The Long Awaited Sequel to the Beneath the Helmet is here:

BEYOND THE HELMET

Word Count: ~88K

Book 2 out of 3 ;)

Chapter One.

Two weeks. It’s been two weeks without hearing his sweet, soft voice utter “Char” or “baby.” Two weeks of hellish existence, where I’m forced to wander lost and inconsolable without the man who changed my entire world.

 I was discharged after one week and sent on my way with a leg cast and compression bindings around my broken ribs, but I never went home. I couldn’t. Instead, I stayed on the cot against the wall and parallel to Ben’s bed in his room.

The beeping monitors sing me a nightmarish lullaby around the clock as I watch him for any sign of movement. Every night, I kid myself into thinking I see a conscious muscle twitch, but the intubation tube controlling his breathing proves it’s only my imagination. I don’t sleep. At least, I don’t think I do. It’s hard to tell if I’m lucid dreaming and watching him in my sleep or if I’m awake at this point. The hours have melded together, like time no longer makes sense ever since the accident. Either from the drugs or the routine of our days, I’m not sure.

Each day after I wake up, I hobble to his bed, hold his hand and kiss his cheek, staying there until bedtime unless they take him away for surgery or testing. The rest of my days are spent talking with his parents and ignoring the dozens of calls from my mother. Joan and Koa do their best to include me like I’m already a part of the family, even though a small weight still lingers in my gut. They dissuade the guilt unknowingly each time they include me in the conversation and decisions with the doctors regarding Ben’s care and treat me like one of their own. Joan voluntarily goes to my follow-up appointments without me asking her to and Koa regularly gives me a side-glance with his eyebrows raised and his chin tilted down if I’m not touching my food. He tries to bring what little humor he can to the anxious monotony of our days so sometimes I’ll throw him a smirk for it.

We try to stay positive when we discuss Ben’s recovery, but there’s always a heavy weight hovering over us from the “what ifs.” What if the doctors are wrong about his diagnosis? What if he doesn’t make it out of this surgery or the next one? What if he suddenly declines? What if we lose him because his body won’t let him breathe on his own after they take the intubation tube out?

We never speak the questions aloud; too afraid we’ll seal the fate upon him. The same rules apply to anything regarding my mother and father. There’s no reason their energy should be allowed to enter the room where we’re all trying to heal from the pain they’ve caused.

Our local law enforcement’s investigation is ongoing. Fresh after the accident, they questioned us separately before splitting us into group interrogations. My mother and I were pulled into a separate room to ask us both about my father’s possible whereabouts and motives. Calm tears ran down her cheeks as she swore over and over she knew nothing. I, on the other hand, had nothing left to give besides muted responses and stoic expressions.

When the cops left us alone, however, I interrogated her myself, hoping she’d give me more than fake tears and lies, but it changed nothing. Well, except for dry cheeks and a screaming match. She continued to defend his actions, spouting lies and bullshit I could tell even she didn’t believe. Lies about him not doing it on purpose and being conned into the action, only running away for the time being until he’d come get us. No matter her daughter almost died because of it all. The woman dripped of delusion, further staining everything I once knew with confusion and hurt. I no longer claimed her as my mother. There was no longer any nostalgia when I reviewed my childhood memories and everything my parents and I did together. Maybe I dreamt it all, and it was all a facade in the first place…

A nurse taps her knuckle on the door before rolling in with her workstation on wheels.

“How are you today, Charlotte? Were you able to get any sleep last night?” She gives me a gentle smile and approaches the left side of Ben’s bed. There are three nurses who rotate through his care and each one asks me the same two questions every morning. And every day I lie and say, “I’m okay. I got a some,” while forcing a smile.

Joan walks into the room with Koa right behind her, holding a steaming cup of coffee and wearing a warm smile. She stands next to Ben on the other side of the bed while the nurse continues taking Ben’s vitals and strokes his cheek with her thumb.

“Good morning, baby. Today’s going to be a good day, isn’t it? You’re going to keep progressing and wake up soon, okay? We can’t wait to talk to you. We love you.” Joan bends over and gives him a forehead kiss before backing away to make room for Koa.

