AT THE SAKE OF YOU (1) - CLIFF SIDE
SUMMARY: When a text from his Captain has him going back into work for a search and rescue, he wasn't expecting the personnel in distress to be you and your kid.
WARNING(S): angst, extraction from a car, mentions of car rolling off a cliff, unlabeled relationship lol, and fluff at the end.
WORD COUNT: 4,117
PAIRING: S&R Officer!Azriel x fem!Reader
A/N: I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed. So I watched Twisters on a shitty cam version, then watched San Andreas and this was the result of it! Lmfao.
MASTERLIST
Azriel had dazed off, tuning out Cassian’s rant about another successful rescue. A family of four was trapped in a house fire. What were the odds of that happening?
Seeing Cassian wave a hand in his face, Azriel snapped back to reality. “What?” He asked, his tone bored.
“Did you even hear a word I was saying?” Cassian asked, rolling his eyes. “Or was your mind elsewhere again?”
“Leave him Cas. It’s his brooding time before heading back into work.” Rhysand lifted his glass up to his lips.
Azriel shot Rhysand a glare. “I don’t brood.” He said with a scowl, sipping his glass of water.
Cassian snickered. “Oh, you definitely brood. You brood more than any of us. It’s like a specialty of yours.”
Azriel grumbled under his breath. “Remind me why I still bother to come out to lunch with you two?”
“Because you love us.” Cassian said, wrapping his arm around Rhysand’s shoulder. “And we always have your back.”
Azriel rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. Maybe they were right… Maybe he did brood a bit.
Before he could say anything else, his phone went off. He picked it up and read over the text his captain sent him. His smile was long gone as he looked over his the short message.
Sensing the shift in Azriel’s demeanor, Rhysand and Cassidy exchange glances. “What’s up?” Rhysand asked.
Azriel pursed his lips, still staring at the phone in his hands. “Another extraction….” He said, frowning. “Car went off a cliff. A mom and a kid.” He cleared his throat as he downed his water and started getting up to leave.
Cassian and Rhysand both winced at the news. “How bad….” Cassian mumbled.
Azriels grinned in the slightest bit. He shook his head. “I won’t know till I get there Cas. Besides Caps orders were…brief.” He furrowed his brows. He looked down at the text again making sure he was reading it right. Call in immediately. “It’s probably not that bad.” Azriel said, more to himself than to Rhysand and Cassian. He tucked his phone away and glanced at the two of them. “I have to head out.”
“Be careful yeah.” Rhysand warned, his eyes filled with concern. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“That’s all Cassian!” Azriel beams as he grabs his helmet from where it sits on the table.
Cassian rolled his eyes, but a smirk crept onto his lips. “Dick.” He quipped.
Azriel chuckled. "But you love me and always have my back." He said, mocking Cassian's words before donning his helmet and heading towards the door.
It wasn’t long before he mounted his bike and rode off to work. Wondering what the hell he was going into. His mind raced with possibilities of what could have happened to the mother and child. Maybe a tire blew out. Maybe a brake malfunction. The list was endless, each scenario more grim than the last.
-
"Cap..." Azriel nodded as he met him in his office for a debrief before he was to take off. "How bad is it? It sounded serious in the text."
"If it wasn't personal kid, I would have sent in Tarquin in your place, but because it is and because you are my damn best officer in the field to get the job done in and out. It has to be you."
Azriel felt a pang of trepidation. Personal and dangerous, a deadly combination. "Give it to me." Azriel urged, his voice firm but edged with a hint of unease.
His captain sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. "Car went off a damn cliff. We get a lot of calls from time to time about one, they’re common." His voice was grave.
"Tell me."
"Gwyn answered a 911 call over at the center..." He inhaled deeply, then exhaled. "She answered to Hazel. It's Hazel and Y/n."
Azriel's blood ran cold through his veins, suddenly feeling like he'd been doused with ice water.
No, no, no. His mind screamed but his body moved and his voice spoke on its own. “If Hazel called-” He trailed off.
"Hazel called after the car rolled to a stop. Said the car got caught on the side… She was coherent, crying, in a panic. The call was a little spotty but…she's alive. Gwyn tried keep her on the line but the call went dead. They’re alive Azriel, And so is Y/N, but from what Gwyn got out of her. Y/n is in and out of consciousness…"
Azriel's heart clenched. Hazel and you. Both trapped. Both hurt. He pushed down the panic building within him, his mind focused on the goal - to get you both out of there as quickly as possible.
"We're wasting time then…if Hazel said that the cars stuck on the side…who knows how long it'll hold before it gives."
His captain nodded in agreement. "I'm sending Eris with you. Only one you won't bite his head off." A hearty chuckle rumbled through him. As much as he was trying to lighten up the mood, he knew it wasn't gonna change the situation. "I wouldn't want anyone else if it were my girls. It’s just another Wednesday, Azriel!"
“But it’s not…” Azriel nodded curtly in response. He pushed away his personal feelings and focused on the mission at hand. His captain was right. Hazel and you needed him, and he wasn't going to let anything happen to either of you. But…it was hard. So damn hard.
He turned away and walked out of his office. He saw Eris making his way to him down the hallway, his face set in a serious expression. "Ready to go? What are we dealing with? Cap wouldn't tell me anything?"
Azriel clenched his jaw as he tossed a duffle to him. He'd give him the rundown on the helicopter. They were wasting time still being at the base. "It's Hazel and Y/n." It was all he gave Eris, yet it was enough to have him get his shit straight and resolved. He didn't need to know much of anything else in that moment. It was serious. It was a personal matter at hand and you and Hazel were at the sake of it.
The journey from the base to the accident site was a test of nerves. The helicopter ride was jarring, but Azriel and Eris were focused on the task at hand. His mind raced with thoughts of what he would find when they finally reached you both.
As the helicopter hovered the area the car toppled over, Azriel's gaze fell upon your grey Honda. His heart clenched. The car was precariously positioned on the side of the hill, stuck halfway down the embankment, hanging on by what appeared to be some branches and rocks.
Your car was battered and scratched and had indents all around it. It looked something straight from his book of nightmares - bent metal and shattered glass mingling with the rugged terrain of the hilly landscape.
"Holy shit..." Eris muttered, echoing Azriel's own thoughts. The sight was nothing short of a disaster.
Azriel's hands clenched as he looked at the carnage. He wanted nothing more than to rush out and descend from his line to you.
"Talk to me Azriel."
"We need to stabilize the car. Secure a line to it so it doesn't slide. That car goes…they go.” He shuddered. “We'll extract them one at a time. Hazel first..." He swallowed. "Then Y/n..."
"Who gets who?"
"Get Hazel out...She knows what's expected of her in the event of an accident..." Eris cocked a brow at him in disbelief.
"And she's how old-"
"She's six Eris. Six, okay! Y/n thought we should teach her simple things she could manage like calling 911 and giving directions or making out what she can to help her out...And it paid off, now I'm here, trying to save the two people who I can't live without...It paid off, we're here to help them, so you get Hazel after you stabilize the car." Azriel said curtly as he began descending to where you both were.
Eris nodded once in understanding. His heart clenched at Azriel's words, feeling the weight of the situation. He could hear the worry and fear in Azriel's voice, a stark contrast to his usual stoic broody and calm demeanor. He knew this was personal and it was more than just a routine rescue.
"On it." He affirmed and began descending himself, heading towards the bottom of the car to attach a line, securing a stable base to the car.
As Azriel and Eris lowered themselves to the car, their movements measured and cautious. They could hear soft cries coming from inside the car.
A voice so small, pleading, calling out.
Azriel's heart ached at the sound. It was a mix of Hazel crying and yelling out, he couldn’t quite distinguish until he lowered down closer. He wanted to hurry, but he knew he had to be patient and take it slowly to not cause the car to go with you both still in it. He called out to you both, his voice steady but gentle. “Hazel? Y/n? Can you hear me?”
There was a moment of silence before Hazel's wobbly voice called out. "Here!" Her voice was small, and he could tell by the way she called out to him that she was scared. "Azriel?" Hazel's eyes widened in relief when his face appeared in front of where she remained situated. He immediately took notice that she was out of her seat. Sitting idly on top of the passenger seat.
She must’ve unbuckled herself and climbed to reach your phone.
"Hi, bug..." Azriel breathed out giving her a once-over for physical signs of injuries. He could only make out the cuts on her little face. "Does anything hurt? Do you have trouble moving your arms, or legs? Maybe your neck, or back?"
"No...I-I called 911 like you and Mommy taught me!" She exclaims. “I couldn’t hear the nice lady anymore...” He remembers Cap saying how the line cut off.
Azriel felt a wave of relief wash over him at the sound of Hazel's excitement though. He couldn't help the small smile that crossed his face at her words. "You did, bug. I'm so proud of you for being so brave and remembering what to do." He could see that she was visibly shaking, no doubt a combination of fear and adrenaline. Azriel's gaze then shifted towards your unconscious form, his heart clenching once more at the sight of you strapped into your seat, unmoving.
Hazel had looked over at you as well. "Is mommy gonna die?"
Azriel's heart squeezed painfully at Hazel's question. "No, bug, mommy's not gonna die," He said, his voice quiet and steady. He hoped to all the Gods he could keep that promise. "She's just unconscious right now, okay? She's gonna be okay…You guys are gonna be okay." He said, his voice shaking only a little. "You were so brave, bug. So, so brave, without you we would have never known where you and mommy were." Azriel reassured her, his voice gentle and calm. "I'm here now. We're going to get you and mommy out of here." He then gestured to Eris. "This here is my friend Eris, okay. I need you to go with him, he's gonna get you out of here and safely onto the loud helicopter."
Hazel looked at Eris, her eyes wide with trepidation. Eris lowered down so that he was at eye level with her and gave her a warm smile. "Hey there, Hazel," He said, his voice soft. "I’m gonna get you out of here, okay? It's gonna be loud and a little scary at first, but I promise you'll be fine."
