Shadows of Recovery (Everhart Family #3)

Chapter 21

Twenty-One

T he ICU room was bathed in the early morning sunlight filtering through the blinds, casting soft patterns on the floor. Tristan stood by Sophie’s bedside, his heart pounding with a mixture of hope and anxiety. It had been three long weeks since the trauma, weeks of uncertainty and waiting. In the last week, her breathing leveled off, and they removed the breathing tube.

Her arms and legs flailed, and she moaned. But now, as he watched her eyelids flutter and her fingers twitch, he knew she was finally waking up.

“Sophie?” Tristan’s voice was gentle, filled with cautious optimism. He leaned in closer, his face inches from hers. “Sophie, can you hear me?”

Her eyelids slowly lifted, revealing hazel eyes that blinked in confusion. She looked around the room, her gaze finally settling on him. “Tris…tan?” Her voice was weak, but it was enough to send a wave of relief through him.

“Yes, sweetheart, it’s me.” A smile broke across his face. “You’re safe, Sophie. You’re in the ICU at Waverly Junction Community Hospital.”

Sophie frowned, her brow furrowing. “I... I remember the hospital. Men with guns...” She shook her head slightly. “An explosion.” The heart monitor alarmed, beeping rapidly.

“Shh, nice slow breaths,” Tristan soothed, his hand gently squeezing hers. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. You were very brave, Sophie.”

Tears welled up in her eyes as the reality of her situation sank in. “How long have I been here?”

“A few weeks,” Tristan replied. “It’s March seventh.”

She nodded weakly, her eyes closing briefly before opening again. “I’m so thirsty,” she whispered.

Tristan reached for the bedside table, where a pitcher of water and a plastic cup sat. He poured a small amount of water into the cup, then carefully placed a straw inside and brought it to her lips. “Here, drink slowly,” he instructed, his voice tender.

Sophie sipped the water, her eyes closing in relief as the cool liquid soothed her parched throat. When she had enough, Tristan set the glass down and caressed her cheek.

Her stomach growled softly, and she managed a weak smile. “I think I’m hungry.”

Tristan chuckled. “I thought you might be. Let me get you something to eat.” He typed a text message on his phone. A nursing assistant walked into the room a few minutes later with a tray of food, which he placed on her bedside table, revealing a bowl of broth, some tea, and some Jello.

“Let’s start with the soup,” he suggested, sitting down beside her. He dipped a spoon into the bowl, blowing on it gently to cool it down before bringing it to her lips. “Open wide.”

Sophie obeyed and swallowed carefully, her eyes closing in appreciation. “That’s good,” she murmured.

Tristan smiled, feeding her another spoonful. “I’m glad you like it. Just take your time.”

As he continued to feed her, Sophie watched him carefully. “You’ve been here the whole time, haven’t you?”

Tristan met her gaze, his eyes filled with a depth of emotion. “Me, or your family. You weren’t ever left alone.”

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“You don’t have to thank me.” His hand brushed against her cheek. “I’m so glad you’re awake.” He resisted his desire to lift her frail body into his arms and cradle her.

As they sat together in the quiet room, Tristan continued to feed her, each spoonful a small victory, a step toward recovery.

* * *

Sophie blinked awake after a nap, the soft beeping of machines around her slowly coming into focus. Her head throbbed, a dull ache pulsing behind her eyes. Instinctively, she raised her hand to her head, only to freeze as her fingers brushed against a rough bandage. Panic flared in her chest as she pressed down, feeling the uneven patches where her hair had once been thick and soft.

“What… what happened?” her voice was barely a whisper, cracked and dry.

Tristan leaned forward, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief and concern. He gently took her hand away from her head, cradling it between his own. “You had a subdural hematoma,” he explained softly.

Her eyes widened. “But… my hair…?”

He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “James was visiting from New York when it happened. He operated right away. He had to shave part of your hair to do the surgery, but I promise it will grow back. All of it.”

Sophie swallowed, trying to absorb everything he was saying. “I’m… I’m okay now?”

“You’re okay now,” Tristan said. “The surgery was successful. You’re going to be just fine. It’s just going to take a little time to heal, that’s all. Do you need something for your headache?”

She nodded slowly, relief mingling with the lingering fear. Tristan reached up to gently brush a stray tear from her cheek, his touch light and comforting.

“You’re strong, Sophie,” he murmured. “And we’ll get through this together. The rest of your hair will grow back, and so will your strength. I promise.”

“Okay.” Sophie managed a small, shaky smile.

As the days passed, Sophie grew stronger, and as her awareness slowly returned, she became acutely conscious of the strange, tight sensation across her face. Her fingers gingerly traced the lines of steri-strips covering her cheeks and nose, the rough texture unfamiliar and unsettling. Lowering her hand, she felt the thick bandages wrapped around her abdomen, the dull ache beneath them hinting at something more serious.

“What… what happened?” she asked, her voice weak and hoarse.

Tristan’s expression was calm but serious as he took her hand in his again, squeezing it gently, his eyes filled with a quiet strength. “You were attacked,” he said simply, his voice steady. “You were punched… hard. The force fractured some of the bones in your face.”

