“Who’s at the resort?” she asked.
“Don’t worry, Meg’s taking care of everything. Mom and Dad will be here soon. Graham’s worried about you.”
Gram. Did he have a grandmother she hadn’t met? And why would the woman be worried about Lauren? “Who?”
“Graham.”
Gra-ham.Still didn’t ring a bell. “No idea who you’re talking about.” All this thinking was making her head throb. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone?
“Lauren... You don’t remember your dog?”
“I don’thavea dog.”
His lips slackened. His brow furrowed and he took her hand again.
Her hand.
She homed in on her fingers. The calluses weren’t concerning, though she didn’t remember them. She was a hard worker and was employed as a manager at a rustic resort.
It was her nails. She always,always, kept her nails manicured and painted. Currently they were bare of the polish she’d last used—Ballet Pink, if memory served—and her cuticles were an abomination.
What was going on? Why weren’t her nails painted? Why did Jonah think she had a dog, and why in heaven’s name did he keep touching her? Her breath felt stuffed in her lungs. They, too, were filled with cotton and unable to draw in a breath.
She ripped her hand from his. “Stop touching me. Stop talking to me. Why are you even here?”
He leaned forward, gaze sharpening on her. “Lauren... What’s going on? It’sme, Jonah.”
“I know who you are! I’m not stupid.” Why was he being so weird? She needed Sydney. She’d be trying to make her laugh, not confusing her. She’d help Lauren make sense of all this. She would go out there and demand someone get in here. She wanted to talk to Sydney, never mind that her friend was back home in Boston.
Lauren felt for her pocket, but she wasn’t wearing her jeans. She was in a hospital gown. “Where’s my phone? Get me my phone.”
“It’s probably still in your pants.” Jonah turned and opened a cubby, grabbed her jeans, and fished through her pockets. “It’s not here.” He lifted her shirt, her shoes. “It must’ve fallen out in the barn.”
She couldn’t catch her breath. “I want to talk to Sydney!” Lauren couldn’t seem to draw in oxygen. She needed air. The neck brace was choking her. She clawed at it.
Jonah grabbed her hands. “Honey, don’t do that. It’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
“Get this off. Get it off! I can’t breathe.”
“I need help in here!” he hollered. “You have to stay still. Please, sweetheart. You’re gonna hurt yourself.”
“Leave me alone!”
A terrible foreboding filled her. Anxiety swarmed like a dozen angry bees in her head.
A commotion sounded as a nurse entered, Carson on her heels.
“Something’s wrong,” Jonah told the nurse. “My girlfriend can’t breathe.”
“Not... girlfriend,” she squeezed out. Breathe. She needed to breathe. A horrible sense of doom washed over her, nearly swallowing her whole. Her pulse raced, pounded in her chest, in her head. She was gonna die.
God, help me.
Carson edged past Jonah. “Does she have panic attacks?”
“No, never.”
Carson got in her face. “Hey, Lauren? Lauren, look at me, look at me. Let go of the C-collar, okay? I’m gonna take it off. Your CT showed no neck or spinal injuries. That’s good news, huh? Off we go.” The rip of Velcro sounded, and he slipped the thing off her neck. “There, is that better? What’s going on?”
