CHAPTER 6
1459 Words
NIA’S POV
The emergency room lights were too damn bright. Caleb’s blood was still on my hands, drying around my fingers like punishment.
I sat beside his hospital bed, clutching his hand like I could anchor him here. He was conscious, bruised and groggy, stitched at his brow. Every beep of the monitor felt like a countdown to something I couldn’t name.
Then the door flew open.
His parents stormed in like a storm wrapped in designer clothes. His mother’s heels clicked hard against the tile, and his father’s glare could’ve cracked glass.
“What the hell happened?” Mr. Jacobs demanded. “Why didn’t anyone call us?”
“I did,” a nurse said behind them, wide-eyed. “Just now. They brought him in about twenty minutes ago.”
His mother’s eyes found me. Her mouth thinned.
“I knew it,” she hissed. “I knew you’d be trouble.”
“Mom” Caleb tried to sit up, wincing.
“No.” She stepped toward me like I’d lit the match that started the fire. “You think dragging him into whatever mess you crawled out of is love? This…this is what we were afraid of.”
“Mrs. Jacobs, please”
“You’re not good for him,” she snapped. “You’re from some broken-down neighborhood, working in fast food, getting him beaten half to death by gang members? What kind of future is that?”
I swallowed, my chest aching. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I was trying to protect him.”
“By getting him jumped?” Mr. Jacobs added, arms crossed. “He had a future. A real one.”
“He still does,” I said, my voice shaking. “He’s smart. He’s strong. He’s everything you raised him to be.”
“Exactly,” Mrs. Jacobs cut in, her tone like ice. “And that’s why we won’t let him throw his life away over some..”
“Don’t,” Caleb growled, louder than I expected.
We all turned. His chest was rising fast, jaw clenched through the pain.
“You don’t get to talk to her like that.”
“Caleb”
“No.” He looked straight at them, his voice rough but clear. “Nia saved me. She got me here. You didn’t. And if you can’t respect her, then you don’t respect me.”
The room went dead silent.
His mother looked like she’d just been slapped.
The nurse slipped back in, gently motioning for his parents to follow her out to finish paperwork. “Let’s give him time to rest,” she said quickly.
They left, stiff and fuming.
I sat there frozen, throat tight. “You didn’t have to do that…”
Caleb looked at me, swollen eye and all. “Yes, I did.”
I leaned in and kissed the back of his hand, tears dripping onto his skin. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”
He shook his head slowly. “Not your fault. I’d fight for you again tomorrow if I had to.”
And I believed him.
Even if the world thought I wasn’t enough for him, he’d already made up his mind.
I was his.
And he was mine.
We were quiet for a while after his parents left. Caleb rested, eyes closed, my hand still wrapped in his like a lifeline. I thought maybe he’d fallen asleep until the knock on the door came.
A soft one. Then the doctor stepped in.
He was older, calm, with kind eyes behind his glasses. But the way he looked at Caleb? My heart started to sink.
“Mr. Jacobs,” the doctor said gently, glancing at me before stepping closer. “I’ve gone over your scans, and I want to be honest with you.”
Caleb sat up a little, wincing, but nodded. “Alright.”
The doctor took a breath. “You have two cracked ribs, a mild concussion, and a torn ligament in your right ankle. But it’s your foot and head we’re most concerned about.”
I felt Caleb’s hand tighten around mine.
“What does that mean?” he asked.
The doctor looked him straight in the eye. “The ligament damage will take months of rehab. You’ll walk again fine but not at the level you’re used to. As for your concussion... you’ve had at least one prior based on your school records. This makes the second. If you return to football, the risk of a third becomes much higher.”
Caleb went still.
The doctor gave him a moment, then said it plainly.
“I can’t clear you to play again. It’s too dangerous.”
It felt like someone punched me in the stomach. I turned to Caleb, watching as the words settled over him like concrete.
“No football…” he murmured, staring at the ceiling. “So the scholarships…”
“I’ll make sure the schools are aware of your condition,” the doctor said kindly. “You’re a bright young man, Caleb. There are still options. Academically. Even coaching, if you ever…”
“Thanks, Doc,” Caleb cut him off. Not rude. Just done.
The doctor nodded, gave us a small, sympathetic smile, and left the room.
I sat there in the silence, heart breaking for him. Football wasn’t just a game…it was his ticket, his identity.
He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He just leaned back, blinking slow.
“I don’t know who I am without it,” he whispered.
“You’re still Caleb,” I said softly, brushing his fingers with mine. “You’re still smart, and loyal, and strong and mine.”
I thought bringing him home from the hospital would be the first step back to normal.
Back to us.
Instead, I was learning that love after trauma could turn ugly fast.
I waited on him hand and foot. Helped him sit up, helped him bathe, cooked his favorite foods even when my stomach flipped from morning sickness. I smiled through the pain and swallowed my tears, until I got to the bathroom and let them fall alone.
Caleb was healing, physically. The swelling went down, the bruises faded. But his mood?
It just got darker. Meaner.
He snapped at me if I forgot his ice pack.
Rolled his eyes if I sat too long.
Called me clingy when I asked how he was feeling.
One night, I brought him his pain meds and a bowl of soup. He looked up from the couch and said, flat like stone, “So this is it, huh? This is my life now. Sitting here useless while you play nurse.”
I froze. “You’re not useless, Caleb.”
He scoffed. “Tell that to the scouts who stopped calling. The full rides that disappeared. I was gonna be somebody, Nia.”
“I know,” I whispered. “You still can”
“No. I was. Now I’m just a cripple stuck in his dad’s company. You took that from me.”
The words hit harder than any punch Chris ever threw.
“What?”
“You heard me.” His eyes were cold. “You made me soft. Had me running behind you, caught up in your drama, around your mom, Chris… And now look.”
I backed away slowly, tears already pricking my eyes. “I didn’t ask to get jumped. I didn’t want this either”
“Yeah?” he snapped. “Then what do you want?”
I took a deep breath. My voice was barely a whisper.
“I’m pregnant.”
The silence was deafening.
He blinked at me, unmoving. Then he laughed…dry, bitter.
“Of course,” he said. “Perfect. Now I’m really trapped. No football, no future, and now a kid with the girl who ruined everything.”
I felt something break in me. Not like a bone. Like a thread, one that had been holding all the pieces of my hope together.
I didn’t yell. I didn’t argue.
I just turned around and went to the bathroom. Cried quietly into a towel so he wouldn’t hear me from the couch.
And that night, and the one after, and the one after that…I cried myself to sleep.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. I was supposed to escape the kind of home I’d come from, not rebuild it in a nicer zip code.
But I was carrying his child.
So I decided: I’d stay.
Just until he could walk again.
Just until he wasn’t so bitter.
Maybe… just maybe the old Caleb would come back.
The one who kissed my knuckles and made me believe in better.
The one I fell in love with.
- Writer
