Maybe I died.
I give opening my eyes an honest effort, but they won’t budge, either. Fine. I focus on what I can sense. The warmth of that hand, the sure beep of what I’m guessing is a heart monitor, and the smell of something faint but familiar—perfume.Bree’s.
The realization has little time to settle before fiery pain tears through me. My chest, head, leg, hell, even myhairhurts. It’s enough to drag me kicking and screaming back into consciousness whether I’m ready or not.
I force my eyes open, and the light hits hard. My vision is a wreck. Everything’s too bright and unfocused. I blink rapidly, trying to make sense of the shapes swimming in front of me.
I’m definitely in a hospital. Bree’s asleep, or, well…half asleep. She’s slumped in a chair beside the bed, her body half draped over me, like she’s trying to be close even in sleep.
What the actual fuck happened? I was on my bike by the river, and then…damn it. The deer.
I try to speak, but my throat feels like sandpaper. Nothing comes out. My breath is shallow, but I manage to squeeze her hand enough to remind myself that she’s here.
I try to talk again, this time forcing the words out in a strained whisper. “Bree…”
It’s enough to stir her. Her head jerks up, eyes wide and blinking. Relief floods her face, but there’s doubt in her eyes, too, like she’s afraid this might be some cruel trick.
“Callan?” Her voice cracks, and she leans forward, gripping my hand as if she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go. She’s shaking, and I can’t tell if it’s from worry, relief, or the tears she’s trying to force away. “Oh my god, you’re awake.”
I start to speak again, but the effort backfires, my breath catching painfully. Bree’s expression tightens.
“Shh, don’t try to talk,” she whispers, her fingers brushing featherlight over my cheek. Her voice trembles. “I’m going to let the nurse know you’re awake.”
I don’t want a nurse. I wanther.
I want to tell her everything. Apologies, regrets, promises. I’d recite poetry if I thought it would make that haunted look inher eyes go away. But the words clog my throat, useless and stuck in the wreckage of my body.
Her hand shakes as she reaches for the call button. Her golden hair is a tangled mess, and the dark circles under her eyes make me wonder just how long she’s been sitting there, watching over me.
How long haveIbeen here?
A nurse enters, her energy a sharp contrast to the fragile nervousness radiating from Bree. “Mr. MacKenzie, good to see you awake. How are you feeling?”
My words come out as little more than a rough, hoarse rasp. “Like…I’ve been hit by a truck.”
The nurse gives a sympathetic smile. “Close enough. A deer and a motorcycle aren’t the best of friends.” She checks the machines around me, pressing buttons on one with practiced ease.
Bree doesn’t laugh. She doesn’t even crack a smile as her grip on my hand tightens.
I try again, testing my voice. “What…happened?”
“You took quite the beating. Hypothermia, a nasty gash on your side, a concussion, and a fractured leg. Honestly, you’re lucky.”
Lucky.
Bree makes a choked sound, something between a scoff and a sob, and I shift my gaze to her. Her eyes are red-rimmed, exhausted, and full of…longing? Anger? Absolute certainty that she’s going to kill me as soon as I’m well enough to run?
Probably all three.
“I’ll page the doctor. He’ll want to examine you now that you’re awake.”
Bree gives a quick nod as the nurse leaves the room. I try to sit up, but the pain spikes immediately. A groan slips out before I can stop it, full of frustration. My ribs feel like they’re beingcrushed, the pressure unbearable with each shallow breath I try to take.
“Easy,” Bree murmurs. She doesn’t push, doesn’t rush. Just waits, letting me find my rhythm as I struggle through the pain at my own pace.
I manage to settle back down, my body shuddering with the effort, my breath coming in jagged bursts. Finally, I meet her gaze.
“You scared the shit out of me,” she says, the words raw and unfiltered. “Don’t youdaredo that ever again.”