“Hey, bud. We need your help around the farm, so you can’t keep slacking off,” he chuckles low and soft, shaking his head. “Come back to us, okay? Love ya, bud.” Koa strokes his thumb over the bandages covering the road rash on his arm before stepping back himself. His watery gaze roves over his son as he grabs Joan’s hand and squeezes it.

We talk to him every day, all day, praying he can hear us like the doctors promised. Koa talks to him the least, fighting back tears as he cracks his usual jokes to keep things light. Joan mixes in generic information about her days, about things on the farm and about what they’ll do when he’s home. I talk to him the most because I just never leave. His parents go back to grab new clothes, including Ben’s for me to wear, and take care of things around the farm, while I stay by my man, wearing days old baggy shorts and sweatshirts which definitely need washed. I wear his clothes until they no longer smell like him and then change, because I’m afraid if I switch them too much and he doesn’t come back…

Well… I don’t want to risk forgetting what he smells like. Sometimes I wonder if the mint and leather scent is the only thing keeping me sane. It’s the only real sense keeping me grounded.

I talk to him about us. What I can’t wait for us to do together, how I can’t wait for our future, and how sorry I am about what my father did to him…to us.

I fight the lingering guilt in my gut every minute of every day, bearing the weight with no way to lift it. I confided in his parents once about my feelings, and even though they profusely assured me they weren’t upset with me and placed no blame in my direction; it did nothing to alleviate the weight at all. I needed Ben to tell me none of this was my fault and we were okay. I needed to hear Ben’s voice for those words to sink in and for them to be believed because he knew me better than I knew myself.

“His vitals look great. The doctor should be in shortly to talk with you all.”

We all perk up at once, our necks stretching to attention as the nurse walks out with her workstation. We’ve been waiting on news from the doctor for the last few days on if Ben can wake up soon. They’ve run more tests than we can count on him, but so far, all we get is “he’s stable” and “give it a couple more days”. We’re sick of waiting. We’re sick of no news and tests with no answers.

“Hello, Beltre family.” Butterflies erupt in my stomach when the doctor includes me under their last name. Light stains of various colors dot his otherwise stark white lab coat covering his loose navy-blue scrubs underneath. His hands catch on the coat opening as he shoves them in the front pockets of his pants. There’s something new and infectious in his wide grin today, further outlining the wrinkles sprinkling the corners of his eyes. The hope lying there elevates the mood in the room, somehow brightening the room.

“We’ve got great news for you today. Mr. Benjamin here will be waking up tomorrow.”

Needles travel along my throat, scratching and tightening it as tears trickle down my cheeks.

My man’s going to wake up. I get to talk to my baby tomorrow.

“Ben’s tests confirm he’s in a stable condition, and, thanks to the medically induced coma and the successive craniotomy, we’ve been able to treat his brain bleed. Due to the nature of his spinal injury, instead of the typical metal spine treatment, our clinic was able to perform a Vertebroplasty and Kyphoplasty on his C5, C6, and C7. Now, his wrist, elbow, and grip will have a bit more limited mobility, but with rehab, it should get back to what it was pre-accident. The road rash is healing nicely, his casted broken leg should regain full mobility and his shattered hip has been repaired with all the metal screws and plate fixings we could manage. Certain weather shifts will affect his movements, causing him some pain for the rest of his life, but a sore hip is better than no hip at all, right?” He chuckles and spreads another warm grin I can’t return.

My tears pick up their pace and coat my fingers curling into my gym shorts.

Thank God he’ll be able to ride again. This is already going to be such a tough journey for him, and I didn’t want to see him lose his lust for life because his passion was taken away.

His passion was almost taken away because of me.

I shake the thought away.

No. Because of my fucking piece of shit father.

“Charlotte.” Cold pressure lands on my leg. “It’s okay.” She sniffles and wipes a tear away with the inside corner of her red and black flannel shirt.

I nod, steeling myself for the question banging against my brain and sit up straighter.

“So, what do we need to do? Anything? Is there anything we should be prepared for when he wakes up?”

Joan fires off questions in her usual manner, moving on from the good news straight to the next steps. Dr. Bowman rocks on his toes and nods during her whole spiel, not showing the slightest sign of annoyance.

