Forever

  When the plane reached its cruising altitude, Ashley turned to her father and voiced the concern that had stayed with her since the drive to the airport. “What about the media?”

  Her father nodded, his eyes filled with a knowing. “I’ve thought about that.”

  “And?”

  “What can we do?” Her dad didn’t look fazed. “The doctor knows we’re coming; he knows we’re family.”

  “Immediate family?” Ashley was stunned.

  “Yes. That’s the only way we’ll have access to Dayne.”

  Ashley could barely take it in. All along this had been the obstacle, the barrier between having an open relationship with Dayne and keeping every conversation and contact a secret. Ashley hadn’t cared, but what about the others? Everything was happening so fast—the accident, the trip to Los Angeles. Certainly the media would wonder who they were and why they were allowed in Dayne’s hospital room. “Have you talked to the others?”

  “Yes. None of them had any issue with it.”

  Ashley held her breath. “Even Luke?”

  “He didn’t say much. I think he was in shock.”

  Ashley exhaled and kept her mouth shut. Her recent conversations with Luke told her that maybe his reaction was more than shock. Luke didn’t want his name publicly linked with his older brother’s. At least not yet. Anyway, the last thing they needed to worry about was the tension Luke had been feeling.

  Her dad pinched the bridge of his nose, and Ashley realized he was fighting tears. “All that matters is Dayne. If the media turn on us, so be it.” He swallowed, finding his composure. “If the paparazzi figure it out, maybe we can take the heat off him.”

  A sense of awe came over Ashley. Her father wasn’t only interested in Dayne, anxious for a relationship with him. His feelings were much stronger than that. Her dad loved Dayne, and now—faced with losing him—he would throw himself at the mercy of the tabloids if it meant helping his son.

  Ashley put her hand on her father’s and gave it a gentle pat. “God’ll take care of us, whatever happens.”

  “Yes. That’s what I’ve always believed.” He drew a long breath. “Dayne was the one who worried about our privacy.” He slid his fingers around hers. “I have nothing to hide. Dayne’s my son. He’s always been my son.”

  Ashley felt her father’s passion to the core of her soul. If anything happened to Dayne now, after her parents had spent their entire married life wondering about him, she wasn’t sure her dad would recover. “We need a miracle.”

  With his free hand, he pulled his wallet from his pocket. Inside were photographs tucked safely in worn plastic sleeves. Her dad flipped them slowly, painstakingly, until he reached the most recent photograph of Brooke’s daughter Hayley. He stared at the picture for several seconds and then tapped it gently. “God’s given us a miracle before. I’m begging Him to do it again.”

  Ashley looked at the photo of her niece and remembered other times. Landon’s unexplainable recovery from the burns his lungs received when he’d rescued a child from a fire. Her own clean bill of health. For that matter, the story of their lives had been marked at every turn with one or more miracles. Even her mother’s death had its own glimpses of God’s handiwork—she’d seen her dream come true by meeting Dayne before she died.

  Ashley was quiet the rest of the flight, talking to God and asking every few minutes that He might breathe healing into Dayne.

  When they landed, she saw something different in Katy, a fear that hadn’t been there before, as if now that they were in Los Angeles everything about Dayne’s accident, his condition, felt so much more real.

  Ashley’s father rented a car, and the tension built with every mile as they neared the hospital. At one point Ashley turned on the radio, and a few minutes later a news report updated an anxious city that Dayne Matthews was still fighting for his life. They would give more news when it became available. Ashley turned it off.

  “They don’t know everything.” Katy sounded stiff and robotic. “Let’s just get there.”

  Ashley noticed her father driving faster after that. She stared straight ahead as they maneuvered through LA traffic. Scenes kept flashing in her mind: the way she’d found her mother’s letter in an envelope marked Firstborn, how she’d known her parents’ secret before the others, and how that had led to her eventual discovery that her older brother was Dayne Matthews.

