"I don't know," Lex bites out, her anger clear.
"It's three in the morning. What the fuck?" Bash growls.
"I don't know and I don't care. I left him messages—about twenty of them. I'm done with him. He doesn't deserve to see her," Alexa replies.
"He doesn't deserve her, period," Bash rebuts.
"No. He certainly doesn't," Lex agrees.
I sigh, and immediately regret it. He's not here again—even through this—whatever this is. I search my brain trying to remember what happened. The accident? No. I didn't know Sebastian then, but I hurt more now than I did then.
What the ever-loving hell happened to me?
The sun is peekingbetween two clouds, letting a lone ray of sunshine into my room. I feel the warmth on my hand, and a deeper warmth on the other hand. I take a steadying breath, bracing for the pain that's sure to come and turn to see who's holding that hand.
Bash. I should have known. He's asleep, sitting in a chair, leaning forward so his head rests on his arm. His eyelashes fanning over his cheekbones, dark circles beneath his eyes. Just how long have I been out?
I want to talk, but my mouth isn't working so I wiggle my fingers. Big mistake. My scream comes out as a soft groan. Bash's head jerks up.
"Livvy," he whispers, moisture gathering in his eyes. I want to tell him there's no need for that, but—what's going on with my mouth? So many questions.
I lift my other hand slowly, noticing two of my fingers are casted along with my arm which is casted to the elbow. Lovely. I point to my mouth and frown.
"Your jaw's cracked," he tells me softly. My eyes widen as shock ignites inside me. I knew it was bad, but I wasn't expecting that.
I frown again. How can I ask what I need to ask?
"Try talking without moving your jaw by keeping your teeth together," he instructs.
"Wh--," I huff when I can't do it. It's much harder than it seems. "What happened?" is what I ask, but it's all muffled and garbled.
"You were attacked."
I meet his soothing brown eyes and the memories flash in my mind of being hit, kicked, punched.
"Who?"
He shakes his head, his jaw clenched. "We don't know yet."
An image of Alison threatening me on the bench by the creek comes to the fore. "Alison."
He shakes his head again. "She was at the game, in the stands."
My turn to shake my head. "No, a man but she set it up."
He tilts his head. "Did she threaten you with that?"
"Not those words. I wouldn't see it coming."
"When did she say that?"
"The day of the attack," I tell him, spitting all over as I do.
"The police want to ask you some questions. You need to tell them about this," he informs me.
"I know. So hard." Talking like this is frustrating the fuck out of me. "My chest hurts," I tell him when I try to take a deeper breath, only to pull up short when I get a sharp stab in my right side and chest.
He swallows—hard. "Baby doll, you had a collapsed lung. They had to put some tube in to drain the blood. You had to have surgery on your wrist."
