No, I tell myself, shoving away the regret that tries to grip me.I was only trying to protect myself before. I wasn’t the one who hit him. I wasn’t the one who put him in the hospital.
And yet, he’s still there.
Everleigh gently shoves us both toward the door. She climbs behind the wheel of Sebastian’s Aviator when we make it to the parking lot. None of us speak as we make it onto the 401 and cross the Sycamore River for Harrison General Hospital.
FIFTY-FOUR
VIOLET
My leg takeson the needle-like sensation of what it's like to have your arm fall asleep after laying on it for half the night. I uncross my other leg from it and shimmy my foot to encourage blood flow. The crick in my neck is the next thing my attention turns to. I roll my head from shoulder to shoulder, hoping it’ll release the pressure.
Unfortunately, it only makes it worse.
Bess talks on her phone in a hushed tone across from me, relaying all we know so far to Thad. He flew out earlier in the week for business and isn’t able to make it home until tomorrow evening.
I’m sandwiched between Everleigh and Sebastian, the unmistakable scent of hand sanitizer and freshly brewed coffee billowing into the waiting room. An hour ago, the doctors moved us from the emergency room to the orthopedic surgical wing where Colson is currently undergoing surgery for not one break but two.
We were told to be grateful he wasn’t hurt worse. In these delicate moments, it all feels the same. Like every injury would hold a high magnitude. Even a scratch.
When the ambulance and first responders arrived at the scene of the accident, they quickly learned Colson was T-boned at an intersection on the far end of Harrison Heights. The car rolled multiple times until it stopped on its hood. Whoever crashed into him, their car was in decent enough shape for them to drive off. A classic hit-and-run the police assured they were on the lookout to solve but who knows if they actually will.
I can only seem to concentrate on Colson’s body being cut open behind a set of doors we can’t walk through. He couldn’t have just walked away with a few cuts and bruises but was laden with a broken tibia—the break so bad his bone split through his skin—a fractured clavicle they’re pinning while fixing his leg, and a fractured eye socket that the doctor explained would look far worse cosmetically than in actuality.
My gaze ricochets around the room as my leg bobs up and down in response to the anxious pinpricks. Sebastian’s leg does the same, moving in perfect rhythm to my own. He’s a lot calmer than he was when he showed up at the apartment, but I know he’s worrying and wondering how much worse it could’ve been. Still, he hasn’t said much, and I haven’t prodded because I think we’re all going through something we’d rather not discuss.
I look around the waiting room, noting the strangeness in knowing it wasn’t long ago that we were in this same hospital where Colson had to claim his mother’s overdosed body. And now we’re back for him. My stomach churns with a trifecta of overwhelming emotions.
Terror.
Devastation.
Somberness.
Each one folds over the other until they’re the perfect mixture of premade dough ready to bake, only a pretty loaf of bread isn’t what I’ll get in return. I'm blessed with a queasiness that rivals the worst twenty-four hour stomach bug one canimagine, the constant adrenaline rush of what it’s like to walk around the corner only for your sibling to jump out and scare you, and the caffeine hit that comes from downing one too many coffees in a row.
No one else is in the waiting room with us, which makes me both relieved and remorseful. Relieved because I wouldn’t wish this kind of suffering on anyone. Remorseful because why does it have to be Colson who’s here instead?
I try not to think about it too much, knowing it’s not the mindset I should get stuck in while we’re waiting to hear that he’s out of surgery. There’s a TV monitor on the wall with a screen that has each patient’s name along with their status. In the last hour, I’ve looked at it no less than a thousand times. Each time I do, I’m saddened to see no change. Colson’s status is perpetually stuck in the surgery zone, indicating that they’re still repairing his broken body. They said it could take hours. More if they run into complications. I pretend like that's not even a possibility.
My eyes fixate on the time at the bottom of the monitor. It’s approaching four in the morning, and because I’ve had only an hour of sleep, I shift and crowd Everleigh’s space.
“I need to get up and move,” I explain in a whisper. “Do you want a coffee? I’m wide awake, but I need to give my hands something to do even if it’s just holding a cup for now.”
Everleigh looks up from her phone where she’s been lost in a book. Her attendance isn’t required, but she’s here because she cares about me and Sebastian. Colson, too, despite not being very close to him. For a second, I think about Sylvia, wondering if her plane touched down on Ireland soil or if she’s already back at her family’s palace. It was only a few hours ago that I read her departure letter. If she were still here, would she be sitting with the rest of us in this waiting room?
Probably not. Tristan nor Webber are here. I wonder if Sebastian even told them about his cousin. Then again, he could barely tell me and Everleigh. I hate that it’s gotten to this point—that we don’t know how to be there for one another. That there used to be six of us, and now we’re down to three.
Everleigh breaks me out of my thoughts when she says, “I can go get us all coffee. Why don’t you sit and wait in case there’s an update?”
I shake my head. “I need to get up and move.”
She frowns. “Okay. We’ll both go then.”
“I don’t think it’s very far. I saw one of those machines around the corner when we got off the elevator.”
“Perfect.” She looks between Bess and Sebastian. “Would either of you like a cup of coffee? We could all probably use a little pick me up.”
Bess twists her phone to the side. “Yes, that would be lovely.” She fishes a couple of bills out of her wallet and hands them to Everleigh. “Get one for each of us, please.”