  She was replaying that first conversation with him when her dad turned into the hospital parking lot. Filling an entire side lot were dozens of media cars and trucks and vans with news-station call signs splashed across the sides and satellites shooting high into the air. Ashley surveyed the front of the hospital. Members of the press were clustered on either side of a long walkway.

  They wouldn’t recognize her dad and her, but Katy Hart . . . certainly some of them would remember her. She had been part of one of the most sensational trials to hit the national media all year, and after that she’d been the focus of the tabloids for several weeks.

  Her father parked, and the three of them headed toward the walkway. Without saying anything, Ashley and her dad each took one of Katy’s arms to support her.

  Ashley leaned her head in close to her friend’s. “Keep your eyes down; maybe they won’t figure out who you are.”

  Katy narrowed her eyes. “I’ve run from them ever since I met Dayne. Not this time.” She clenched her jaw and lifted her chin.

  They were ten yards from the first set of cameramen when a reporter shouted, “Katy Hart, everybody! It’s Katy Hart.”

  The press moved in like sharks around a kill, and Ashley tightened her grip on Katy’s arm. For a few seconds she had the urge to run. Was this what Dayne lived with every day? She felt sick to her stomach at the thought. Cameras were aimed at them, and the air was filled with the sound of clicking and shouting. Constant clicking and shouting.

  “Katy, can you tell us how Dayne’s doing?”

  “What’s his prognosis?”

  “Do you have any comments for the photographers who were chasing Dayne and Randi Wells before the crash?”

  Katy stopped and faced the reporter. Her eyes grew steely, and her lips parted.

  Ashley wasn’t sure if she should urge Katy through the throng or stand by while she had her say. Her father seemed to be struggling with the same dilemma. Even the reporters stopped yelling their questions.

  But instead Katy turned back to the hospital doors and worked her way through the crowd, which parted just enough to let the threesome through.

  “Vultures,” Katy muttered once they were inside. But when they reached the elevators, she exhaled hard and hung her head. “Stop me if I say that again. This can’t be about them, not when Dayne’s—” Her voice caught, and she brought her hand to her mouth.

  The elevator doors opened. Ashley put her arm around Katy as they stepped inside. “He’s going to be okay. I believe that.”

  Next to them, Ashley’s father said nothing, and Ashley wondered if he was thinking about her mom. The last time the family had gathered at a hospital, it had been to say good-bye. Ashley prayed that this time would be different.

  They reached the intensive care unit and were immediately met by a uniformed officer. “Name of the patient you’re seeing?”

  Ashley was glad for the security. It was the only reason the entire floor wasn’t crawling with photographers.

  Her father took the lead. “Dayne Matthews.”

  “Your relation?”

  Her dad didn’t hesitate. “Family.”

  The police officer checked his clipboard. “Your name?”

  “John Baxter.” He pointed to Ashley. “My daughter Ashley and Dayne’s fiancée, Katy Hart.”

  The officer looked at their IDs and made three check marks on the paper. “Thank you. Go on to the nurses’ station.”

  Sitting in the hallway between the elevators and the nurses’ station were two women. They had the appearance of people waiting for news about someone in int
ensive care. But Ashley had her doubts. As they passed, one of the women took out a cell phone and made a call. Clearly no cell calls were allowed on the floor. Ashley could’ve bet the woman was alerting someone that the two people with Katy Hart were Dayne Matthews’ family.

  Or maybe Ashley was only imagining things.

  They reached the nurse, and she checked their names. Then her lips formed a sad smile. “We’ve been expecting you.”

  “Can we all go in?” Katy’s voice trembled.

  “That’s fine. Room nine. But only for a short time.”

  Ashley looked at her dad. He nodded for her and Katy to go in first. Then he turned his attention back to the nurse. “I’m a doctor. Can I speak to the attending physician?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Ashley forced herself to be strong. She led Katy across the hall into the room. The lights were dimmed, and half a dozen machines were stationed around the bed. The man in the bed looked almost nothing like the movie star everyone knew and loved. His head was bandaged, and his leg was wrapped to nearly twice its size. Swelling distorted his face, and bruises colored the area below his eyes.