“There’s nothing you need to do right now, but there are things you should be prepared for.” His feet go still and he walks closer, dipping his chin. “When it’s time, we’ll gradually decrease the amount of sedative administration over the next twenty-four hours. It could take minutes, hours, or even a couple of days before he becomes conscious and responsive.”

My heart sinks.

Days?

“Do you know what time they’ll start the withdrawal?” Joan asks, taking another sip from her steaming cup of coffee.

I peek over at a blurry Koa sitting on the edge of the cracked dark blue leather hospital chair with his elbows resting on his thighs and fingers clasped together. His stare never leaves Ben’s bed. I focus back on my thighs, unable to take it.

            “I’ll check with the ICU team for their schedule, but I don’t see why we couldn’t start the decrease around seven A.M.” Joan squeezes my thigh and pats it before abandoning it for her own.

            “That’s great,” she replies, breathing a sigh of relief.

            “We’ll take the intubation tube and some of the IV’s out of him as well and monitor him closely to make sure he’s breathing on his own. You’ll be allowed in the room after we remove the tube, but during the prep and actual removal, you won’t be. Some patients, especially those who wake up after traumatic situations, can be a bit shell-shocked so we advise playing soft music and talking to him a lot throughout the process in calm, neutral tones to help his body and mind assimilate. If you have any concerns during the process, please don’t hesitate to let the nurses know.”

            I nod and scrub my hands over my face. Regardless of what my mind is telling me, I need to get it together before Ben sees me. If we have to be strong for him, then I need to start now and get a grip over my emotions.

            Gaining courage, I swallow the lump in my throat from shoving down the tears and point my attention at Dr. Bowman.

            “When will he be able to go home?” I hold my breath, afraid of the answer. Not because I’m afraid of being at the hospital for months on end. No. What I’m afraid of is a decline in Ben’s mental health. My man loves to be outside, working or riding or moving in some way, so being trapped in a bleak hospital with nothing familiar around is going to kill him. I almost lost him once, I don’t want to risk losing him again.

            “Ben here’s a strong boy. He was in great shape before the accident, and he was smart about riding. He wore all his gear, which we typically don’t see in these types of situations, and that’s what made all the difference here. I’d say if he wakes up in good shape and his numbers look good, he could be out of here in a week or two.” He winks, smirking. “I have faith he’ll be just fine after this, so don’t worry. I’ll tell the nurses his orders and confirm with them the time we can start in the morning and have them let you know.”

            Koa jumps up and grabs the doctor’s hand with both his own, shaking them.

            “Thank you so much, Dr. Bowman. We’ll never be able to repay you for saving our son.”

            Dr. Bowman places his other hand on top of Koa’s and pats them.

            “Of course. He’s a good kid. He’ll be alright. I’ll be back tomorrow to check on his progress.” He scans the room. “You all make sure to get some rest tonight. Remember to take care of yourselves too for Ben’s sake, alright? He’ll need you.”

            “We sure will. Thank you,” Joan says, standing and placing an arm around Koa’s waist.

            “Thank you,” I say with a sniffle, staying seated and wiping my nose on my sleeve.

As soon as Dr. Bowman walks out the door, Joan and Koa embrace each other in a long hug at the end of the bed. An ache stirs watching them as I walk over to Ben. My thumb strokes along his cool skin, and I pull my bottom lip in to stop the quivering.

“I can’t wait to talk to you tomorrow, baby. Come home to me, okay? I need you too much to let you go.” I bend over and press a featherlight kiss to the rough sticky skin on the back of his hand. What part of him peeks through the tape is peeling and cracked, dehydrated from all the medical tape and dry hospital air.

Rubbing my knuckle along his tan cheek, I let my mind wander to the hopefuls of the next few days. Of Ben and I embracing, kissing, touching… watching him recover and riding his bike again… I can’t wait for it all. God willing, he won’t be limited long. His kind heart deserves all the good things life can give him.

Joan clasps onto my shoulder, bringing back the beeping of his monitors along with the subtle sounds of the staff shuffling by in the hallway.

“This is great news, huh?” She moves down to my tricep and rubs up and down before pausing. A noticeable energy shift churns tension into the room. “I think it’s time you go home, Charlotte.”

