Except that goddamn beeping sound won’t stop.
If I can just force my eyes open then—
Too bright.
Taking in a sharp breath, I squeeze my eyes shut again. Trying again, I gradually ease my eyes open, taking in the brightness around me. After a few seconds and blinks, everything turns to a dull grey. Through the window opposite me, nothing but marbled storm clouds fill the sky, casting gloomy shadows through the room. Like all thecolour in the world has been sucked away. Rain pummels relentlessly against the glass panes, the occasional large drop smacking the window.
I gulp down a painful breath of air and push past the exhaustion enough to let my eyes drift down. That’s when I see them and my heart jolts.
Wyatt and Rory.
Slumped against each other in the two chairs opposite, hands entangled. Rory’s head rests on Wyatt’s shoulder, his arm around her, while his leg bobs. Storm clouds fill Wyatt’s eyes too, wild and rough, overshadowed by the lines creasing his forehead.
One further glance down and the white sheets offer a blank canvas below my bandaged hands. Wiggling my fingers only sends shooting pain through my bones, whatever grazes and torn skin lie beneath the bandages stinging. A shiver runs through me at the sensation of the cannula stuck in the back of my hand, and I force my gaze away.
Back to my brother. And my best friend.
‘Hey,’ I croak out.
Both of their heads shoot up, bloodshot eyes widening as they behold me. Tears prick behind my eyes at the deep exhaustion and relief that paints their faces. It takes no more than a couple of seconds before they’re both at either side of the bed.
‘Hey.’ Rory perches on the edge. ‘How are you feeling?’
My gaze strains to flick between them, hoping some semblance of a memory of what put me here will surface. ‘What …’
‘You were in a motorcycle crash,’ Rory explains, herintonation on the last word seeking clarification. ‘Other than the cuts on your hands and probably a few bruises, you came out of it relatively unscathed, but you had a seizure afterwards.’
‘Twoseizures,’ Wyatt corrects, his tone brisk.
That explains the hospital and lack of memory. And energy.
‘What the hell were you doing on a motorcycle, Cherry? You don’t know how to drive them. Do you realise how dangerous that is?’ Wyatt asks. He doesn’t sit on the bed like Rory, just stands there instead, arms crossed, a deep frown still marring his face, no softness in his concern for me. His broad frame is so tense, I’m certain he’s shaking from the strain of it.
‘I think—’ Rory reaches across to place a hand on Wyatt’s arm and shoots him a wide-eyed look ‘—Cherry is probably pretty tired and confused right now. I’m sure she’ll explain later. When she’s feeling up to it.’
A sudden flash of thick arms circling my waist lances through my mind.
Then his voice,Cherry – brake!
Panic spears through me, forcing me to shoot upright in the bed. ‘Where is he?’
Rory almost falls off the bed at my abrupt movement.
‘Oh my God.’ My hands tremble as I bring one to my rattling chest. ‘Is he hurt?’
‘He’s fine,’ Wyatt grits out.
‘How do you know? Where is he?’ My voice is hoarse, scratching at my throat. Rory carefully places a hand on my shoulder, a tender, comforting touch as she eases me back against the pillows. She furrows her brow, messycopper waves bouncing as she nods. ‘Cherry, I promise, he’s okay.’
My chest heaves while my eyes shoot around at the wires on me, the machines I’m linked up to, ruining a quick escape to find him. ‘But he took the brunt of the crash—’
‘I told you he’s fine.’ Wyatt’s jaw clenches, arms knotting tighter over his chest. ‘What I wanna know is why the hell you were on Duke’s motorcycle in the first place.’
I don’t miss the accusation in his tone.
Does he think this is Duke’s fault?
‘Wyatt,’ Rory scolds him, cutting him a quick glare. There’s fire in that look that rarely touches her eyes given she’s usually the most positive one out of us all. ‘We said we’d talk about it later. Cherry’sjustwoken up.’
