Someone has to tell her soon that her mother’s dead.
Branna had heard these whispered words while she lay in her hospital bed, her head floating from medication, her body broken.
“All done, Bran. Now we’ll get you settled in a bed.” Annabelle took her arm again, and drained of energy, she let herself be led into a small room that had four beds; all had big, soft pillows and bright yellow and blue striped covers. Admittedly, it looked nothing like the one that she'd stayed in for so many weeks, and unlike then, she wasn't broken inside and out.
“See, it doesn't look anything like a hospital ward. No machines buzzing and clicking, no trays being wheeled about,” Annabelle said as she nudged Branna down onto one of the beds. “You know that wrist is going to take a while to heal, Branna, right?”
“How long?” Branna questioned.
“Well, that's up to you and whether you take Dr. McBride's advice or not.”
“I have to wear that?” Branna eyed the brace and sling Annabelle placed beside her on the bed.
“You're not going to give me trouble the entire time you're here, are you?”
“Probably,” Branna sighed. Now that she wasn't being poked and prodded, she felt a bit more relaxed. Taking the pills Belle held out to her, she swallowed them down then took a mouthful of water. She was still scared, but she was also exhausted, and the latter was pulling her eyes shut.
“Now, I’m going to be waking you through the night, Branna, so don’t slug me when I do.”
She gave Belle a weary smile; the day was suddenly catching up with her. “I’ll try not to.”
“How’s the worst patient to enter the hallowed halls of Yelp Medical Facility doing, Annabelle?”
Branna was too tired to open her eyes as Jake arrived at her bedside.
“How’s the pain, Rosebud?”
“It’s okay, starting to ease.”
“I need you to promise me not to make a run for it tonight.”
She sighed and opened her eyes, and there he was: Mr. Way Too Hot McBride. Hair tousled, shoulders broad, and a slightly lopsided smile that was making her insides feel strange, which Branna put down to the pills. He’d always had that effect on her, even in high school when she’d pretty much hated everyone.
“Go away and torture someone else, McBride.”
“A simple ‘thank you’ will do.”
Perhaps it was the fear, or the pain, or the fact that finally the realization that she had uprooted her life to come here was hitting her, but suddenly Branna felt the hot sting of tears behind her eyes. Closing them, she struggled to hold the tears back, but they slipped beneath her lashes and down her cheeks.
“It’s all right, Rosebud.” He talked softly about concussions and delayed shock. Then, using a tissue, he mopped up the flood of humiliating tears until finally Branna ran out of them.
“I-I’m actually a strong person,” she whispered.
He was still standing above her and Branna felt that horrible tug of need she used to feel when she sat behind him in class. She hoped like hell it was just because she was having a bad day.
“Thank you, Jake.”
He smiled. “That’s it? ‘Thank you, Jake’? After the torment I’ve endured at your hands, I get a ‘thank you, Jake?’ You’ve wept on me, bled on me, abused me, and let us not forget that I’ve carried your considerable weight a considerable distance.”
Branna heard Belle snort somewhere in the background.
“I think the least I deserve is for you to sell me the Mustang.”
Belle’s snort became a shout of laughter.
“You want the Mustang?” Branna asked Jake.
“I’ll give you a fair price.”
