Yes, Little Ghost! Breathe for me.
Convulsing, her body twists to the side, expelling and coughing water out of her lungs onto the rock ledge below her. Sucking air back into her lungs, she frantically flails, her eyes widen in horror, locking me in place.
“It’s okay, I’ve got you—”
“Colten.” My name emerges, tattered and raw from her throat. “The car!” My eyes hold her frightened ones. “Your mother’s car—”
She grips me for stability, my heart lurching into my throat at the mention of my mother, but Taryn’s eyes flutter, her head lolling backward as oblivion consumes her.
FORTY-FIVE | TARYN
The scent of chemicals hanging heavy in the air drifts into my nose.
Why does it burn?
The sterile aroma of antiseptics penetrates the heavy fog in my head with its potency. My chest rises and falls while darkness blankets my vision. The clinical smell unsettles me.
Peeling my weighted eyelids open gradually, piercing light spurs the overwhelming headache near my temples, stirring the nausea in my stomach. I scrunch my face in response to the bright light.
My breathing quickens at the sharp pain digging into my sternum as if someone were using one of those mechanical screwdrivers to drill into my bones.
My body hunches over slightly, and a groan parts from my lips. The inexorable aching turns my breathing shallow.
Shit. Why is it hard to breathe?
Breathe.
I couldn’t breathe.
Images of dark waters smash into my cognizance, flashes of my memory resurfacing.
My truck went off the cliff. I couldn’t escape. I sucked in too much water. I was drowning.
My eyes fly open to dispose of the horrific memory, and my pained lungs draw in quick breaths since I can’t seem to get enough oxygen.
The ceiling, blurry at first, comes into focus. The fluorescent fixtures overhead drill into my eyes, the bright white room grinding the panic into granules of sand that scrape under my skin.
A faint, feminine voice spills into my ears. “Taryn?”
Ugh. My head feels like an anchor threatening to drag me back down to that dark place. Managing to turn my focus, my head falls to the side, my eyes taking in the woman before me.
A woman who should be countries away and not where…well, wherever I am.
“Mom?” I croak, my sandpaper tongue barely speaking the words.
She rushes to my side next to a monitor and an IV machine, the corners of my eyes briefly registering the room. The stark white walls burn my vision. A wooden door is open, leading to a hallway where someone in navy scrubs rushes past. Glancing down, I see the transparent cords draped on the bed attached to the catheter taped on the inside of my elbow, feeding my veins.
My stomach rolls. I hate the hospital. But I’m guessing I didn’t have a choice by the looks of it.
“Oh, sweetheart,” my mother sighs in relief, lifting a hand to my cheek and stroking the skin.
I lean into her touch, soaking up her warmth. I didn’t realize I could miss a hand’s temperature so much—it’s unique to her. There was always something so comforting about her—her hugs, her warm palms.
Her cropped, brown, layered hair is tickling her shoulders. When I peer into her eyes, it’s like gazing into a mirror. I’ve always thought they reminded me of chocolate whiskey.
Pain rolls through my body, a tear slipping from the corner of my eye, drifting down my feverish cheek as I stare at her, trying to convince myself she’s not a mirage. “How are you here right now?”
Her thumb wipes away the moisture. “Your boyfriend called us,” she says softly. “Told us what happened. We hopped on a flight immediately.” She swallows, her gentle fingers tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