  Katy reached his side first. She put her hand on his shoulder, leaned over him. “Thank You, God,” she whispered. “Thank You.”

  Ashley came up beside her.

  Katy’s cheeks were wet. She didn’t take her eyes off Dayne. “This is all I’ve wanted. Ever since I heard about the accident.”

  “This . . . seeing him?”

  “No.” Katy closed her eyes. “Standing here beside him and hearing him breathe. Just knowing for sure that he’s alive.”

  For the first time since Ashley got the news about her older brother, the mix of emotions having their way with her reduced to only one. A great and all-consuming sorrow. It wasn’t fair. After all the years her parents had missed, all the birthdays and Christmases and milestones, for Dayne’s life to be cut short in any way was wrong. She took hold of the bed rail and looked at his face. Please, God, let him live. Please put him back together.

  And then she felt compelled to add one more thing. Because now that she was here, now that she could see how truly critical the situation was, another fear was slowly making itself known. So in her next breath, she asked God not only that Dayne would live and that the doctors could save his leg and his mind once he woke up. But something else.

  That he’d remember them.

  Two hours had passed since they arrived at the hospital, and John had been in to see Dayne twice. Now he and the neurosurgeon, Dr. Cynthia Deming, were talking in hushed voices a few doors from Dayne’s room. The prognosis wasn’t good.

  “We’re still watching for edema, obviously. We’ll need three days before we’re out of the woods on that.”

  “And responsiveness?” John felt sick even asking.

  “Nothing. Not since medical help arrived on the scene. Probably not since the point of impact.”

  John felt his heart sink. This was the sort of news he dealt with every day, news he had shared with grieving family members in a hallway like this one more times than he could count. Head injuries were always riddled with uncertainty. Much depended on which lobe sustained damage and whether that damage wound up being permanent or not.

  Comas were graded on two different scales, giving doctors a way to determine whether a patient was making progress. By those standards, Dayne’s coma was easily the most severe type. That was to be expected. Typically, the first three days were the worst after a brain injury—especially a traumatic brain injury, or TBI. After the brain stopped swelling—if a victim survived that long—healing could take place. At that stage, tests could more accurately pinpoint the areas of damage and the coinciding consequences.

  The neurosurgeon was an articulate young woman with a gentle manner and a keen understanding of TBIs. She was known throughout the medical community for her work at UCLA. John had researched her last night when he couldn’t sleep. Dr. Deming was thirty-seven, married, and expecting her first child, though she barely showed. She was a risk taker, one article said, using her off time to skydive and scuba dive and hike trails everywhere from Oregon to Hawaii. She loved the outdoors and every living thing. But she was passionate about saving brain-injured patients. In the decade that she’d been practicing neurosurgery, she’d become a legend.

  John wouldn’t have wanted Dayne in any hands but hers.

  “Obviously you understand what we’re facing here, Dr. Baxter.” Dr. Deming tucked Dayne’s chart beneath her arm. “Your son’s injury is very serious. The odds of his ever coming out of the coma are small.”

  “How small?” The moment felt unreal, as if someone else were asking the question.

  “My best guess is 10 to 15 percent.”

  John closed his eyes and waited several heartbeats before he opened them. “And if he does?”

  “It’s hard to tell.” The doctor brought her lips together and shook her head. “He could have loss of memory, loss of motor skills. Even complete loss of all cognitive bodily functions.”

  “That’s the worst-case scenario.” It wasn’t a question. All doctors knew that every now and then a case defied the odds. With every breath, John was silently praying that Dayne’s case would be one of those.

  “Of course.” Dr. Deming frowned. “I have to be honest. A complete recovery would be very unlikely. But I won’t rest until we try everything possible to make that happen.”

  John nodded. Please, God, a complete recovery. I just found him.

  “About the others . . .”