"Why can't I go with you?" Her gaze shifted to Azriel.
Azriel’s heart clenched at Hazel’s question. He wanted nothing more than to take her with him, to keep her safe with him. But he knew that it would only endanger both of them. He looked at Hazel, his gaze gentle yet firm. "Because I need to make sure mommy is okay, bug." He explained gently. He knew this wasn't going to be an easy conversation, and it tore him apart. "I can only carry one of you at a time. My arms are not big enough to carry you both. That's why I need you to trust me...If you go with Eris then I can get mommy, and get her out safely, okay?"
Hazel's bottom lip quivered as she considered Azriel's words. She looked over at you, lying unconscious in your seat, and then back at Azriel. She was terrified, but she trusted Azriel, and she knew that he was trying to keep both of you safe. She looked back at Eris, a small pout on her face. "Okay…"
Azriel let out a small sigh of relief, grateful that Hazel was willing to trust him. He reached over and stroked her hair gently. “That's my brave girl. I’m so proud of you.” He said, his voice thick with emotion, ruffling her hair softly. He then gestured for Eris to take her, and with a nod, Eris lifted Hazel into his arms. She clung to him tightly, her little arms wrapping around his neck.
Eris offered Hazel a reassuring smile. "What a brave girl you are kiddo." He said, holding her to him tightly and securely. "Come on, let's get you out of here. Your mommy is good hands." Hazel bit her lip again, still looking unsure, but one look over at Azriel was enough to know he'd get you out. He quickly reached over and pressed a kiss to her head.
Azriel watched as Eris began to make his way up towards the helicopter. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what came next. With Hazel safe with Eris, he turned his attention to you. He slowly rounded the car steadying himself as he reached the side of your door, trying to assess the damage and figure out how to extract you safely without destabilizing the car further.
He could see that your airbag had deployed which was a good sign. It meant that you were somewhat protected from the initial impact. But you were still unconscious and tangled within the seatbelt, and the car was balanced on a angle, making it even more challenging to move you.
Azriel's heart clenched with worry, but he pushed his emotions aside and focused on his training. He needed to stay calm and move carefully. He reached through the shattered window and gently touched your neck, checking for your pulse.
He let out a small sigh of relief as he felt your pulse, weak but steady. He then began trying to unbuckle the seatbelt, making sure to support your head as he worked. With each movement, he felt the car shift slightly, causing his heart to skip a beat. "Y/n baby can you hear me?"
For a few agonizing moments, there had been no response. But then, suddenly, he heard a soft moan coming from your lips. It fared any worry he had. "Y/n? Baby?"
Your eyes fluttered open, your vision blurry and hazy. Azriel's face swam into view, his expression a mixture of worry and relief. You tried to speak, but the sound came out as a soft croak instead.
Azriel let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "That's it, baby. You're doing so well. Just hang in there for a little longer, okay?" He spoke gently, trying to keep his voice steady. He had to get you out quickly, but he couldn't risk moving you too fast, or the car might give way.
You could feel the pain now, your whole body ached and was screaming at you to stop, but you tried to focus on Azriel's voice. You knew that he was here, he was rescuing you. "A-Azriel.." You managed to rasp out, your voice hoarse and weak.
Despite being disoriented and groggy, you had recognized his voice immediately and it brought some comfort. You tried to push yourself up, but Azriel steadied you with a gentle but firm hand on your shoulder. "No, no. You need to stay still. We're going to get you out of here, baby. Just stay still for me, okay? Squeeze my hand if you need to."
You tried to nod your head, but even that simple movement sent pain shooting through your body. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you fought them back, not wanting to make Azriel more worried than he already was. He could see the pain etched on your face and it tore at his heart, but he knew he had to stay focused.
The sound of the helicopter hovering above seemed to stir you a bit more. You groaned softly, struggling to make sense of the situation. “Where..." You managed to croak out. "H-Hazel?"
Azriel's heart ached at the sound of your soft groans and the fear in your voice. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze. "Hazel's safe. We got her out. She's okay, baby, now we just need to get you out. Can you unbuckle yourself? Can you reach the release?”
Your heart raced with relief at the news that Hazel was safe, but your body was still in so much pain that it was hard to move. You attempted to unbuckle the seatbelt, but it wouldn't budge. You let out a soft whimper, tears of frustration prickling at the corners of your eyes, when you pressed down on the release again, it finally gave. You cry out in relief, slumping into your chair.
Azriel reached in through the shattered window, his touch gentle and tender as he cradled your head. "That's it, baby. Just take a second to breathe. We're almost there," he reassured you, his voice soft yet commanding. The car shifted slightly again, and Azriel's pulse quickened. The thought of losing you now was unbearable. "I'm gonna reach my hands in. I want you to try and wrap your arms around my neck as best you can. Baby, I know you're in pain and you're scared but I need you with me, okay?" He instructed, cupping your face gently with his gloves. You mustered a small nod for him.
Azriel took a deep breath as he extended his arms inside the car, steadying himself and maneuvering you as carefully as possible. He watched your expressions closely, looking for any sign of pain or discomfort. He could see that the pain was intense - your face creased with it, the sweat on your forehead. "You're doing so good, baby. Just a little more." He whispered, his voice steady but his heart on the verge of breaking.
Your body felt heavy and weak, but you forced yourself to trust Azriel completely. You steeled yourself and braced for what came next. You took a deep breath and lifted your arms, reaching out cautiously for his neck. Azriel felt you gripping onto him, and he held your trembling form as delicately yet securely as he could, taking care not to jostle your body too much.
As soon as he felt he had a good hold on you and your waist, the car began sliding. He didn't hesitate to pull you out from the driver's window.
Azriel clenched his jaw as he watched the car slide beneath you both. Falling further into the abyss. The car smashed into the ground causing his stomach to stir knowing that if he'd been a second late you would have gone with it. He held you close as you both swung, your body pressed against his chest. He could feel your heart racing, beating against his own. "Shhh, baby. You're safe now. I got you." He whispered, trying to calm down your cries with he pressed kisses against your head. "I got you now."
"Az!" Eris poked his head out the chopper, having heard the car give before he saw it fall. Azriel looked up. Tapping his helmet twice, then shooting him a thumbs up.
"We're good! All good! Bring us up!" Eris looked over to a frightened Hazel, his shoulders relaxing. He felt like he couldn't breathe the whole ride here. Now he could.
"Did he get her...?" Hazel tugged the blanket Eris wrapped around her closer.
"Yeah...he got her kiddo." He offered her a lopsided grin before he got to work reeling them back up.
Azriel held you firmly as the winch began to pull you up. The sound of the helicopter blades thudding in the air, cut through the silence. The wind whipped your hair around your face, but Azriel shielded you as best he could. His body curled around you while his hold on you stayed strong and steady. One hand holding onto the line. He could feel your body shivering against his, the shock settling in.
When you reached the edge. Eris was there offering his hand to you, hauling you safely into the carrier. "Mommy!" Hazel rushed to you. You choked back a sob as she cradled her arms around your neck. You hold back a wince knowing you are still in need of a proper examination.
Azriel climbed up with Eris's help and slumped against the floor, his eyes never leaving you and Hazel. He wanted to wrap both of you in his arms and never let go. But his eyes noticed the blood on your face, a cut on your forehead, and the way you were sitting stiffly, your body trembling. He knew you were hiding the pain. He knew you were trying to be strong for Hazel. Eris smirked patting his chest.
"Alright?"
"Y-Yeah..." Azriel huffed.
"You sure?"
“Uh huh.”
"Yeah?" Eris teased.
"Yeah." Azriel swallowed as he sat up and scooted over to you both. His hands pressed against the sides of your head before he pulled you both into his embrace. A kiss followed his affection. "My babies..." He muttered as you melted in his arms. Your body slumping against him, in defeat. The tension and fear that had gripped you slowly ebbed away as Azriel's touch washed over you.
Eris awed silently to himself in his seat at the sight. He secretly wished and wanted for his family of his own. Knowing how Azriel found you two along the way and stayed, warmed his heart.
"Ten minutes. Good work!" He praised. A shit-eating grin on his face to help lighten the mood.
Azriel chuckled. "Shut up." His voice was tight and hoarse. He held both Hazel and you close to him, his arms surrounding you in a protective and loving embrace. He could feel the relief and comfort flowing through him as his muscles relaxed and he let out a shuddering breath he didn't realize he was holding.
"No seriously. I think it's a new record-" Eris chimed.
Azriel huffed as he shot Eris a glare, the corner of his mouth ticked up in a small smirk. "Shut up." He muttered, closing his eyes.
"We got to get you on one of those Worlds Guinness record books. I know a guy who could set it up-"
Azriel let out a soft huff of laughter. "Thanks, Eris." He muttered. Despite Eris's cocky attitude, Azriel was grateful for his help. Azriel rolled his eyes, but he grew amused at Eris's comments. He shook his head, burying his face in your hair and squeezing you both tighter.
Eris laughed, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Hey, someone's gotta bring the humor to these tense situations. You know cause you got that whole brooding dark prince thing going on, it isn't really your best look by the way."
"Cassian?" Azriel presumed with a hum.
"Called me right before you got to base."
Fucker, Azriel thought. "Of course he did..."
You couldn't help but smile at Azriel's banter and roll your eyes at Eris' comments. Even through the fear and pain, his presence was such a comforting force for you. You leaned into Azriel's embrace, feeling his chest rise and fall against your body. It wasn't long for your gaze to meet Eris. A tired smile marks your features. You mouthed a 'thank you' in return. For everything he'd done to help rescue you both. Eris tipped his chin in understanding. Azriel pressed his lips to your head once more before reassuring you it was okay to rest now. That they got you both out. That nothing would hurt you two anymore. So you did, you allowed yourself to succumb to your tired state, and closed your eyes.
