Page 99 of A Wish for Us

My eyes drifted around the room. And my heart stuttered when my gaze fell on my guitar in the corner. The keyboard that stood against the wall. The violin that lay on the sofa. This time it wasn’t just a simple tear that tracked down my cheek; it was a torrent.

“He played for you every day.” My eyes moved to the doorway. My stomach fell when I saw Easton. His hair was a mess, and I could see the anxiety on his face. “Easton,” I mouthed, emotion stealing whatever voice I had managed to salvage since I’d awoken.

Easton walked into the room, his fingers brushing over the keyboard. His eyes were shining. “He hasn’t been to school. Just brought these the day after you were brought in. And he played for you all day every day. Papa had to force him to eat and sleep. Then when he had, he was back here, playing for you.” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it, Bonn.” Easton ran his hand down his face. He looked tired. So tired. Guilt assaulted me. “He’s talented, sis. I’ll give him that.” He stared at the instruments, lost inthought. “There was this one piece he kept playing on the keyboard…” He huffed a laugh. “Kept making Mama cry.”

My fight song.

I knew it without any further explanation. I knew that even as I lay unconscious, my heart would have heard it too.

Easton came to stand beside me. His gaze dropped, but after a few seconds, his hand threaded into mine. It crushed me to see him so hurt. His bandages were still on his wrists, and I wanted nothing more than to leap from the bed and tell him I was cured. “Hey, sis,” he whispered, voice broken.

“Hey, you.”

My hand shook. So did his. Easton sat down on the bed. My face crumbled when I saw tears flooding his face. “Thought I’d lost you, Bonn,” he said hoarsely. I held on to him as tightly as I could.

“Not yet…” I said and offered what smile I could. Easton stared out the window. “I’m gonna make it,” I forced out. Easton nodded, and I ran my finger over his bandage. “I’ll live for us both…”

Easton ducked his head, his long, blond hair hiding his face. I held him tight as he just sat there with me. Footsteps hurried down the hallway; then my mama burst into the room, my papa following behind. They both hugged me as best they could. When they moved back, I saw Cromwell in the doorway, and despite the fact that my parents were speaking to me, he was all I could see.

He wasmyviolet blue.

My favorite-ever note.

The doctor came and checked on me. My heart cracked just that little bit more when he told me I was here to stay. That there would be no going home. And that I was now on the top of the heart donor list. It inspired both terror and hope in me. Hope that I may actually get a heart. And terror as my life was now on a countdown, an hourglass quickly losing sand. But I didn’t ask how long I had. I didn’t want to know from the doctor. I didn’t want to hear things like that delivered from his clinical mouth.

I wanted to hear it from someone I loved.

For a day I fought with tiredness, the residual effects of the induced coma. I thought I was dreaming. My eyes were shut, and I could hear themost beautiful music playing. In fact, I could’ve been fooled into thinking I was in heaven. But then I opened my eyes and saw the source of the music. Cromwell sat at the keyboard, his hands hypnotizing as he played my song. I listened, my heart listened, as the notes I’d inspired floated into the air and blanketed me in a cocoon. I listened until he played the very last note.

And when he turned, I simply held out my hand. Cromwell smiled, and I melted into the bed. He had rolled his sweater up to his forearms, showing off his tattoos. Today, his knit sweater was white. He looked beautiful. Cromwell went to sit on the chair beside me. But I shook my head. He slipped his hand in mine and perched on the edge of the bed. But that wasn’t enough either. I shifted my body, gritting my teeth at the pain it caused.

“Baby, no,” he said, but I smiled when I saw there was now enough room for him to lie down. He shook his head, but I could see the hint of a smile on his lips too.

“Lie down…please.” Cromwell lay on the bed. The doors of my room were shut, and frankly, even if they weren’t I wouldn’t have cared.

Cromwell’s large body felt so perfect next to mine. And for the first time since I’d woken up, I felt warm. I felt safe. Beside Cromwell, I was complete.

“My song,” I managed to whisper, my throat still sore from the ventilator’s tube.

Cromwell laid his head on the pillow beside me. “Your song.” For a brief moment I felt a sense of utter peace. Until I fought to breathe, and I realized I couldn’t keep up the feeling for long.

I leaned closer to Cromwell, using his scent and frame for courage. When I met his eyes, I found him already watching me. I swallowed. “How long?” The minute the question was out, I thought I felt my heart pounding.

Cromwell paled as the words left my mouth. “Baby.” He shook his head. I held his hand tighter.

“Please…I have to know.”

Cromwell shut his eyes. “No more than a week,” he whispered. I’d thought his words would wound me. I’d thought if the answer was only a short amount of time, it would cripple me. Instead, a strange sense of calm beset me.A week…

I nodded my head. Cromwell’s hand this time tightened in mine. It washe who needed the support. Not me. “They’ll get you a heart.” He closed his eyes and kissed my hand. “I know it.”

But I knew different.

It was funny. After years of praying a heart would come, after wish after wish that I would be healed, now I was here. At the end. Days away from my tired heart being unable to beat once more, it felt freeing to just accept it. To stop the prayers. To stop the wishes. And to embrace the time I had left with the people I loved.

I took a deep breath. “You must look after Easton for me.”

Cromwell stilled. He shook his head, fighting where I was taking the conversation. “Don’t, baby. Don’t talk like this.”