"Close. It was a sedan, actually." He pulled up a stool beside the bed. "Do you know where you are?"
I looked around. Monitors beeping. IV lines snaking from my left arm. My right arm was encased in a cast so heavy it felt like it belonged to someone else. "Hospital."
"Riverside General. Good." He made a note on his tablet. "Can you tell me your full name?"
"Miles Cameron."
"And the year?"
The fog swirled. Through it, fragments surfaced: golden morning light, cold air burning my lungs, the sound of her voice calling me. "2024?"
"Close enough." Dr. Okonkwo leaned forward. "What's the last thing you remember?"
I closed my eyes, reaching for the memory. It came in pieces. Running. The river path. Charlotte was behind me, her ponytail swinging, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold. Turning back to tease her about her pace and seeing her face, radiant, alive, laughing at something I'd said. Thinking, with a clarity that cut through everything else:I want to wake up to that face every morning for the rest of my life.
"Running," I said. "With Charlotte. She was smiling."
"That's good, you're retrieving recent sensory memory, which is encouraging. The impact itself is usually lost with this kind of trauma, and we'll need to do more thorough cognitive testing once you've rested. For now, the fact that you're oriented and recalling details from this morning is a positive sign.”
He set down his tablet. "You were in a serious accident, Miles. A car ran a stop sign while you were crossing the path, and the driver was on her phone. You sustained a subdural hematoma, bleeding on the brain, as well as internal bleeding from your spleen and a complex fracture of your right humerus."
The words washed over me, clinical and distant. I heard them, knew what they meant, but they didn't feel real. What felt real was the ache that had nothing to do with physical injury, the desperate need to see her, to confirm that the memory of her smile wasn't just a fever dream.
"Charlotte," I interrupted. "Is she?—"
"She's been here the entire time." Something softened in the doctor's expression. "Hasn't left the hospital in two days. She'sbeen asking to see you every hour on the hour." He paused. "I should warn you, she's convinced this is somehow her fault. She's been... struggling."
The words hit harder than any of the medical information. Charlotte, blaming herself. Charlotte, she was suffering because of me. This was exactly what I'd been afraid of. Exactly why I'd tried to push her away.
"Can I see her?"
"That's what I came to ask." Dr. Okonkwo stood. "Are you up for a visitor?"
The smart answer was no. The self-protective answer was no. Every wall I'd ever built screamed at me to say no, to spare her the sight of me like this, broken, weak, tethered to machines like a science experiment gone wrong.
"Yes," I said instead. "Please. Now."
He nodded and left. The minutes that followed were torture. I became acutely aware of how I must look, pale, bruised, half my head probably bandaged, tubes everywhere. The opposite of the man who'd made her laugh. The opposite of anyone worth staying for.
Then the door opened.
And there she was.
She stood in the doorway like she was afraid to cross the threshold, like she thought she might break something just by being here. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, dark circles shadowing her beautiful eyes.
She wore jeans and a sweater I recognized, the soft blue one she'd been wearing the day she showed up at my door with a casserole and changed everything.
God, she was beautiful. Even exhausted. Even terrified. Even looking at me like I might shatter if she breathed too hard.
"Hi," I said, because apparently my brain had decided to abandon all eloquence.
"Hi." Her voice broke after saying one single syllable.
She moved toward the bed slowly, her eyes staring at every tube, every wire, every visible injury. When she reached my side, her hand hovered over mine like she was afraid to touch me.
But my brain was catching up now, dragging itself through fog toward a question that didn't make sense.
"Charlotte." My voice came out rough, confused. "How are you here?"