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Love to Lie - Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader (Part 1) / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 (Final Part)
Summary: Your worst fear is recognized when Bradley’s jet goes down with him in it. You’re not sure why you’re still his emergency contact, you’d broken up two weeks ago, but when you rush into the hospital room, you discover that you have a chance to fix the mistake you’d been cursing yourself for. The only problem is, you have to lie to Bradley, and you discover that you love doing it if it means you get to be with him again.
Contents/Warnings: fem!reader, Mitchell!reader, angst, angst with a fluffy/happy ending, amnesia trope, hospitals and their subsequent medical details, memory loss, goose and carole are still alive because i say so
WC: 11.3K / navigation / inbox
A/N: thank you to everyone who has encouraged me in my development of this series! it's three parts long, and each part will be posted one week after the one before it. that means you get chapter 2 next week, and chapter 3 two weeks from now. and after chapter 3 is released, i will post the full fic in one single post, so that it's easier to read. this series means a lot to me, it's the longest fic I've ever finished for this account, and I would really love to hear what you think of it. Thank you to the love of my life miss jade (@luveline), for being the first person to read this (!!), and for all of your wonderful feedback that cheered me on as I crossed the finish line for this series. I don't think I would have finished it if it wouldn't have been for your support, so thank you sweetpea <3
feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!
It’s 11:14 AM when you get the call. Your phone buzzes ballistically beneath your pillow, where you’d stuffed it haphazardly last night somewhere close to 4 AM. For the record, you’d only slept because your eyes hurt from being open for so long. You’re certain that, after what you’d done, you deserved to ache for eternity, but you’d succumbed to sleep when it pulled hard enough at you.
Raising the phone to your ear is a chore, especially because the number on the screen is unrecognizable, but you stretch your tired, bed-ridden limbs and hold the cool glass screen to your face. It’s jarring, and you long for the stuffy warmth of the pillow again.
“Hello?”
“Miss Y/N Mitchell?” It’s a man’s voice, deep and strong through the receiver. It’s no-nonsense, and you almost worry that you’ve misfiled your taxes, that someone from the IRS is tracking you down.
“That’s me,” You rub sleep out of your left eye, harder than necessary so that your vision is blurry when you open your eye again. You’re not very gentle with yourself these days.
“You’re listed as an emergency contact for Mr. Bradley Bradshaw. He’s currently a patient at the Naval Medical Center in San Diego. He was brought in at 9:37 AM this morning when his jet malfunctioned mid-exercise, and he crashed into a canyon below.”
Your heart stops.
Your cheeks get hot, your hands start to tingle, and your stomach feels like it’s going to start turning cartwheels, sloshing your insides around until you vomit what little you’ve eaten.
Bradley’s dead, you think, Bradley’s dead, Bradley’s dead, Bradley’s dead.
“We were able to airlift him out, and he’s stabilized now-” Bradley’s not dead, “-but he’s still unconscious. His parents are here, as well as your father, if you’d like to join them.”
It takes a long time for you to speak. It’s almost a full minute, and the man on the other end has to call your name to get you to respond.
“Miss Mitchell?”
“I’ll be there,” You blurt, heaving a shaky breath as you seal a hand over your mouth. You part your fingers only to make sure he hears you clearly as you confirm, “He’s alive?”
“Yes, he’s alive and stable.” The man informs you, “He’ll recover, Miss Mitchell.”
Bradley’s not dead. Bradley’s not dead. Bradley’s not dead.
“I’ll be there,” You repeat, and for the first time in almost 36 hours, you kick the crappy motel blankets off of your legs and stand, “Thank you, sir.”
--
Wearing a bra again after two weeks of lazing around in bed is awful. But you’ll do it for Bradley, if only to make up for the last thing you’d said to him.
“I can’t love you anymore!” Rings in your ears, and a vision of Bradley’s hands reaching desperately for you flashes through your mind, covering up the green light ahead of you.
Someone honks behind you, a BMW. You jolt to attention, stepping on the gas and jerking into the intersection.
Easy, you chide yourself, You’re going to the hospital to visit a patient, not to be one.
You’re able to pull into the hospital’s parking lot without nearly causing any more car crashes, and you briefly wonder if you should take the coward’s way out again as you trek over the asphalt towards the hospital. You’d run two weeks ago, why not now? Why not now, when what you’d been worried about that night has actually happened?
Urged by the regret flooding your veins since fleeing, you walk on, stepping through the automatic doors of the hospital and sidling up to the reception desk.
“I’m here to see Bradley Bradshaw,” You inform the nurse there, “Uh- Lieutenant. If that… helps.”
She sends you a kind smile, filled with sympathy that you’re thankful for as you stammer and stumble your way through speaking. You’re sure you’re not the most distraught person here, and you’re guiltily thankful for that.
“Room 624,” The nurse tells you, and oh, what a sick coincidence, “Down the hall and to the left, take the elevator up and follow the arrows on the floor.”
6/24 is not only Bradley’s birthday, but your anniversary; the day you’d kissed him on the swings in his backyard with hot fudge sticking to your lips. He’d been glum about his dad missing his birthday on deployment, and, of course, your dad couldn’t be there either. Carole had done her best to brighten up her boy, but some things couldn’t be mended with gift wrap, and you all knew that.
You’d snuck out to join him that night with a sundae, offering him the serving spoon thickly coated in the chocolate. He’d accepted it with a huffy eye roll, upset that you’d managed to cheer him up even a little bit with just one spoon of ice cream.
--
“It sucks,” Bradley mutters around the chocolate in his mouth, the syrup sticking his words together, “I know he can’t do anything about it. But I still want him here.”
“I know,” You hum, taking a bite of ice cream for yourself, “I’m sorry, Brad. If it makes you feel any better, he’ll probably get you something, like, really good when he gets back. He’ll feel all guilty, that’s what my dad did and I got a puppy out of it.”
“We’ve already got a puppy,” Bradley gestures to the Bradshaw’s family dog, well on in years by the gray around his muzzle and his tendency to nap instead of move.
“Maybe you’ll get one that you can actually play with,” You offer Bradley another bite of the ice cream, and you only feel a little bad for making fun of Lewis. But the dog doesn’t understand your teasing, softly snoring on the porch.
“Maybe he’ll get me a car,” Bradley gushes, “A bitchin’ one, like a Bronco or something. Then we can put our surfboards in the back and go to the beach.”
“You don’t even have a license!” You elbow Bradley, laughing at his lofty dreams, “But a Bronco would be cool. You should send your dad a magazine clipping of one with your next letter and talk about how cool it is.”
“You’re smarter than you look,” Bradley muses, a smear of chocolate over his lower lip that he doesn’t lick away.
You scoff, stomping on his foot where it’s planted in the grass beside your own. He jolts away with a yelp, and in doing so, jerks the swing he’s sitting on, He catches his balance and you notice the syrup on his lip, reaching out to clean it with your thumb.
“You’ve got hot fudge on your face, doofus,” You sneer, happy to return his teasing, “You eat like a toddler.”
“I’m not the one who put three cups of it on the sundae!” Bradley insists, and his lower lip catches your thumb as he speaks. Teenagers in love, you’re hyperaware of touches like that, and your breath hitches in your throat at the contact. He notices it too, staring down wide-eyed at where your thumb hovers over his lips.
“Sorry,” He blurts, and in doing so, his warm breath fans over your hand. You jerk it away, eyes on the ground as you mumble away his concerns.
“It’s fine,” You mutter in a terrible attempt to remain nonchalant, “We’re not four, it’s not like I think you’ve got cooties or something.’
Bradley takes to the teasing, glad it’s not tense anymore, “That’s not what you say when I leave my underwear on the floor.”
“‘Cause that’s gross!” You launch into a rant, “That’s, like, personal! And they’re used too,” You shudder, handing him the sundae intent on scrubbing a hand over your face, “Nasty, bro.”
Despite your casual nickname for the boy beside you, you feel like anything but bros when his hand brushes yours. He takes the ice cream from you, and his hand half-closes around your own, sending a spark shooting up your spine.
Your breath catches in your throat again and this time Bradley hears it, looking at you through his lashes with those wide brown eyes.
Neither of you move away this time, frozen just like the treat in your joint grip.
You feel extra affection for the boy next to you today, the shared grief of losing your fathers every few months bringing you closer together. It’s what compels you to lean in, tilting your swing sideways to brush your lips over his own in a painfully awkward teenage-style kiss. Before you have the time to panic about whether you did the right thing, Bradley reciprocates, pursing his lips slightly to fit them around your top one. You follow his lead and it goes much better, a chaste kiss that’s sweeter than the chocolate staining your lips.
--
You’re glad you’d kissed him that day, you’re glad you had the balls to take the leap that resulted in a nearly twenty year long relationship. It would have been twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-five, fifty if you hadn’t chickened out two weeks ago, but you try not to think about that in the elevator lest you make yourself sick.
You find room 624 easily, the painted arrows on the floor leading you down the hallway that the room stands in. You wonder if you should knock first, you’re not too knowledgeable on hospital etiquette, but you decide that manners can be damned, your boyfriend- ex-boyfriend is in there.
You turn the handle and step inside, and Carole looks up from Bradley’s bedside immediately. You think she’s expecting a doctor, and her desperation for finding one breaks your heart. Her teary face splits into a sad smile, and she rushes to your side to envelop you in a hug. You let her have it because she’s grieving over her son, but you’re surprised she’s not immediately angry with you for breaking up with Bradley.
“Honey,” She gushes into your shoulder, “Oh, honey, I’m so glad you’re here! Brad’s gonna be okay, they said he’s just gonna need some help breathing until he gets stable. Then they can get him healthy and ready to go again!”
