Dr. Marshall checks the monitors, makes notes on her tablet, then lifts one of Danny's eyelids to shine a small flashlight. "His vital signs continue to look good. Brain pressure is normal, no signs of additional bleeding or complications. The swelling has decreased significantly."
She checks a few more readings, makes additional notes, then turns back to us. "I know this is difficult, but try to stay positive. Talk to him—patients often hear more than we realize, even when they’re unconscious."
After she leaves, the silence settles over us again. I've been talking to Danny sporadically since yesterday, feeling awkward about one-sided conversations but following the doctor's advice. I told him about the wedding, about the helicopter ride that probably shocked half of rural Maryland. I told him I was sorry for not visiting more, that I love him, that he needs to wake up so I can take him to an Orioles game like I promised.
But mostly I just sat here, watching and waiting and thinking about how much I've taken Danny for granted.
My phone has been buzzing intermittently—missed calls from Liv, text messages I haven't opened. I should respond, should explain what happened, but I don't know where to begin.
I'm terrified of her reaction. I know she’ll feel betrayed. Again. Like she did with Andy. I never wanted to be another person who lied to her, another reason for her to lose faith in people's capacity for honesty. I didn't want her to find out like this.
I'm lost in these thoughts when I hear a sound from the bed—something between a sigh and a moan. My head snaps up, and I see Danny's eyelids flutter.
"Danny?" Mom leans forward, her voice tight with hope.
His eyes open, unfocused at first, blinking against the fluorescent lighting. He tries to speak but his voice comes out as a croak, his throat dry.
"Water," John says immediately, reaching for the cup with a straw that the nurses left on the bedside table. "Small sips, buddy."
Danny accepts the straw gratefully. After a few careful sips, he turns his head toward me, and recognition dawns in his eyes.
"Blair. You came," he mumbles.
"Of course I came," I say. "You scared the hell out of all of us."
He blinks slowly, processing. "My head hurts."
"I bet it does," Mom says, stroking his hand. "You had surgery, sweetheart. But you're going to be okay." Her voice wavers on the last word, and she turns her face away, pressing her free hand against her mouth. Her shoulders shake once before she steadies herself.
Danny's brow furrows as he tries to piece together what happened. "Surgery? Did I... did I do something wrong?"
"No, honey," Mom says quickly. "It was an accident. You and Tommy were playing baseball, and the bat accidentally hit your head. It wasn't anyone's fault."
"Is Tommy okay?" Danny asks, because of course that's his first concern. "Is he sad?"
"Tommy's fine," John assures him. "He's been calling every few hours to check on you."
Danny nods, then turns back to me. "How was the wedding?"
His question makes me laugh—a sound somewhere between relief and hysteria. Here he is, barely conscious after brain surgery, and he's asking about Emma's wedding like we're continuing our casual conversation from yesterday.
"The wedding was... It was fun."
"Did you dance?" he asks, his words slightly slurred but coherent.
"I danced," I admit. "A few times, actually."
Danny's face lights up with genuine delight. "With the bride?"
"No, buddy. With my date."
"Date?" Danny's eyes open a little wider. "Do you have a girlfriend?"
I feel Mom and John's curious gazes on me, but this isn't the time or place for that conversation.
"Why don't we get the doctor in here, buddy?" I say instead, reaching for the call button. "Let's see how she thinks you're doing."
Danny nods and smiles. "Will you stay?"
