It had been eight days since the accident, eight long days since she’d heard Mitch’s voice speak her name or seen that teasing glint in his eyes, eight days since she’d taken for granted that her future would include him.
It seemed much longer than that.
Megs was beginning to understand what Dr. Schwartz meant by preparing herself for the long haul. Mitch hadn’t returned to full consciousness yet. He didn’t seem to know where he was, sometimes looking about his room with wild eyes, as if the place were filled with monsters the rest of them couldn’t see.
Almost an hour had gone by before Kim came to get her, a broad smile on her face. “He’s breathing on his own.”
Relief rushed through Megs, bright and sweet.
“Thank God!”
“We sedated him, but he should be coming out of it soon.” Kim explained that being intubated could affect a person’s ability to speak and often left their voice sounding rough for a time. “Of course, a brain injury can also affect speech.”
Megs found Mitch asleep, oxygen mask on his face. She rested her hand on top of his, and for a time, she just watched his chest rise and fall.
It felt like a miracle.
Megs sent a quick text to Rain and Gridwall.
He’s breathing on his own.
Rain’s reply was immediate.
Thank Heaven!
Gridwall’s came a few minutes later.
That bastard! I knew he’d pull through. I’ll let the others know.
Megs laughed, slipped her phone into her pocket, and found Mitch awake and watching her through tired eyes. She took his hand again. “Hey, there. They took the ventilator out, and now you’re breathing on your own. Can you understand me? Squeeze my hand if you understand me.”
He squeezed her fingers, his lips pressing together. “Mmm.”
Megs’ pulse skipped. “Megs. I’m Megs. Is that what you’re trying to say?”
His brow furrowed, whether from pain or anger, she couldn’t say. “Mmmmeh.”
She laughed out of sheer joy. “Yes! Megs. That’s it. You’ll get it.”
He looked into her eyes, and she could see he was frustrated. “Mmmeh.”
“I know this is hard, love, but you’ve spent the past week in a coma. It’s going to take some time before you’re whispering sweet nothings in my ear, but that’s okay. You’ve fought a tough battle, so just rest.”
He seemed to relax, his hand still holding hers, his gaze fixed on her.
“You don’t remember what happened, do you?” She didn’t think it would hurt to tell him. “A chunk of rock fell when we were climbing on Painted Wall. It missed me, but it hit you. It broke your helmet, one of your cervical vertebrae, and your clavicle, and it left you with a severe head injury. You’ve been in a coma for a week, but you’re … coming out of it now.”
Her throat went tight on those last few words. A week ago, she hadn’t known whether he’d ever wake up again.
“I suppose now is a good time to tell you that I love you. And also that I’ve been reading your journal. I’ve been recording what you wrote and playing it back to you.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “I made you a promise. I told you that if you got off that ventilator, I would read you the sexy parts. What do you think of that?”
She went to retrieve the journal, but he held on tightly to her hand and didn’t seem to want to let go. The journal could wait.
She caught him up on the news from Scarlet—all of the fundraising efforts, the Town Council meeting, the Team functioning well without them. But he’d begun to grow restless, and she thought she knew why. “You’re in pain, aren’t you?”
He moaned, closed his eyes, shifted his legs.
Megs pushed the call button. “We need some pain meds.”