“That’s great,” You hold her close, relishing the last Bradshaw hug you’ll probably ever get, “Where’s Nick and dad?”
“Oh, they went to get food,” Carole releases you, swatting her hand in the air in an affectionately teasing manner, “You know those boys, always hungry for something.”
You laugh awkwardly, watching as she settles down by Bradley’s bedside again. She looks back up at you where you’re swaying on your feet, gesturing to the chair beside her, “Well come on, girl! Get in here!” She seems much more lively now that she has company, and you hate to think of her grieving her injured son alone.
“Oh- I, uh,” You stammer, darting for the seat beside her, “I wasn’t sure if-”
“Don’t worry,” She seems to misplace your concern, “He’s okay, sweetie-pie, you won’t hurt him just by breathin’ on him.”
“Right,” You smile, though its disingenuous with tension, “Um, so it was a mid-exercise crash?”
“Mhm,” Her face dims slightly, “Apparently there was some freak accident with one of the engines, 'set off the whole thing. And that’s two crashes in one week! First it was that Javy boy, I tell you, I think they should vet those engineers better. I mean, aren’t they supposed to catch that stuff beforehand?”
“Yeah,” You feel partially numb, but you’re not sure whether it’s emotional or physical. You’ve been trying to avoid looking at Bradley so far, using his bubbly, bouncing mom as a distraction, but now that the blonde has settled beside you your eyes drift.
He could be perceived as sleeping, if the color wasn’t drained from his face. His skin is still tan but it’s duller now, golden brown fading to a sickly, colder shade of it, like there’s no life beneath it. His eyes are shut and there’s a breathing tube up his nose; you wonder how pissed he’ll be when he wakes up to find out they’ve had to trim his mustache around the thing.
“Must be a Bradshaw family tradition,” Carole breaks your concentration, laughing weakly, her voice lined with a hint of tears, “Crashing, scarin’ their girls half to death.”
You remember the day of Goose’s crash like it was yesterday. You’d only been three at the time, freshly so. But grief like that, the panic you’d observed, doesn’t go away. It can’t be forgotten, it can’t drift out of your brain like so many memories do with age. You and Bradley had sat together in the hospital with Carole and your dad, and Nick still had the crummy plane drawings you’d done for him while waiting for him to wake up.
Carole’s usage of the phrase ‘their girls’ unnerves you. She’s been exceptionally nice to you so far, especially considering that she’s fiercely protective of Bradley, and should have kicked you halfway to Mars for ditching him like you’d done. But she’s leaning towards you in her chair, and you come to the dreadful realization that she doesn’t know you’ve broken up with Bradley.
“Now, I know you wanted to keep things hush-hush,” She gushes, happy to look at your animated face instead of Bradley’s still one for a moment. She reaches over to brace her hands on your knees, leaning eagerly into your space, “But I have to know, babycakes, how did it go?”
“Hm?” You look dazedly at her, still partially staring at Bradley.
“The proposal!” She squeezes your hands, sniffling weakly with the remnants of tears past, “I know that boy was finally manning up enough to ask you, 'should'a put a ring on you years ago."
Any other time, you'd groan at Carole's opinion on your relationship. She's been urging the two of you to tie the knot for decades, but you'd felt no burning desire to go to the courthouse. You were comfortable in your life, why spend an obscene amount of money to get a piece of paper that tells you you're in love? You knew that for free, in the way that Bradley looked at you, in the way that he memorized all of your fast food orders, in the way that his hand so often found yours beneath the sheets in his sleep. Now her teasing is a sore spot, one that gapes the wound already bleeding in your chest.
"-But when I asked him how it went he said he’d ‘share the details later’. I’m sure you wanted to make some big announcement or something, but I need this right now, honey, tell me what happened.”
She’s staring at you like she always has, like you’re the sweet little girl she helped raise when your mama had chickened out. Cowardice must run in the family.
There’s such pretty hope shining in her eyes that you can’t bear to crush it, ready to spew lies about how glorious Bradley’s proposal had gone, how you’d fallen to your knees to kiss him, how you’d shouted ‘yes!’ from the rooftops. Fortunately, you don’t have to lie to her, because the door opens and your dad and Nick step through.
“Hey,” Your dad cheers, tossing you a plastic-wrapped sandwich, “There you are, honey. I was worried you weren’t gonna show up, ‘thought you’d be mad at him or something.”
“You know she was mad at me when we went down?” Goose gestures to Carole incredulously, and you can’t see behind his sunglasses but you know he’s addressing you, “I wasn’t even flying the damn thing and I got lectured!”
He lets up, goes easy on Carole, you’re sure because he’d had to comfort her earlier. You see a slightly dark, damp patch on the left side of his Hawaiian shirt as he leans in to hug you, probably her tears.
“Good to see ‘ya, kid,” Nick rubs your back, “You doin’ okay?”
“Yeah,” You nod, voice slightly shaky as you smooth your previously-folded hands down your thighs. The movement catches Carole’s attention, and you look away before you can see her reaction to your bare ring finger.
“He’ll be fine,” Goose leans over to slap Bradley’s calf, and Carole looks like she wants to scold him for it, as if he'll die right then and there, “He’s tough just like’is daddy.”
“His daddy should go get me some tea,” Carole huffs, placing her hand over Bradley’s as if it would make up for Nick’s slap, “And take Maverick with you, I don’t want you getting lost.”
“Oh, again-?” Goose grumbles, setting his lunch on one of the plastic chairs around Bradley’s bed, “You could’a told me that before we left, honey.”
“Didn’t want it until now,” Carole insists, “Now shoo, get some for Y/N, too.”
The second the door shuts behind the two men, a stiff silence falls over the room.
Carole’s sweet voice breaks it, but it’s the last thing you want to hear, “Where’s the ring?”
You stare at the sandwich in your lap, like it’ll open face and read like a book, giving you instructions on how to lie your way through this.
“I know he asked you,” She presses on, voice pitched up with tension, “I- I gave him the ring Nick used to propose to me. That was almost a month ago. We swapped it out for a wedding band, and- and I thought Bradley could use the engagement ring for you, too. I know he asked you.”
“Carole,” You can’t bear to look her in the eyes, not the woman who’d fed you macaroni and cheese when your dad was halfway around the world in a fighter jet and tucked you in extra tight during a rainstorm so that the lightning couldn't sneak through the gaps in the blankets to get you.
“No, tell me, where is the ring?” She raises her voice, the way she used to when Bradley would leave his scooter out in the rain to rust, “Just tell me-” Her voice peters out into a weak whimper, “-tell me you didn’t say no.”
“I’m a coward,” You finally mutter as her answer, hateful and wicked, “I got scared. I wish I’d said yes, really, I- I wish I could take it back, but-”
“What did you do?” Her face crumples at your admission and she nearly shrieks, squeezing her hand tighter over Bradley’s, “Y/N, what did you do?”
“I said no!” You sob, chest heaving as you wipe away a tear from your eye heavy-handed, “I was scared, Carole. After Coyote went down,” You blearily recall the last plane crash you’d heard about, a member of Bradley’s own squadron caught in a bird strike. He’d been fine, but waiting for the news took you right back to your youth, and you’d been hit with the striking realization that it could happen to Bradley, too. It could be you in that chair, it could be your love on the line. You’d been so sick with dread that you’d backed away altogether, running away to preserve your emotions.
“I just- I didn’t want it to happen to Bradley,” You confess, “I didn’t want it to happen to me. So when he asked, I was-” You sniffle, hard, “I was so scared. I didn’t want to marry him and then lose him. For some reason this-” You suppress a sob, throat aching and chest heaving, “-dating a pilot is different than marrying one. Dating is- it’s temporary, even if you plan on it lasting forever. It’s less serious, it’s not set in stone. But marriage-” You hiccup, “-marriage is the real deal. It's like- It's like I was dating Bradley, y'know, the teenage boy who took me to homecoming because I was sad no one asked me. But- but then all of a sudden I was marrying an aviator. And that’s- that was scary! That was real. I- we’d been together for twenty years!” You gush, wiping your nose with the back of your hand, “I should have known marriage wouldn’t be any different. It’s not like we ever thought we’d break up,” You sniffle weakly, “Marriage was always sort of silly to me, 'cause we just thought we'd be together forever regardless. But I never realized how real it would feel. So I- I freaked out. When he asked me, I made up some stupid excuse, and I chickened out! But-” Your chest heaves with a sob as you finally lift your eyes to Bradley, “He crashed anyway. He went down even though I said no, and it still hurts.” You cry, face scrunched in despair, “It hurts so bad, Carole, I didn’t think it would still hurt.”
“You fool,” She huffs exasperatedly, but she reaches out to clutch your hand like a lifeline. She’s holding Bradley’s with her other, and you wish for a moment that you could cut out the middleman and hold his hand on your own. You don't feel worthy to touch him anymore. “You don’t stop loving someone by leaving them, you stop loving them by moving on. Of course it still hurts, you didn't move on; you still love him. And- and leaving him didn’t stop him from getting hurt, it just meant he probably went down wishing he got to tell you he loved you this morning, so you'd know.”
The thought breaks you, Bradley ejecting with you on his mind. Evidently he hadn’t fully accepted your breakup, not if he hadn’t even told his mom about it. You wonder if he was planning on trying to get you back, if after work today he would have come over with flowers and a thousand pleas on his lips that you didn’t deserve.
“He loves you,” She continues, tears wetting her own cheeks, “And even if you did say somethin’ stupid, I don’t think there’s anything you could tell that boy that’d make him stop loving you. Apologize when he wakes up, baby, he’ll understand. He'll be hurt, no doubt. But he’s been scared before, too, believe me.”
“I will,” You gush, nodding as she squeezes your hand and Bradley’s in sync, “I will, I promise! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
“Just make it right,” She pleads, “Can’t have you two splittin’ up now, not after all this time.”
