“We should have come to see you sooner,” I whisper, for Stephanie’s ears only. “I’m sorry you’ve been all by yourself.”
A wave of dizziness washes over me, and I grip the edge of the bed to steady myself. The room suddenly feels too small, the airtoo thin. All I can think about is how easily our positions could be reversed. How random and cruel fate can be.
I am not invincible. None of us are.
“Phoenix.” Mason is beside me again, his voice low and steady. “You’re white as a sheet. Let’s get some air.”
I nod, unable to form words. He guides me back into the hallway, where the fluorescent lights seem suddenly too bright, too harsh. I blink against them, trying to focus on Mason’s face.
“I didn’t think—“ I start, then stop. “I didn’t realize it would be this bad.”
“Brain injuries are serious.” His hand stays at my elbow, thumb moving in small circles against my skin. “But Helen said the surgery went well. The doctors are optimistic.”
“It could have been any of us.” The words spill out before I can stop them. “I only looked up aviation fatalities. I never thought about all the people who survive but end up—” I gesture helplessly toward Stephanie’s room. “Like that. Hooked up to machines. Unable to speak or move or?—”
“Phoenix.” Mason’s voice is firm now, cutting through my spiral. “This isn’t helping.”
“I’m not getting back on that plane.”
The words hang between us, absolute and final. Mason’s expression shifts, professional concern giving way to something sharper.
“Phoenix, we have to finish the press tour. You have a contractual obligation.”
“Use my mental health as an excuse, then. Tell them I’m having a breakdown. It wouldn’t even be a lie at this point.”
“Your contract specifically excludes mental health issues unless you’re admitted to an inpatient facility,” Mason says, the words clearly paining him. “I checked.”
“Then I’ll check myself in somewhere.”
“C’mon, you don’t mean that.”
“I’m not doing it. Mason. I’m not flying and you can’t make me.”
Mason opens his mouth to respond, but Atticus steps between us, his expression unusually serious.
“He’s right, Phoenix,” he says quietly. “As much as I hate to admit it, the contract language is pretty clear. Short of checking yourself into a psychiatric hospital, this flight anxiety isn’t going to meet the criteria for a medical exemption.”
I stare at him, betrayal hot in my chest. “Since when are you on his side?”
“I’m not on anyone’s side. I’m just stating facts.” Atticus runs a hand through his hair, mussing it in a way that would be attractive if I wasn’t so angry. “Trust me, unless you’re literally dying, the studio will bury you legally for wrecking this tour.”
Helen returns from the nurse’s station, a tray of filled and labeled syringes in her hands. “I need to administer Ms. Gerber’s evening meds,” she says, sliding past us toward the room.
“That’s a lot of medication,” Atticus observes, peering at the tray.
Helen nods. “Sedative to keep her in the induced coma, antihypertensive for the blood pressure, antibiotics to prevent infection, and a heat suppressant.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “Heat suppressant?”
“Standard protocol for omega patients in intensive care,” Helen explains, not looking up from her task. “Physical trauma can trigger unexpected heats, especially when the body is under stress. The last thing she needs right now is hormonal fluctuations interfering with her recovery.”
I watch as Helen efficiently injects something into Stephanie’s IV line. I’d nearly forgotten that Stephanie is an omega. She’s such a bulldozer that her designation is the last thing about her that anyone notices.
“How long will she need to stay in the hospital?” Mason asks.
“We’re mostly just observing her and keeping her sedated here in the ICU. If things go well, she’ll be transferred to the medical unit and hopefully be able to go home a few days after that. A week, if she’s lucky, but maybe longer.”
A week. Maybe longer. While we fly off to continue a press tour for a movie no one cares about, leaving Stephanie alone in a strange town with no one to advocate for her.