My stomach sinks, shock and hurt straining my chest.

Why? What did I do to make her want me to leave?

“That isn’t my home anymore,” I whisper, staring at Ben. “He is. My home is wherever he is.”

“I…” She sighs and sets her coffee cup down. “I know it’s hard. Please don’t think this means we want you to leave because you did something wrong. We aren’t thrilled about you interacting with your mother either, and I promise we’ll bring you back here as soon you’re done, but…” She brushes some of my loose brunette hair behind my ear. “I think it’s time you packed up what you can and fully move in with us.”

“Really?” My whisper cracks.

“Of course.” She kisses my temple and pulls back, revealing watery eyes just like mine. “You’ve always been a part of this family, but now it’s more…” Her lip twitches up. “Solidified.”

A warmth spreads through my body, tugging up a reciprocal smirk of my own. Does this mean Ben’s told them about a long-term future he wants with me? A spark of hope is extinguished by the reminder of why we’re here. I hope it’s still something he wants with me when he wakes up…

Koa comes behind me and wraps his arms around Joan and I, making me a human sandwich. I rest my cheek on her shoulder and allow them to hold me between them. It’s the first time they’ve hugged me like this, but I wish they would’ve done it sooner. The anxieties of everything melt away, and all there is in this moment is the sound of their breaths and mine. For the first time since everything’s happened, my nerves calm, soothing me into thinking maybe we’ll all be okay after all.

The embrace begins to loosen even though I’m not ready for it to end. I inhale the scent of my new family and get whiplash from the sudden whispered intrusive thoughts which waver my strength as they try to sabotage this.

What if they get sick of me?

What if they change their mind?

What if they realize they can’t forgive me for what my family has done?

The back of my hand catches the last of the wetness on my cheeks. I cough and hold my chin high to prove to my brain I won’t let it ruin the good things I still have.

“Make a list of everything you want to grab before we go. We’ll leave in thirty minutes to get it over with, okay?”

“I can just buy new stuff. I don’t need to go back there.” I stare back at Ben and fight the whirls of adrenaline pumping into my heart. The idea of seeing and speaking to my mother is too much to handle, especially this soon after everything.

“You have to face it, honey. If you run from this forever, you’ll always be running, and it will always haunt you. The sooner you confront this, the faster you’ll be able to move forward. Now buck up, kiddo. Go wash your face and sit down and make a list. I’ll grab you a pen and paper.”

Her dismissal is final, leaving me with no room to argue. She’s right, but it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. There’s an obvious weight on my chest, restricting my breathing, which already hasn’t been easy since the accident due to my broken rib and constant crying.

I hobble into the rooms private bathroom without another word and close the door.

Yikes.

When was the last time I looked at myself in the mirror? Dark circles encompass the inside and underside of my eyes, giving me the vibes of a half-sad raccoon. Puffy bags sit beneath my lower lashes, and I pray the general swelling in my face isn’t here to stay. The baggy clothes of Ben’s swallow my figure and mixed with the wonderful natural make-up I’m sporting, it’s giving a, Fight Club but more sad, fashion statement.

Yeah, I need to grab some makeup, nice clothes, and grooming supplies. When Ben wakes up, I want to look my best. I don’t want him to see what this whole situation’s done to me. I want him to see his Char. I want him to remember how much he wants me and loves me.

Cupping my palms under the water, I bring them to my face and relish in the instant coolness. I clutch each side of the sink, resting my weight on the cool cream porcelain and sigh. The chipped white nail polish on my nails matches the small cracks in the old sink. I lean forward to take more weight off my leg, praying the sink doesn’t detach and take a deep inhale. My breath catches from the pain in my rib, but I push through it, needing to fill my lungs up. My chin lifts, and I force myself to meet my reflection once again. I can’t utter the words because the courage isn’t there yet, so instead I think it. You got this.

Blinking once and letting go of the sink, I hobble back into the main room to the cot where a piece of paper and pen sits. My mind clears, detaching from what I’m about to deal with, and focuses on the essentials I’ll need. I don’t picture where they are in the house but instead picture a white room where I can make an inventory of the essential items I’ll need in the short term. Taking another painful inhale, I sigh out the exhale as the pen taps the paper.