“I wish I hadn’t done it,” You weep, holding your hands to your eyes as if you can plug up the tears, “I- I just panicked! And I’ve been a wreck ever since, I- I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t-”
“Tea’s here!” The door opens, and Nick is suddenly a lot quieter as he sees you bent in half and crying, “Oh, honey.”
“C’mere,” Your dad edges around Goose, squatting by the side of your chair while Carole rubs your back. He’s always been fantastic at comforting you, which you marvel at because he was so active in his career. He wasn’t always around when you were little, but that didn’t stop him from knowing how you liked your back rubbed, your hair done, and your cookies warmed.
“He’s gonna wake up,” Your dad soothes you, wiping a tear away from your face, with the hand that isn’t rubbing your back, “Don’t worry, sweetheart.”
“It’s okay,” Carole promises, and you know she’s talking about something else entirely, “It’s alright honey, it’ll all work out.”
Nick feels a bit useless now, standing there with two cups of tea in his hands while everyone else comforts you, but he’s quick to notice a frown work its way onto Bradley’s sleeping face.
“Brad- hey! Look,” He gestures with one cup of tea, only spilling a tiny drop, “I think he’s wakin’ up.”
All of a sudden you want to go home. You’re not sure you can do this, you don’t belong here with his grieving family. You belong in your bed, kicking yourself for your cowardice and wishing you’d done better by him.
But there’s no time to flee now, not again. This time you have to brave it, you have to watch as his big brown eyes slowly blink open, a haze of sleep and medication clouding them over.
“Agh,” He groans, hand twitching by his side, “What-?”
“Hey, Bradley.” Nick leans over the bed, tea now set aside on a tiny table, “How y’feelin’ bud? You had quite the plane crash.”
Bradley takes a moment to observe his surroundings, blinking blearily at your dad, then you, then his mom. His eyes drift back over to you and they feel like they’re lasers, boring searing holes through your chest where your heart used to be two weeks ago.
The slow and steady beeping that had been long since tuned out slowly started to increase while Bradley regained consciousness. Your dad looked warily at the machine, watching Bradley’s heart rate rise.
“I’ll get a doctor.” He ducks out, and Carole stands.
“We should go,” She grabs Nick’s hand, looking pointedly at you, “We’ll give you a minute alone with him, honey.”
Nick starts to protest about being led away, something about how ‘-he came outta my balls! I can’t see him when he wakes up in the hospital?’ but Carole’s already corralling him to the nurse’s station in search of your father. If you weren’t so fond of the woman you’d be cursing her for sticking you alone with Bradley, but you know you can’t let yourself succumb to fear again; this time you have to be a big girl.
“Baby,” Bradley rasps, turning your attention back on him. You watch him weakly, eyes apprehensive as he reaches for your hand, “C’mere.”
You hesitate, and he lets out a weak chuckle, “Come on, now. You’re not gonna kill me by holding my hand.”
“Bradley,” You sniffle, reaching out for his limp fingers on the bed, “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s alright,” He smiles lazily, eyes drooping, “I’m okay. Comes in the job description, I guess.”
“I’m sorry,” You repeat, grief-stricken as you clutch at his hand desperately, “I shouldn’t have left, I- I wish I had stayed.”
“Baby,” His brows furrow and he laughs sympathetically, “They wouldn’t have let you stay, you know that. I work on a naval base, not at a chipotle. You can’t sit with me all day. Plus, there was no way you would’ve known I was gonna go down. I’m glad you weren’t there, sweetheart. I wouldn’t have wanted you to see that.”
All at once, your chest burns hot, blazing with panic. Is he not going to talk to you about it? Is he going to pretend nothing happened? Is he going to refuse to acknowledge what you’d said? You stammer, “What-?”
“Mr. Bradshaw!” The doctor comes in, cheery now that his patient is awake. You turn your head, still dazed and fear-stricken at Bradley’s demeanor. “Let’s see how you’re doing here. Any chest pain?”
“A little,” Bradley shifts in his bed, wincing infinitesimally.
“Probably just some discomfort due to the broken ribs. Headache?”
“Yeah,” Bradley admits with a groan, “That I’ve got.”
The doctor scribbles something down on his chart, “What’s the last thing you remember?”
Bradley strains to think, “I… don’t know. I don’t even-" He grimaces, "I don't even remember the crash, ‘just know it happened ‘cause he told me.”
Bradley raises a shaky finger to point at Nick, who’s happy to see his son gain some mobility back, even if he is worried for the boy. The three adults had filed back into the room after the doctor, and you pointedly avoid Carole’s imploring stare.
“Think hard,” The doctor commands, and you squeeze his hand like it’s a play-dough machine, like memories will ooze themselves into his brain in star shapes and heart cut-outs.
“I remember…” Bradley rasps, turning his hand beneath yours to grasp it, “Jake’s birthday party. That was-” He glances over at you, “-last night?”
“That was three weeks ago,” This time your heart rate is the one to rise, echoing dully in your ears like the soundtrack of a horror film, “Is that-” You sniffle, “Is that the last thing you can remember, B?”
His eyebrows raise and he tries taking in the information, “Yeah- uh, shit. Three weeks ago. What does that mean, doctor?”
“It sounds like you’ve developed post-traumatic amnesia.” The doctor scribbles once more on his paperwork, “The good news is, we think you have only a mild concussion. And amnesia induced by mild concussions typically lasts only up to a week or two at most. But there’s a very real chance you could remember everything in just a few minutes.”
Amnesia.
He doesn’t remember.
“What I want you to do now is to rest, and we’ll have a nurse send up something to eat. Please,” The doctor eyes Nick knowingly, “Do not feed him the funyuns you’re holding behind your back.”
“Foiled again,” Goose laughs, tossing the packet of chips onto a chair beside his own lunch, “You got it, doc.”
“Alright, glad you’re awake,” The doctor bids you goodbye, “And- a nurse will be in to run a few simple tests later. For now, just sleep and eat.”
“Will do,” Bradley tries tightening his hand around yours but you worm away from him, and it’s heartbreakingly easy to do with his limited mobility. You stand abruptly, legs shaky and heart pounding in your chest as you stumble away from his bed.
Amnesia. Amnesia. Amnesia.
He doesn't remember.
“Honey?” Bradley calls warily, face scrunching into a tired frown.
His eyes follow you as you back right into your chair, the plastic scraping against the floor with an ungodly screech. Now the attention is all on you, and you give into that dreaded fight or flight response you seem to always fall victim to.
“I need to use the bathroom,” You ramble, rushing for the door, “I’ll be back!”
“Y/N-” Bradley tries calling, but his voice is weak enough where you can pretend you haven’t heard it as you try to refrain from running down the hall. You don’t make it ten steps before Bradley’s door closes with a sharp click, and the voice of one Carole Bradshaw cuts through the silence of the hallway.
“Y/N Mitchell!”
She’s using the same tone she used to use when you’d get in trouble for pulling a girl’s hair at school, or throwing mud at a boy who was mean to Bradley. You react just like you had then, spine stiffening and limbs locking.
“Don’t you dare walk away from me,” She warns, stomping towards you in her half-raised heels, “Turn around, young lady.”
You follow her orders even if the nickname is outdated. She’s got her pretty eyes narrowed, and as much as it pains you to be on the receiving end of one of her seldom-used withering stares, it’s better than being in there and watching Bradley’s eyes shift when he suddenly remembers you’d been the biggest douche on planet Earth.
“Did you apologize?” She inquires, and you nod obediently.
“But- but Carole, he doesn’t remember-!”
“He will,” She promises, “And when he does, you’d better apologize again. He needs you right now, y’know? He thinks it’s three weeks ago, before you ran off and left'im. As far as he knows, you’re still his adoring girlfriend who he’s probably yearning to see right about now. So go in there,” She reaches for your hand, “Kiss that boy on the mouth,” She demands, “And stop running away!”
“What? I can’t-” You gush, trying to pull away. But she’s stronger than Bradley is at the moment, and her hand tightens around yours, “I can’t lie to him! Not about this, I- how long am I supposed to pretend?”
“As long as you can,” She insists, already pulling you back towards his room, a woman on a mission, “You march right on in there, and tell him how worried you were, and let his memories come back to him on his own time. He’s traumatized right now, he just doesn’t know it yet, and he needs you there. If you break the news to him now, it’ll only stress him out more. Go play nice, and when he comes around in a few minutes, you can have a real talk.”
“I don’t want to lie to him,” You lament, and she stops pulling you down the hall to narrow her eyes at you.
“Babydoll?” She asks sweetly, and fooled by her kindness, you hum in question, “I don’t give a shit.”
She’s never foul-mouthed, so it catches your attention. She holds your incredulous gaze, “You want him back?”
“Yes.”
“You wish you’d never left?”
“Yes.”
“Well as far as he knows, you haven’t.” She huffs, the fabric of her skirt flowing near her calves, “So get in there and be there for your boyfriend of twenty years, and when he suddenly remembers you aren’t his girlfriend anymore, Grovel. Sound like a plan?” She raises an eyebrow, and you tamp down the nerves rising in your chest. You nod cautiously, resolutely, and she loosens her grip on your hand. She still holds it to lead you back to the room, but she stops outside the door to speak one last time.
“I know you love him,” Her voice is softer now, genuinely sweet and caring, “And I also know you like to run when things get scary. And that’s understandable, but it’s not okay, not right now. You can’t stop loving someone just ‘cause you don’t wanna lose ‘em. It’ll hurt worse if you walk away.”
“I know,” You breathe shakily, squeezing her hand, “Thanks, Carole.”
“Anytime, sweetpea,” She smiles, tears still gathered in her eyes, “Now get in there and kiss my son.”
“There they are,” Your dad stands as you reenter the room, “You ladies have a nice bathroom break?”
