FIGHT

Author's Note

"I don't care what I look like, I just want him to wake up."

Her shoes click against the floor as she walks toward me, but I keep my eyes centered on Holden. I know my own pain; I don't want to see hers, too.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

"How do you think the rest of us feel? He's my son, Tatum. I gave birth to him, watched as he started to grow crooked teeth, forced him into braces, watched him grow into a man. That's my baby." She takes a deep breath before continuing, obviously frustrated. "We all want him to wake up. We all plan on it. He may be stuck in a bed right now, but you're not. Get your arse up and keep living your life like the rest of us, that's what Holden would want."

I'm silent.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I know what Holden would want, but leaving is like admitting defeat. If I leave, it feels like giving up, like giving him a reason to let go. To stop fighting.

The click of Amelia's shoes sounds again and I know she's walking away. Almost everybody, Alex, Zain, Nathan, and Landon, his whole team, has given me the same speech to no avail.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

"Up," a loud voice orders me, resonating throughout the room.

"I'm not leaving." My words are quiet, but firm.

I hear the long sigh before I hear the stomping. I don't have to turn my head to know it's Isabella. Out of everyone, she's probably the most distraught by my immobility.

"And I'm not my mother, so I will drag you out of this damn room if I have to."

My hand reaches out to grab Holden's, lacing our fingers together. I miss the feeling of his warm touch, and how his thumb would trace small circles on the back of my hand whenever he got the chance. Holden's hands are massive ⎯ they practically swallow my own; I wouldn't change that for the world.

I feel Isabella's presence hovering over me, and I just barely shoot a glance at her. Her face is flushed, but I try not to stare at her for too long. Instead, I shift my eyes back to Holden's monitor, ensuring the heartbeat is still as it should be.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Isabella's hand grips my arm and I tighten my hand around Holden's. If I knew he was going to be okay, things would be different. But I don't. Even the doctor can't figure out why Holden hasn't woken up yet. The day we came in here, Dr. Ramsay gave us hope.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

When the ambulance took Holden away from the arena, I scrambled to get into Holden's Range Rover, barely able to put the key in due to the never-ending stream of tears rolling down my cheeks. I sped, I ran red lights, I went past stop signs ⎯ everything. All I could think about was how I had to get back to him, how I had to keep reminding him to fight.

I remember arriving to the hospital, yelling at a nurse to direct me toward Holden, and finding him peacefully laying in his bed, a weak smile on his face and his eyes cracked open, following my every movement. There were doctors and nurses scattered throughout the room, some stitching him up and some simply observing, but I ignored them and ran to his side. He was injured and he was in pain, but he was there. My Holden was there and he was looking at me; I had never felt more relieved.

"How are you feeling?" I ask him, trying to remove the tears from my eyes.

He widens his smile, displaying his adorable dimple, and that's when I know everything is going to be okay. "I've definitely been better, but I'm surviving. The doctors are taking pretty good care of me."