Sophie’s breath hitched, her mind racing as she tried to process his words. “My face…?”

“There were fractures,” Tristan confirmed in an even and measured tone. “But the doctors fixed them. You’ll heal, Sophie.”

She nodded slowly, feeling the bandages on her abdomen again, a deeper concern rising in her chest. “And… my stomach? Why…?”

Tristan hesitated for the briefest moment, then answered, “Your spleen was ruptured. They had to remove it.”

Sophie closed her eyes, the reality of the situation sinking in. “So, I don’t have a spleen anymore?”

“No,” his grip on her hand tightened slightly, “but you can live without it.”

She opened her eyes, searching his face for any sign of doubt or fear. But all she saw was calm resolve, a quiet determination that steadied her own wavering heart. She nodded, the simple, direct answers grounding her in the moment.

She took a deep breath, feeling the pain but also the strength in Tristan’s presence beside her. “Thank you.” Her gratitude for his honesty and his unwavering support filled her heart.

“Always,” Tristan replied. “I’m right here with you, Sophie.”

* * *

One afternoon, as he read a favorite book aloud, Sophie interrupted him, “Tristan, can you tell me what happened? I need to know.”

Tristan paused, his heart aching for her. “Do you remember Damon Whitlock?”

Her brows furrowed. “The bar.”

“He and his men attacked the hospital. But law enforcement is going to make sure they pay for it.”

Sophie nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I remember bits and pieces. It’s all so jumbled.”

“It’s okay,” Tristan said softly. “Take your time. The memories will come.”

Sophie looked at him, her eyes filled with gratitude and love. “Do I want to remember?”

Tristan swallowed hard, leaned in and kissed her forehead. “I love you, Sophie.” He was grateful she didn’t flinch from his touch.

* * *

The night was still, the quiet enveloping Sophie like a thick, suffocating blanket. The soft, silvery glow of the moon filtered through the window, casting a gentle light across the sterile walls of her hospital room. The silence was almost too much to bear, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of fear and pain swirling inside her. She could feel Tristan's presence beside her, a steady anchor in her life.

She stirred, the discomfort pulling her from the thin veil of sleep she had managed to grasp. Her eyes fluttered open, and there he was, just as he had been every other night. His eyes were soft and tired, watching her with a mixture of concern and an unfathomable depth of care. For a fleeting moment, she felt a flicker of relief. He was here. He was real.

But then, like a dark cloud sweeping across the sky, the memories—or, rather, the gaps where memories should have been—came rushing back. A sense of dread washed over her, and the tears began to well up in her eyes, threatening to spill over.

Tristan noticed immediately. He always did. The pain in his eyes mirrored the ache in her heart. She didn’t need to say it, but the words came out anyway, small and broken. “Tristan… I don’t remember… I can’t remember what happened.”

The fear of the unknown, the terror of what her mind refused to reveal, was almost too much to bear. She saw it in his face too—the knowledge of what she had endured. Even in her fog of uncertainty, she knew he carried that burden too.

Without a word, he lowered the bed rail and moved to sit beside her. The moment his arms wrapped around her, she collapsed against him, her body trembling with the force of her silent sobs. She clung to him, needing his warmth, his strength, as if he were the only thing keeping her from falling apart entirely.

"It's okay, Sophie," he murmured into her hair, his voice a balm to her shattered nerves. But nothing felt okay. The fear grew louder with each passing second.

Her voice cracked as she finally let the words escape. “I don’t know what to do, Tristan. I’m so scared. And I can’t remember why.”

His hold on her tightened, a protective cocoon against the storm raging in her mind. “I know it’s hard. The memories will come on their own.”

It was the same thing she had heard him say to others countless times before, but it felt different now. He wasn’t just saying it to a patient. He was saying it to her, and that made all the difference.

She buried her face in his chest, the fabric of his shirt growing damp with her tears. “But what if I never get better? What if I’m always this scared?”

Gently, he lifted her chin, guiding her to meet his gaze. His eyes were filled with a quiet, unwavering determination. “You will get better, Sophie. It might take time, but you will heal.”

She searched his face, desperately trying to find the reassurance she needed. “Why are you so good to me, Tristan?”

His answer came without hesitation. “Because I love you. Because you deserve it. You’ve been through so much, and you’re still here, fighting. That takes incredible strength.”

The sobs that had racked her body began to slow, though the tremors lingered. “I just feel so broken,” she whispered, the words raw and honest.

“We all have our broken pieces.” His voice was soft yet filled with conviction. “But it’s those pieces that make us who we are. You’re not broken, Sophie. You’re just healing. And there are a lot of people in your life to help you put those pieces back together.”

She nodded, taking a deep, shaky breath as she tried to calm herself. The truth in his words seeped into her, offering a glimmer of hope she hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever.

Brushing a tear from her cheek, he added, “I’m not going anywhere.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, the simple gesture filled with a promise she desperately needed to believe.

As the night wore on, Sophie’s exhaustion finally took over. She fell into a fitful sleep, still clinging to Tristan, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a lullaby that soothed her frayed nerves. Even in her sleep, the fear lingered, but so did his presence, grounding her, reminding her she wasn’t alone.