“‘Had the time of our lives,” Carole nods, letting you take the seat closest to Bradley’s head. Your feet feel burdened with lead weights as you step towards his bedside, and he watches you with worried eyes. You’re sure he knows you weren’t really going to the bathroom, not with the way you’d fled, but you’re glad he’s choosing to pretend for your sake. He seems worried, though, and you curse yourself for making this about you.
“Y/N,” He reaches out for you as soon as you’re in reach, his voice still hoarse. His hand squeezes yours instantly, and you feel for the panic he's probably experiencing. He deserves a shoulder to lean on, a hand to hold, and it should be someone better than you.
“Bradley,” You murmur back, trying to stop your lips from trembling, “I- can I kiss you?”
Carole’s voice rings in your ears, and you don’t have to turn around to know she’s smiling at the two of you. Bradley pauses, then his worried eyes soften and he nods weakly against the pillow.
“Oh,” Nick teases as you brace your hand on Bradley’s bed, leaning down to press a feather-light kiss to his lips, “Lovebirds!”
The kiss is nothing but awkward. It’s hesitant on your end, because you can’t believe you get to do it again. You’d really believed the goodbye kiss you’d shared with Bradley before he picked up dinner for the two of you would be your last one, so fitting your lips over his in the hospital seems like something otherworldly. You’re careful, too, because you don’t want to hurt him, not that you think you could ever smooch him to death. He doesn’t reciprocate much, he can’t, but the familiar prickle of his mustache against your lip is a welcome feeling that makes your heart feel light again, if only for a few seconds.
When you pull away, it’s gone. Because you have to look him in the eyes, the same ones you’d forced tears out of two weeks ago, and pretend like none of it happened at all.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” You gush, voice cracking, and it feels right starting off with the truth. You can get to the lies later, the ugly little abominations you’re cooking up so that he preserves as much mental energy as possible while on bedrest. You know Carole’s right, you know he needs to heal as much as he can before you make it worse with the news, but lying feels so wrong. He’ll find out sooner or later, and what if he really was done with you? What if he hadn’t told his mom so that no family drama erupted, what if it wasn’t because he was going to try to get you back? What if he hated you, and what if he hates you even more when he knows you’re lying through your teeth to him?
“Yeah, I’m okay.” He promises, his fingers curling slowly and carefully around your own, "Are you? You ran off, I was worried."
"I'm fine," You insist, waving away his concern with a shake of your head.
He doesn't seem satisfied with your answer; he can read you like a book. But he accepts your answer, and you admire him for not wanting to pry in front of everyone. He changes the subject, glancing briefly around the hospital room, “Baby my- my phone, can I have my phone?”
“It’s here,” Your dad hands it to him, and Carole watches your eyes widen infinitesimally. What if Bradley sees his text conversations? What if he sees that you haven’t talked in half a month? What if he finds messages from someone on a dating app he’d used, a rebound-in-the-making?
What if he’s changed his background? What if he wants an answer as to why it’s probably some picturesque sunset, a jet plane cutting through the clouds above. Or maybe it’s of Lewis, he’d recently had photos restored of the dog.
What if he notices your contact name is changed to something like ‘Do not answer’? What if he realizes he’s blocked you? What if all of your pictures together are deleted off of his phone, and he wonders why?
There’s a thousand things that could go wrong.
“Coyote called,” Bradley rasps, upon first sight of his screen. Then, “Hangman. Twice. Phoenix, Bob, Fanboy, Payback, I- I should send out a message.”
“I will!” You lunge for your own phone, digging in your back pocket with suspicious urgency, “Uh, I’ll let everyone know, you just- just rest.”
“Okay,” Bradley hesitates for only a second, letting his grip go loose around his phone so that it falls back to the bed.
He seems content to let you do it, if only a little deterred by your insistence. But you’ll play the part of the fussy girlfriend, not wanting her injured love to work harder than he has to.
Nick and Pete take the time that you’re creating a group thread to question Bradley more on his memories, and every answer he gives sets your heart on edge. Your fingers feel numb as you type out ‘Rooster’s stable now, he has a mild concussion and a few broken ribs, but the doctors say he’ll recover fully. His memories are a little hazy from the past few weeks but apparently those will be back soon. I’ll send you any updates we get.’
Before anyone even has a chance to reply, you set the thread on silent. You can’t bear even getting a notification that the message can’t be sent, because you’re sure Bradley’s team aren’t too fond of you right now, and you wouldn’t be surprised if they’d blocked you in solidarity for their friend. But Bradley hadn’t even told his mom, would he have told his team? Would he even need to? Or would they notice the circles beneath his eyes worsening, the stubble adorning his cheeks from a lack of motivation to do anything productive? Or, maybe even worse, would they have seen him with another girl hanging off of his arm at a bar? Would they have caught him out to lunch with a woman and figured it out themselves?
“Hey,” Bradley rasps, effectively breaking your zoned-out worry spiral. Your eyes don’t lose their intensity but they focus on his pale face, and he offers you a weak smile, “Anyone respond?”
“Always the attention seeker,” Nick laughs, creating a distraction so perfect that you don’t bother checking the text to answer Bradley. “Should we tell ‘em to bring flowers too, Brad?”
“Shut up,” Bradley’s voice is far too quiet to be menacing, but it’s the type of teasing he always engages in with his old man, “When you were in the hospital you said I had to draw you one picture a day or you’d think I didn’t love you.”
“And I only got fifteen out of eighteen,” If Goose is capable of a withering stare, it’s what’s directed at Bradley now, “I can’t believe I bought a Bronco for a kid who doesn’t love me.”
“Alright, you two,” Carole swats at her husband’s arm, “Cut it out, don’t overwhelm him.”
“His heart’s beatin’ real fast,” Nick snickers, “But that’s probably ‘cause Miss Mitchell is doting all over him.”
The attention’s back on you, and it means Bradley’s waiting to hear your response. You dry swallow after sending Nick a good-natured eye-roll, trying to act like your heart isn’t beating ten times faster than Bradley’s.
Miraculously, nothing awful awaits you in the group chat. There’s no error messages, no scolding, no pledges of hatred for you, and it makes you think that you really might be able to get away with this for a while. Carole won’t tell, and that doctor said Bradley might not retain his memories for weeks. It’s like everyone has hit undo on what might be your biggest mistake in life, and you don’t know how to take the opportunity.
“Bob says he hopes you recover soon,” You push the panicked fog out of your head, reading in a low voice, “Hangman says he’s gonna give you flying lessons when you get back so that you,” You snort softly, “Get the hang of it, and to that, he is receiving a barrage of middle finger emojis.”
Rooster lets out a laugh, one that’s genuine and thick from his chest. It’s unlike his voice has been so far, it’s not fractured or achy, and the sound warms your heart. Some of the sickly despair that’s been coating your heart like globs of poison dries up, and you almost feel normal again when you slide your hand into his. He holds your back, and it’s like nothing’s ever happened.
You have your Bradley back; the only question is for how long.
Lunch is a sorry state of affairs for Bradley. His tray consists of chicken and gravy that runs into his mashed potatoes, and the jello they give him has a layer of cherry red liquid pooling overtop. You and Carole take turns spoon-feeding the man, giving each other a chance to mow through your sandwiches between bites.
Your dad watches out for the doctors while you sneak Bradley some of your sandwich. It’s cafeteria turkey, and honestly you’d rather go for the chicken on his plate, but he hums gratefully at the spread of mayonnaise and mustard on the bread.
“Thanks, babydoll.” He croons, a smear of mashed potatoes in his mustache that you wipe away with watery eyes at the nickname. He puckers his lips to kiss at your thumb and it’s like you’re at home on his birthday, feeding him in bed and stealing kisses between bites.
Bradley’s eyes start to droop halfway through his watery jello, and your dad stands, brushing sandwich crumbs off of his jeans.
“Alright, buddy,” He squeezes Bradley’s foot reassuringly, “I’ll head out. Probably best to let you sleep. Get some rest, and make her give us updates,” He narrows his eyes at you, accusatory, “I know you’ll be too wrapped up in him to remember we exist, but take some time away from his lips to tell me if he’s still breathing out of ‘em, m’kay?”
“Don’t be makin’ out too much, “Nick goads, standing when Carole grabs his hand and does herself, “His heart rate’ll skyrocket and the nurse is gonna think he’s havin’ a heart attack!”
‘Yes, yes, they love each other very much,” Carole hums, leaning down to kiss Bradley’s forehead. He leans into it but his hand stays in yours, and you gladly accept the same gesture from the woman on your cheek, “Let’s leave him be, okay? Brad, I’m coming back tomorrow morning,” She promises, “Your dad and Pete have some work to do in the backyard, but they’ll join us after lunch.”
The men don’t seem to have known about this yard work until now, and they share equally exasperated groans.
“And I’ll be here,” You throw in, meeting Carole’s appreciative gaze, “I’ll stay until they throw me out.”
“You could always handcuff yourself to the bed,” Your dad hums, and you pointedly ignore Goose’s comment about the pair of handcuffs you ‘probably keep in your nightstand.’ It gets him a sharp smack upside the head from your dad, and you’re sure Nick will choose a better audience next time.
“We love you,” Carole promises, squeezing Bradley’s arm as he bids her goodbye, “We’ll see you tomorrow, baby!”
“Love you,” Bradley hums, voice less gruff than before now that he’s used it again, “See you tomorrow.”
The entire time he’s been awake, he hasn’t let go of your hand. He turns to you with those sleepy eyes of his, big and brown and begging for a kiss. You lean in before you can stop yourself, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.
His heart rate picks up.
You laugh against his mouth at the increased beeping, and he’s barely sheepish as he nudges his nose against your own. You feel like you’re loving on borrowed time, like any second now he’ll be slammed with the memory of you breaking his heart, stomping all over it like it hadn’t been yours for the past 20 years - maybe all of your life.
