The hospital smells like lemons, which is weird, and it’s the first thing I notice when I open my eyes. My head is throbbing, and the lights are too bright. When I lift my fingers, I find gauze wrapped around my head, and I remember the traumatic events of the day.
I came to when they were loading me into the ambulance. It’s a memory I couldn’t wipe from my brain if I tried, because Declan was by my side, frantic and emotional when they had to peel him off of me.
I must have passed out again shortly after because I don’t remember anything about the ride to the hospital or being put in this bed.
“Excuse me,” I croak when I notice a nurse scurry by. This isn’t a large American or English hospital with private rooms and million-dollar medical equipment. It’s a small Italian hospital that probably doesn’t handle much outside of concussions and common illnesses.
When the nurse scurries by again, I realize she is the only one.
“Mi scusi,” I call. She rattles off something in Italian before she disappears into another room.
My head hurts so bad, and I realize my odds of getting prescribed the good stuff here are slim to none. There seem to be two other patients separated by thin curtains.
When the nurse returns, she comes to me first. She pulls a flashlight from her pocket and shines it in my eyes.
“Please,” I say. “My friend. Is he here?”
“Italiano,” she replies, and I let out a groan.
“I don’t speak Italian,” I say before collapsing on the bed.
Just then, I hear a commotion in another part of the building and what can only be described as an enraged Scotsman somewhere in the lobby.
“I don’t bloody care!” he bellows as I hear him coming closer.
“Signore, per favore!” a young voice calls, but she is no match for the tall, furious man who barrels through the door a moment later.
“Oh bloody hell,” he says when he sees me. He looks both relieved and horrified as he takes in my appearance.
“I’m fine,” I say, but it doesn’t stop him from rushing toward me and pulling me into his arms. The woman chasing himsurrenders and leaves us, walking back up to the front while muttering something under her breath as she goes.
Declan is holding me so tightly I can feel his heart pounding through his chest. He’s breathing hard, and there seems to be a tremor in his bones.
“Are you all right?” he asks as he pulls away to inspect my wounds. I have some bad scratches and bruising on my rib cage and knees, but the worst of it is definitely my head.
“I’m fine, I promise,” I say, just trying to ease some of his worries.
“You gave me such a bloody fright, ya ken,” he says. His eyes are wild, and he looks like he hasn’t slept in days, although I’ve only been in here no more than a couple of hours.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble.
He takes my face in his and pulls me close, pressing our lips together.
“Don’t you apologize. I’m just relieved you’re alive.”
“Alive?” I ask with a scoff. “Declan, I was hit by a Vespa, not a truck.”
“Aye, but…” The sentence dies on his lips as I notice something in his expression change. Like sadness spilled over his features, and he’s trying to blink it away.
Then, realization dawns.His parents.They were killed in a tragic car crash.
Oh God, my poor Declan has been alone and terrified this whole time, thinking I suffered the same fate.
I reach for him and pull him into a tight embrace. “Oh, Declan, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m fine.”
He doesn’t respond. Just lets me hold him until I feel the unmistakable shudder of his stifled tears, which he tries to mask by clearing his throat or pulling away, but I feel them. He puts himself through hell just to keep from crying. Sometimes, I wish he’d just let it out.
“I’m glad, Shakespeare,” he whispers into my neck. “I’m so glad.”
