-Chapter 18-

How I truly felt for Brock has been something I've been confused about for the past 6 years. Did I love him? Yes, of course. No matter how we ended, I spent the best years of my life with that man. He is the father of my children. For those reasons alone, I had to love him. But did my love go beyond that? Was there a deeper love somewhere inside of me that I felt for him? I could never find out, because every time my mind wondered to those questions, I forced the thought away. After what he'd done, feelings like that seemed outrageous. But now, after looking into his eyes and hearing the sadness in his voice, those feelings for him didn't seem so unbelievable after all.

Right as I was opening my mouth to respond, although I still had no clue what I was going to say, the door opened and Cheyenne popped in.

"Oh mom!" She yelled, and rushed towards me. She wrapped her arms around me as I looked back at Brock. He stared at me the same way, as if he didn't even see Cheyenne. "I'm so glad you're here!" She said pulling off and wiping another tear from her face. Van had come in behind her, and was now sitting on the end of the bed. Cheyenne's eyes grew wide when she looked at Brock. "Dad, you're awake!" She pushed past me and put her arms around him. He grunted, and winced in pain.

"Cheyenne, honey, give your father some space." I said. She pulled off and kissed him on the forehead.

"Sorry, dad." She chuckled through her tears. She turned and looked at me. "Mom, can we talk outside?"

I nodded and followed her out the door. She closed it behind us, and took a seat on one of the chairs. I sat down on the other.

"Ma, I'm scared." She looked at me with big, tear filled eyes.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because! Don't you see what's going on?" She stood up and threw her hands in the air. "Before we know it, dad is going to take it too far!"

"What do you mean?" I asked, confused.

"He was drinking and driving, mom! He's been so different lately-Can't you tell? In there, he is so out of it that he can't even speak! He's trying to drink his troubles away. But what's he going to do when that doesn't work anymore?" She looked at me dead in the eyes, and I was surprised at how much of Brock I saw in her.

"I... I don't know." I answered honestly, looking down.

"I just want him to be happy." She said quietly, and then sat back down next to me. I reached over and held her hand in between mine as we sat in silence.

"I do too, baby." I whispered long after the conversation seemed to be over.

Van walked out of the hospital room slowly. He stopped when he saw Cheyenne leaning on my shoulder, her hand still in mine. He cleared his throat, and she sat up wearily and stared at him.

"Mrs.H, do you want us to pick up the kids? I feel like they should see Mr.H." It surprised me how serious Van was being. He was never like this- not even at funerals. He's always been the big goof-ball that everyone secretly loves.

"You don't think it's too soon?" I responded.

"No, I think they'd like to see him. Just so they know he's okay." He shrugged his shoulders.

"Okay, sounds like a good idea. But I thought they were at friends houses?"

"When I heard about Mr.H, I called and said they may want to come home. I just thought you would want them home. At the time, we had no idea if he was okay or not." He said bashfully. "I guess we still don't." He added quietly, and the three of us sat in silence for a few moments. Finally, I spoke.

"Yes, go ahead and get them. Just prepare them before they see him, okay?"

"Okay,'' He nodded his head. "Cheyenne, do you want to go with me?"

Cheyenne nodded and stood up slowly. I stood after her and hugged her tightly. "Be safe." I kissed her on the cheek as they walked off. I stared at Van, still in shock at how in control he seemed. I knew deep down it was a blessing that Cheyenne found him. She needs someone who could keep it together for her. Don't we all?

Right as they were about to turn the corner, Van turned too sharp and ran face-first into the wall, reminding me that he was still Van. He shook his head, and then turned and gave me a thumbs up before walking away.

I was still looking at the corner when a lady's deep voice filled my head. I turned around quickly to see a nurse standing behind me.

"Excuse me?"

"I was just saying how amazing it is to meet you!" She said with wide eyes.

"Oh, well thank you." I blushed. Comments like that always made me uncomfortable. I'm just the same as everyone else. "Do you know anything about my ex-husband? Brock Hart." I asked, changing the subject.

"Oh yes!" She flipped through her clipboard quickly. "Well, -"

"You can call me Reba."

