“Okay. How’s he doing?”
“He took a pretty bad hit to his shoulder and has a concussion. We’re going to keep a close eye on him, but he’s stable.” I follow him down the hallway where he points to a door on the left. “In there.”
“Thanks.”
The lights are dim when I enter and pull the curtain back. The muted light above his bed casts Noah in a soft glow.
It has my stomach sinking further seeing him laid up like this. His arm is in a sling, stabilized on his chest, with a cut across the bridge of his nose with a butterfly bandage covering it.
The normally larger-than-life Noah looks small.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
Grabbing the chair next to the bed, I drop down into it. It’s a bit more comfortable than the plastic chairs in the waiting room, but I’m painfully aware that it’s too small for my frame.
Time seems to move too fast, but not fast enough. The beeping of the machine is the only sound echoing around the room. A nurse comes in to check on him, but leaves almost immediately, seemingly happy with everything.
I’m not. I want to shout after her to come back so I can ask how he’s doing. Get a better update than the one I got when I first came in.
Noah stirs.
“Noah?” I drop my hand on the edge of the bed. “Can you hear me?”
I stand and move closer as he lets out a soft moan.
“Graham?” his voice croaks out.
“I’m here, Noah. I’m here. It’s okay.”
I want to reach out and touch him, but I don’t know where. I don’t want to cause him any more pain than he’s already in.
Scared brown eyes squint against the light as they search the room for the sound of my voice.
“Don’t try to move.”
Noah reaches out a hand, the one closest to me that’s not in a sling, but before I can take it, a nurse comes strutting in. I fly back, knocking the chair I was sitting in over.
“Fuck,” I mutter, setting it upright.
“The patient needs quiet,” the older nurse chides me.
“Sorry,” I whisper back.
Glancing over at Noah, his eyes are shut again. A pained look rests on his face.
Fuck.Fuck.
The last thing I want to do is anything to cause Noah any kind of physical pain, but based on the reaction I just had, I might have caused him a different kind of pain.
“Mr. Fields needs quiet and rest. You can come back and see him tomorrow during visiting hours.”
“Okay.” I look at the nurse, voicing my question to her. “He’ll be okay, right?”
This time, when she looks at me, her face is softer. “You never know with concussions and the brain, but he’s been waking up off and on. That’s a good sign.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
I nod at the nurse before taking one last look at Noah. He’s out again.