“I love you,” He murmurs, squeezing your hand, “Y/N, I- I love you so much. I don’t remember anything,” He’s slurring his words slightly with fatigue, and you kiss the corner of his mouth as he speaks, “But I know you could have lost me forever, and I’m sure it wasn’t easy to handle.”
He has no idea how true his words are. Of course, you’d nearly lost his life to the crash. But two weeks earlier, you’d lost his touch, his voice, his gaze, his love, and you’re grateful the tears that line your eyes look natural.
“Mhm,” You nod, sniffling, “It was- it was hard, Brad.” You admit, thinking back to the night you’d left. You’d checked into a shitty motel for the night, and you’d cried yourself sick in the shower. Even after your stomach was emptied you couldn’t bring yourself to eat for two days afterwards, and you’d only given into the mini fridge after nearly passing out. Your days were long and spent regretting your decision, wondering if you’d ever be happy without him by your side, and worrying that he might be able to.
“I just keep wanting to do it over,” You gush, feeling his hand tighten around your own as you sob, “I- I wanted to take it back, to-” You swallow a sob, remembering your lines, “-to stop you from going to work. If I’d just made you stay…” Your face crumples with a gush of tears you aren’t able to hold back, and you give up on speaking for now.
“Hey, it’s not your fault,” Bradley hums, kissing the space between your nose and your cheek. It’s all he can reach from the way you’re sobbing into his pillow, and you’re thankful for the comfort you might not be able to get soon.
“You couldn’t have changed anything,” He promises, and you nestle your head into his own to absorb his soothing voice, “My plane was still the one with the defect, baby. I would have gone down tomorrow if not today. ‘S only a matter of time.”
A wave of sickness washes over you at his choice of words, and you nod, trying to regain a grip. You lift yourself up from the pillow, neck aching as you crane it to kiss his chin. He smiles at you, his eyes so genuine and sweet that it makes you want to lose your lunch; it’s an expression you don’t deserve anymore, even if you long for it. It’s only a matter of time before he remembers everything, and you don’t know what you’ll do if he doesn’t want you anymore.
“You’re tired,” You hum, and he nods against the pillow, “Sleep, baby. You need rest.” You sniffle, wiping away a tear from your eye more forcefully than you need to. You try to lean back in your chair but Bradley stiffens, and feel him tighten his grip on your hand.
“Please don’t leave me,” He begs, and more of that nausea comes rolling in. They’re the exact words he’d whimpered just next to your ear two weeks ago, keeping the door closed with one hand while the other wound around your waist. Then, you’d wormed your way out of his grip, ripping the door open despite his efforts to stop you and running off to your car. Now though, you meet his eyes, scared and desperate and lost, and you nod, scooting forwards to lay your head on his chest.
“I’ll stay,” You promise, and he raises a hand to brace it against your cheek. You turn your head to kiss his palm, and he strokes a thumb over your face, “I’ll stay, Bradley, I promise.”
The nap that you take on Bradley’s chest is the best sleep you’ve had since you left. Being in his embrace once more practically erases your undereye circles, and it takes you a few seconds after you wake up to remember that anything is out of the ordinary in the first place. Then it all comes flooding back, and you cycle through each stage of grief respectively while still slumped onto the bed. Then you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder, and you realize that Bradley’s nurse has shaken you awake.
“Hi,” The man smiles down at you, “Sorry to interrupt. I’m sure you didn’t want to wake up.”
“Oh,” You laugh hesitantly, slipping out from beneath Bradley’s hand and wiping away a slight glob of drool that had accumulated around the corner of your mouth, “No, no, it’s okay. What time is it?”
“Dinnertime,” Another nurse chimes from by the door, carrying another tray of meat and potatoes for Bradley, “Around six-thirty, Miss Mitchell.”
“You’re welcome to eat here with him,” The first nurse informs you, “But you’ll have to get something from the cafeteria, or order in. And visiting hours end at eight,” He levels you with a sympathetic smile, “But if you’ve got one bite left I won’t kick you out.”
“Thank you,” You chuckle wearily, your voice barely thickened with tears, “I appreciate that. Bradley,” You hum, squeezing his hand and stroking your free one through his hair, “Wake up, baby. They brought you some dinner.”
He comes to groggy, and you don’t blame him. He blinks a few times, then recognition washes over his face as he remembers why he’s there, and hopefully nothing else.
The nurses get busy with moving his bed, pressing buttons on the little remote strapped to the side until he’s inclined enough to eat his meal. The tray hooks into the sides of the bed so that he doesn’t have to hold anything, but you take his fork for him anyways, leaving his hands completely free.
“Thank you,” You nod gratefully at the nurses when they retreat for the door, a smear of mashed potatoes already gathered on the utensil in your hand. Bradley’s happy to let you feed him, humming at the taste of the beef they’ve given him.
“Better than the chicken,” He hums, his voice gaining back a bit of its grating quality from earlier. He’s usually rough-voiced after a nap, so you don’t worry too much about it. Typically you indulge in his raspy morning voice, but now it seems insensitive.
“Good,” You croon, scooping mashed potatoes and gravy onto a bite of the beef, “And it doesn’t bother your stomach?”
“What’s there to upset it, salt?” He grumbles around a mouthful, “Barely tastes like anything.”
“Sorry, Brad,” You hum, stroking a stray strand of caramel colored hair back into place, “I’m not supposed to feed you anything else, though.”
“I know,” He relents, lips puckering to kiss your wrist instead of wrapping around the spoon in your hand, “Not your fault, baby. But,” He rears back to takes the bite, chewing thoughtfully while you wait for his next sentence, “Can you bring me cookies tomorrow?”
You laugh, trying to keep it quiet in the slowly darkening hospital room. There’s no one around, and the door is closed, but his voice isn’t loud and you don’t want to overpower him.
“I just said I wasn’t allowed to feed you anything else,” You roll your eyes affectionately, a teasing gesture you thought you’d never be able to do with the man anymore, “What makes you think I’d bring you cookies?”
“Um, ‘cause you love me?” Bradley drawls, voice finally rising to a healthy volume. Maybe it’s the food in his stomach, or maybe it’s a switch that was suddenly flipped in his chest, but he sounds like himself again.
His words sober your fantasy intoxication, and you smile sadly at him where he lays in his bed. You set the fork down to lay your hand over his cheek, your palm soaking in the warmth of his skin that’s newly returned.
“I do love you,” You promise, leaning in to kiss him. You have to lean over his plate to do so, and you’ll worry later about any potential gravy stains on your shirt. You go slow and gentle, worried that he’ll push you away for reasons he doesn’t remember yet. But he doesn’t. In fact, when you pull away to give him some air, he catches your wrist in a surprising display of agility for his weakened muscles, and you freeze in place.
“I’m sorry,” He murmurs, mustache shifting slightly with his apology, “I can’t stop thinking about you getting that call. I never-” His voice cracks, “I never wanted you to go through that.”
“Me neither,” You feel tears pricking at your eyes again, the same that are shining in Bradley’s, “But you don’t have to be sorry. None of this was your fault, and what matters is that you’re okay now. I have you back, Bradley, I- I didn’t lose you.”
“You’ll never lose me,” He vows, and your lips sting with the force of your bite to repress a sob.
He lifts his head from his pillow, the first time he’s done it since waking up. He kisses your temple as you try not to cry, lips dotting staccato kisses against your skin as you tremble slightly.
“I promise, baby,” He hums softly into your skin as his hand comes up to hug you, “You won’t lose me.”
“I don’t want to lose you,” You cry, your fist gripping his hospital gown desperately. You want to believe him but it’s not even really Bradley talking, it’s three-weeks-ago Bradley that doesn’t remember you walking out of his life for self-preservation. It’s Bradley that doesn’t know the worst of you yet, but who could remember at any moment and cast you away.
“You won’t, I promise.” He coos, stroking up and down your back. You feel silly, accepting comfort from a hospital patient who went down in a fighter jet less than 24 hours ago, but you feel even sillier that it's the same man you’d torn to shreds days prior. But he’s comforting you, he’s rubbing your back, he’s kissing your face, and he’s promising you that you’ll never lose him, so you let him, because you love hearing him lie, even if he doesn't know he's doing it.
“You promise?” You look up at him with watery eyes that blur out his face, but you see him nod. It’s unfair to ask, not when he doesn’t have the knowledge to truly promise. He cranes his neck forwards to bump noses with you, letting you cry against his skin.
“I do, honey.” He nods, holding you close like you’d never left at all, “I promise.”
Going from crying into each other’s embraces back to eating bland mashed potatoes is hard, but you ease Bradley into it with a bite of granola bar you’d found in your purse. He’s grateful for something with flavor, and you’re glad to finally be rid of the half-eaten snack.
“Oatmeal raisin cookies, please,” Bradley begs as he chews the snack, going as far as to bat his pretty lashes at you, brown eyes shiny with hope.
You scoff, wiping a tear away from your face with a fond, albeit trembling smile, “Okay, Brad. Oatmeal raisin.”
“You’re the best,’ He hums, grinning with a mouthful of oats and chocolate. You check your phone to find that you’ve only got twenty minutes left until visiting hours are over, and your eyes dim as you glance back up at him.
“I have to go soon,” You lament, “Visiting hours are over in twenty.”
His face fades from its pretty smile, some of the newfound color draining from his skin once more. You’re sure he’ll have a nightmare tonight, something about jet crashes and dying alone, and you hate leaving him here so vulnerable.
“I’m sorry, baby,” You sniffle, squeezing his hand, “They open back up at 8 tomorrow, so as soon as I make those cookies I’ll be back, I promise.”
“I know,” He nods, raising your intertwined hands to kiss at your wrist, “It’s okay. Not your fault.”
“I’d stay overnight if I could.”
