges that still marked where bone and flesh had protested healing. I tensed, just slightly, and he stopped, his breath warm against my ear.
“Does that hurt?”
I shook my head, though the truth was more complicated. “No. It just… reminds me.”
He nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes. “Then let’s make a new memory there.”
He kissed the spot, featherlight. Another on my knee. Then another, higher, until the ghosts of pain blurred into something gentler, something human.
I closed my eyes and let myself drift into the rhythm of his touch, the quiet exhale of his breath, the weight of him above me, the steady heartbeat that grounded me when everything else had once spun out of control.
When he lifted his head, our eyes met, and the room felt still, suspended. “You sure you’re OK?” he asked again, barely above a whisper.
I smiled. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
He exhaled, the sound breaking into a soft laugh, as if relief had been waiting just beneath his ribs. His lips found mine again, slower now, savoring. My fingers caught in his hair, pulling him closer until our bodies aligned naturally, as though they’d been waiting for this rediscovery all along.
The world outside our small apartment disappeared, the noise, the worry, the ache of months past. There was only warmth, the creak of the mattress, and the faint rhythm of our breaths falling into sync.
When we finally stilled, his forehead rested against mine. Neither of us spoke for a long time. We didn’t need to.
His thumb brushed across my cheek, tracing a path that felt almost reverent. “You know,” he said softly, “I was worried that I had lost you. When you…” There was a change in his voice as tears filled his eyes and his nose stopped up. “You were so still on the ground after the accident. I was so afraid that you would die. I realized that I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”
I swallowed hard, my throat thick. “But you didn’t lose me. Even if God had taken me to be with him, part of me would have still been here with you.”
A smile curved his lips. “I’ve seen that movie.”
I laughed quietly, feeling that sound ripple through both of us. He kissed me again, slower this time, less about passion and more about promise. When he finally lay down beside me, his arm wrapped across my chest, I let my head sink against his shoulder.
Outside, the evening light slanted through the blinds, striping the walls in gold. For the first time since the accident, I felt the future stretch out before me, uncertain, yes, but wide open.
And in that stillness, with Shane’s heartbeat steady beneath my ear, I realized that healing wasn’t just about walking again. It was about letting myself be held again.
With finals behind him, Shane started putting in long hours on campus, helping prep the classrooms for the fall semester. The routine suited him; he came home with that mix of sweat, dust, and sunshine that clung to him all summer, and I’d tease him that it was his “working man’s cologne.”
For me, though, the days were winding down too quickly. My internship, something that had started as a line on a résumé, had become so much more. Lyle and I had grown close in that easy, unspoken way that happens when you share too many lunches and inside jokes. He’d become my sounding board, my office brother. I wasn’t sure how I’d handle not seeing him every day.
The four of us, me, Shane, Freddie, and Lyle, had even fallen into a kind of rhythm. We’d gone out for burgers, caught a movie one weekend. The wheelchair spots in the local theater were far too close to the screen, but Shane leaned over and whispered, “At least we won’t miss a single pore on that actor’s face,” and I nearly choked on my popcorn. We laughed through most of the film, not because it was funny, but because it felt good to be normal again.
As my last week approached, I started packing little by little, one drawer, one stack of files at a time, trying to trick myself into thinking it wasn’t really goodbye. On my final day, after a round of hugs and an embarrassing amount of cake, I accepted the offer to return next summer for a full-time position. Everyone clapped, and I smiled for the photos, but inside, I was already missing them.
That evening, the apartment felt unusually quiet. We had hoped for a gang-of-four party, but Freddie had a work event, leaving just Shane and me. He’d picked up dinner, spaghetti from Olive Garden, of all things, and a box of French pastries that looked far too fancy for our tiny kitchen.
“The spaghetti is to remind us of our humble beginnings and the pastries of our wonderfully delicious future,” he said, setting the bag on the table with a grin. “And we won’t have dishes to clean.”
That did me in. I stepped forward, wrapped my arms around him, and pressed my face against his chest. “I’m going to miss this place,” I whispered. “Everything about it. Even the bad takeout.”
“But you like Olive Garden.”
“I was talking about those horrible burrito-like things you brought home,” I muttered as my eyes became moist.
He kissed the top of my head and wiped at the tears that escaped. “Hey,” he said gently. “We’re coming back. Less than a year. We’ll graduate, start real jobs, maybe get a place with windows that actually open. Just… not here. Because we’ll be broke.”
I laughed, and it came out wet and shaky, but real. “You’re an idiot.”
He smiled. “Maybe, but I’m your idiot.”
We sat down to eat, talking about everything and nothing, the drive home, what we’d pack, how the cats back home probably thought we’d abandoned them. Between bites, Shane reached across the table, hooked his pinky around mine, and said, “Promise me something.”
“What?”
“When we come back, we don’t just go through the motions. We live it. No holding back, no waiting for the next bad thing. Deal?”
I squeezed his finger. “Deal.”
My phone buzzed just then, the vibration against the table sharp and unexpected. I glanced at the screen. Mr. Anderson.
I wiped my mouth and answered, putting it on speaker. “It’s the Shane and Taylor show,” I said lightly.
His voice came through, but there was no trace of humor in it. “Listen, guys,” he said, the sound rough, urgent. “I just heard word. There’s a fire at the house. A bad one.”
The room went still. Shane’s fork clattered against his plate. My stomach dropped, as though all the air had been sucked out of the apartment. For a moment, all I could hear was the low hum of the refrigerator and the distant city noise outside our window.
If you enjoyed this story, consider visiting the author's website.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