"Well Reba," She looked up smiling, and giggled like a school girl. "You'll be relieved to know that he's just fine." Relief rushed over my body. "Just a few cuts and bruises, plus a minor concussion. Of course, as you know, his blood alcohol levels were very high. We're very thankful that his situation wasn't any worse. Our only concern is his lack of communication and movement. Since he's been here, he hasn't spoken a word.'' She leaned in and whispered, "Not even to your children! But, that is most likely because of the concussion and the medication we've put him on. Have you seen him yet?"

"Only a little. I was going to go visit with him now, though."

"Okay. Just don't be offended if he doesn't respond in any way. We are keeping him for overnight to run more test and make sure there are no other issues. Surely by tomorrow he'll be talking again." She said with a smile.

"Okay, thank you. It was nice meeting you." We exchanged smiles as I turned and headed back into Brock's room, closing the door behind me. What she had said was running through my mind. He hadn't been talking or moving? I could tell it was hard for him to work up the strength to wipe my tears, and say that he loved me. But just how hard was it? He couldn't even speak to Cheyenne. And yet, somehow he found a way to talk to me.

I sat down in my original chair by the bed. I grabbed his calloused hand and gently rubbed it between mine. I rocked back and forth slowly, listening to his heart beat, massaging his hand, and staring at him deeply. His eyes were shut and his mouth formed a straight line. He was still breathing heavy like before, and he looked about 10 years older than he actually was.

Without thinking, or even realizing what I was saying or why, I began speaking to him.

"Why did you do this?" I questioned him softly. "You scared me so bad." I gripped his hand tighter. "You don't deserve what you're doing to yourself, Brock." He moved his mouth, and then slowly nodded his head. I scooted closer, realizing he could hear what I was saying. "You don't deserve what you're doing." I repeated, more sternly. Again, he nodded his head. "Why do you think you do?" He started moving his mouth again. I wasn't sure if I should stop him, or let him speak. I decided to just stay quiet, and see what he could do.

"I hurt you." He mumbled, keeping his eyes closed. Realizing that I had something to do with what was happening to him, my heart started to beat faster.

"Honey, no." I sat on the edge of my seat and smoothed down his hair with my hand. "That's in the past. We're over it. Everything is okay now." I forced a light tone to my voice.

"No."

"Yes." Although his eyes were closed, I looked at him intensely, wishing I knew everything that was going on in his mind. Finally, I decided to ask him something I had been meaning to ask him since I first saw him. "Brock, why did you drive? Why did you get behind the wheel if you knew the state you were in?" He was still a second, and at first I thought he hadn't heard me. But finally, he spoke slowly again.

"He called your cell. He told me," He cut off, and breathed deeply for a few minutes, trying to regain his strength. I continued to rub his hand, encouraging him to take his time. "He told me he would be coming after you tonight. I had to stop him. I knew he lived somewhere close to Charles' since you walked there from his house. I knew I could find my way..." It didn't sound like his sentence was over, but he trailed off anyways.

I tried to figure out what to ask next. I wanted to know everything about what had happened. My voice was shaky when I spoke. "What were you going to do?"

He breathed a sharp breath. "Whatever it took."

"Brock, you could have killed yourself. Do you realize that?" He shook his head slowly. Tears came to my eyes. "How could you let this happen, then?"

He sat there silently. Just as I was about to give up on his answer, he opened his mouth, trying to speak. "I-I went there to protect you. My plan was to take care of him for good. And after that was done, I wouldn't care what happened to me next. If it meant taking my life, then so be it." I felt like I had been punched in the stomach by his words. "I just didn't think anything would happen before I got ahold of him. I should have been more careful. At least, until after I took care of him."

"Your plan was to kill him?" I asked, clutching his hand so tight I knew it must have hurt him, although he didn't show it.

"I guess it was."

"And then..." Tears fell down my cheeks freely now.

"And then, I wouldn't care what happened to me next." He repeated.

"You could have died."

"I knew that from the beginning."

I closed my eyes tightly in an attempt to stop my tears, but it didn't work. They escaped my eyes in a rapid flow, and without thinking or saying another word, I eased myself onto the bed next to him and buried my face into his neck. He reached his weak arm around me and held me close to him.

"Promise me you'll never think like that again." I sobbed. He didn't respond, but instead held me tighter. He pressed his lips against my forehead over my bangs, and held them there while rubbing my hair. He pulled off, and then rested his head on mine. I listened to the sound of his deep, echoing heart beat.

"Brock?" I whispered up to him in a cracked, weak voice.

"Yes?"

"I love you too."