“I’d sneak you into my bed,” Bradley grins sadly, “S’alright, baby, just get a good night’s sleep. You deserve it after today.”
“You too,” You squeeze his hand, smiling sweetly at him, “And if you have a nightmare, text me, and I’ll crawl through the window, ‘promise.”
He laughs again, and now that he’s got most of his strength back it’s a normal sound. It’s not weak, it’s not subdued, it’s perfect. It’s Bradley.
“I’d like to see you try,” He teases, and you wipe a smear of chocolate off of his lower lip, remembering the first time you’d ever done that with a fond smile.
“I’m on the sixth floor.” He reminds you, and you shrug, sucking the chocolate off of your finger.
“Meh,” You crumble up the granola bar wrapper in your fist, “I could scale that easy.”
“Oh, really? Yeah, I bet you could,” Bradley chuckles, “You’re Spider-Man, suddenly? Sticking to walls? I must have forgotten your transformation.”
“Yeah, you did,” You grin with a laugh, “Actually, while I rushed over here to see you, a truck full of radioactive spiders crashed, and I got bitten by one. You’ve missed a lot, Brad.”
“Right,” Bradley’s brows raise, eyes alight with amusement, “Those radioactive spider trucks are a real nuisance, I hear.”
Giggling sweetly with him feels normal. The kind of normal you crave, the kind that isn’t settled for, but yearned for. And you’re clinging to it, pushing the truth out of your mind and playing the part perfectly.
A knock on the door interrupts your gigglefest and you turn in time to see the nurse from before entering, a bittersweet smile on his face.
“I’m supposed to kick you out,” He jokes, holding Bradley’s chart, “And you’re free to sleep whenever, Mr. Bradshaw, we don’t need to conduct any more tests tonight. You’re just here to be monitored."
“Alright,” Bradley nods and you stand, still clasping his hand in yours. The doctor busies himself with straightening up the chairs around the bed, and you take the privacy he so kindly grants you.
“Sleep good,” You recite your pre-bedtime deployment sendoff to Bradley, the phrase having gathered dust in the back of your head since his last overseas assignment, “Sweet dreams, and call me when you can.”
“I will,” Bradley leans up to kiss you, going for your lips, then your cheek, then your chin, “You too, baby. Get some rest. I’m okay, I promise.”
“Yeah,” You beam down at him, smoothing his hair away from his forehead, “You’re okay, Brad.”
"See you tomorrow!" He calls as you leave, and you turn to nod.
"See you tomorrow, baby." You promise once more, hand on the door handle, "Goodnight."
“Sleep well, Mr. Bradshaw,” The nurse bids Bradley goodbye with a smile and a nod as you trail out behind him, and at the click of the door behind the two of you, it’s like you’re the recovering amnesia patient. Now that Bradley’s not there anymore, not smiling at you, not telling you he loves you, it’s like you can’t be sure of anything, like you’re still that imposter you’d been when you’d first stepped in. You come to the sickening realization, only after the fact, that you'd loved lying to Bradley, and it makes you feel worse. Your reverie is shattered, and the nurse beside you notices your shaky breathing as you trail down the hallway.
“Miss, are you okay?” His brows furrow in concern, and you nod.
“Yeah, just-” You smooth your hands down your pants, your palms sweaty, “It’s a lot. Being in there, seeing him like- like that. I guess I wasn’t prepared.”
“No one is,” The nurse smiles sympathetically at you, leading you to an elevator, “But he’s right, Miss Mitchell. He’ll be alright. And hopefully, his memories will restore themselves overnight. There’s a good chance he’ll wake up remembering it all.”
You’re sure that was meant to soothe you, but it’s only sent more nausea rolling through your body. You nod, forcing a smile as the doors shut between you, “Thank you, Nurse.”
Once the doors shut, you want to burst into tears. You don’t want the reception desk to see that, though, so you rush through the motions of leaving, practically running to your car. Once you’re safely inside the floodgates open, and you’re surprised you don’t trigger the horn from how hard you’re sobbing against the steering wheel.
You try to channel Bradley’s voice, ‘I promise baby, you won't lose me.’ but it makes things worse, it piles guilt on top of your sickness and makes you want to run away again. Because he’d promised you that he’d never leave you, not that he’d ever let you come back if you’d left him. And that’s what you’re worried about now.
Running away hadn’t stopped anything bad from happening, it just made you feel worse when bad things did happen. Thankful for your second chance, you swear to yourself in the stuffy silence of your car that you’ll do anything to fix this, and that you’re not going to fuck this up again because you’re scared. Love is scary, giving yourself completely to another person is scary, but Bradley’s always been good at soothing your fears, and there’s no one you’d rather give yourself to.
You steel yourself as you prepare to drive back to your motel, but second-guess it when you remember that Bradley has his phone with him. You have each other shared on Find My Friends, and he doesn’t normally check it unless he’s worried about your safety, but you’re paranoid that he’ll find your pin at a crappy motel and know something is wrong. So you punch in Bradley’s address instead, the one you used to share with him, still labeled as ‘home’, and set off.
The drive looks familiar in no time, and it reminds you of how much you’d missed it. The big oak tree on your neighbor’s lawn, the flag perpetually at half-mast because the man across the street fell while adjusting it and never fixed it, the tricycle on the sidewalk beside your front door that the toddler next door always seemed to leave on your walkway. You check the mail and feel something stabbing at your chest when your name is on one of the letters, and your house key is cold with disuse as you slide it into the slot.
You hesitate when the doorknob turns beneath your fingers. Walking into Bradley’s space will tell you exactly how he feels about what happened between you. There’s either going to be empty bottles strewn everywhere with pictures laying around covered in tear stains, or there’s going to be a hot pink bra in his bed, and a new woman’s makeup kit in his bathroom. Hell, maybe she’ll even still be there, maybe you’re about to walk in on your replacement.
But the promise you’d made to yourself in the car wasn’t for show, and you turn the knob after taking a deep breath, stepping into the darkened home.
You call out an uncertain ‘hello?’ into the place, waiting with bated breath for a woman’s voice to respond. But it never does, and you flick the light on beside the door.
You’d been right with one of your guesses.
It’s messy. Not exactly the outwardly disastrous type of messy you’d imagined earlier, but knowing all of the little things about Bradley means that you know he’s let himself go over the past two weeks. His running shoes are gathering dust by the door, which seems to suggest that he’s been lazing in bed just like you have. The living room is pristine, the pillows all arranged the way you set it up that Bradley doesn’t care to replicate, and you wonder if he’s sat on the couch at all the entire time since you’ve been gone. There’s no grocery list on the fridge and upon further inspection, the appliance is close to empty, one lonely beer left alongside ketchup, mustard, and a rotting head of lettuce. Unless he was eating the worst burgers known to man, you don’t think he’s been eating anything from the kitchen. Your heart aches for Bradley; you hope he’s been ordering food in.
Walking through the space is like revisiting a crime scene as the killer. Everything here is because of you, the pictures stripped from the walls are gone because of you, the lonely toothbrush in the dual holder is because of you, the neatly made side of the bed with its messy counterpart is because of you.
You realize that it’s your side that’s slept on, Bradley’s still tucked neatly in place, unused. You spot a red covering over your pillow, reaching for it and finding it to be an old t-shirt of yours that Bradley had raided your dresser drawers for. It’s one he’d bought you at a tourist trap on your vacation a few years ago, and it was your favorite to lounge in. You notice a dark spot on the fabric and only then realize that you’re crying, that it’s a tear that had fallen from your eye. Then it’s like everything hits you all at once, and you sink onto the mattress clutching the pillow. It smells like Bradley, and you know he’s been clinging to it every night, a thought that solidifies your sneaking suspicion that you might be the worst person on the planet.
You curl up and cry there, you don’t know for how long. All you can do is sob, soak your pillow with tears that you thought you were out of, clutch the bedsheets like they’ll reveal Bradley, hidden underneath and eager for a cuddle. This bed feels as empty as the motel’s had, maybe even emptier, because you’ve never slept in it away from Bradley. When he’s on deployment you always have a sweatshirt of his and a picture of him tucked under the pillow, but you know it won’t be there now. Now you’re alone, really alone.
Your eyes droop and you know you need sleep, especially if you’re going to wake up early to make Bradley cookies in time for visiting hours to start. But you can’t bring yourself to sleep without the picture of him under his pillow, so you stumble out of bed to fetch it from your box of memories.
Your fingers close around the slightly wrinkled photo, a shot of you in a gown and Bradley in a suit. It’s one you’d taken yourself at your graduation, high school turned college sweethearts. He had wanted admission into the Naval Academy, but in order to spend more time with you, you’d enrolled together at a university. It’s your favorite photo to have with you, and you reach out to Bradley’s pillow to slide it underneath. Upon lifting the pillow, you find a stack of pictures already there. Each one of you, most with Bradley pictured in them too. They only make you cry harder, and you recognize some as the inserts of the picture frames that had been taken down from the hallway.
It looks like Bradley hoarded photos of you, and some are stiff and stained with tears. The sight is something out of a movie, a dramatic indication of the inner turmoil of its main character. You see a shot of your silhouettes together, faces darkened by the sun streaming in behind you. You’re kissing on the beach, and without paying much mind to the structural integrity of the photo, you clutch it to your chest.
You’re a wreck. You just want your Bradley back, but your Bradley isn’t yours anymore. You want three-weeks-ago Bradley back, the one who you didn’t run away from. But he’ll probably have his memories back by tomorrow, and there’s no telling if he’d even want you to visit again. Looking at the sorry state of his apartment, you know he misses you, but whether he wants you back is another question altogether. All you can do is wait and worry, and worry you do. As you sob and heave in the bed, your brain shuts down, and eventually you drift into a dreamless, unpleasant sleep, nose still buried in your shirt that smells like Bradley.
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