  “I’ll tell them.” John thought about his earlier conversation with the vascular surgeon. There was still a possibility that Dayne would lose his leg. He fought the heaviness inside him. Ashley and Katy knew none of what he’d learned. He kept waiting, hoping for something good to tell them. But there was nothing.

  John thanked the doctor and returned to Dayne’s room. Ashley and Katy both turned to him, and he motioned them into the hallway. No matter how badly Dayne was injured, there was a chance he could understand what was being said around him. In that case, it was imperative that they keep negative conversations outside his room.

  Ashley’s face was a mask of concern. As they rounded the corner and moved a few doors down, she whispered, “Tell us what you know.”

  “I can’t read the machines.” Katy hugged herself. Her face was pale, the way it had been all morning. “I keep looking at them and willing them to show something, a sign that he’s getting better.”

  John leaned against the wall. The two young women standing before him had no idea what they were up against, what they were all up against. God, help us stay strong.

  I am with you, son. I will never leave you. . . .

  The reassurance that only Christ could give filled John’s heart and mind. He couldn’t wait any longer. He started at the beginning. “Dayne’s had a traumatic brain injury. It’ll take as much as three days before the swelling in his brain will stop.” John tried to keep things simple. “The more the swelling, the worse things get.”

  Katy’s eyes were wide. She looked like she could barely draw a breath. “Is . . . is there swelling now?”

  “Yes.” John pressed his shoulder into the wall. Hold me up, God. He could still hardly believe they were even having this conversation. “Once the swelling stops, we’ll have a better idea of how much damage he’s suffered.”

  Ashley massaged her brow. “So we’re assuming brain damage? Is it a fact at this point?”

  “Everyone’s different. I don’t want to assume anything yet.” He paused. “Dayne has one of the best doctors in the field.”

  “Good.” Ashley put her hand on Katy’s shoulder. “I told you. He’s in great hands.”

  John started to tell them that the odds were dramatically against Dayne’s waking up the same person he was before the accident. But he changed his mind. If they were asking God for a miracle, they needed to believe it was possible. At least for now when so much was uncertain. One way or
another, God would show them soon enough. John decided to move on. “He has a fever from the infection in his leg. There’s still a chance they might have to amputate.”

  Katy stared at a spot near her feet. She shifted and crossed her arms more tightly than before.

  John watched her and wondered what she was thinking. He knew Katy but not that well. The good times rarely showed the character of a person, and maybe here, now, he would learn something about Katy Hart that he hadn’t known before. The news hitting her on every side had to be overwhelming. Was she thinking that she could hardly stay around for a guy with a brain injury or that a one-legged Dayne might be more than she could handle?

  Katy looked up then, almost as if she could read his mind. The look in her eyes was rock solid. “I want you to know something.” She glanced from John to Ashley and back. “Whatever happens after this, I’m not leaving.” She pointed toward Dayne’s room. “I love him. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love him. No matter what, I’m not leaving.” Tears choked her voice. “When he wakes up, I’ll be right there. Beside him.”

  It was a breaking point, the final drop in a bucketful of gut-wrenching moments. Ashley hugged Katy, and after a few seconds John joined in. They stayed that way for a long time, lending each other strength, silently begging God for a miracle that seemed all but impossible.

  The day wasn’t over, and already John knew so much more than he’d known this morning in Bloomington. He knew that he cared for Dayne the same way he cared for any of his kids and that his family would rally around the young man as if they’d known him their whole lives. He’d received confirmation about that from everyone—everyone except Luke. And that was only because Luke was distracted. Beyond that, John now knew more about the battle they were facing to see Dayne restored to health. But most of all, he knew the impeccable character of the young woman who had pledged her life to his older son.

  A woman named Katy Hart.

  Katy sat in the hospital room alone with Dayne, where she had been almost constantly since she arrived. It was Tuesday afternoon, three days after the accident, and still she’d received no reports about the swelling and whether it had slowed or stopped. No matter how optimistic Ashley was, Katy had heard the truth in John Baxter’s words. For a person with a traumatic brain injury, the first three days were the most critical. Life hung in the balance.