My eyelids feellike they’re weighed down with lead, but somehow I manage to force them open anyway. When I try to move, pain shoots through my body, making me gasp.
“Noia?”
I turn my head slightly. Fuck. Even that small movement sends daggers of pain through my skull.
Sasha is sitting next to me, and she looks tired.
My throat feels dry and scratchy. “You’re here,” I croak.
Relief flashes over her face. “Of course I’m here.” She reaches for a cup of water on the side table and brings the straw to my lips. “Small sips, ‘kay?”
The cool water soothes my parched throat. “What happened?”
“You were hit by a car.” Her voice breaks slightly. “Some asshole was texting and driving. Didn’t even see you until it was too late.”
I vaguely remember what she’s telling me.
“How bad?”
“Concussion, three broken ribs, and a lot of bruising.” The smile she gives me is sad. “But the doctors say you’re going to be okay. No internal bleeding, which was their biggest concern.”
I try to nod, but the movement makes me wince.
“You’ve been unconscious for three days.” Her voice is tight with emotion. “They had to put you in a medically induced coma because of the swelling in your brain.”
“Three days?” I rasp. “Ryder...”
“He went to grab some lunch.”
“He’s here?”
“Of course. He was there when you got hit. I know you two were taking some time apart to figure shit out, but...”
Suddenly, it all comes rushing back.
My head throbs as two sets of memories compete for space—one where I found Ryder in my kitchen, and another where we met by chance one rainy day.
“Wait, that’s not right.” I struggle, trying to sort through the jumble of memories. “Ryder magically appeared.”
Sasha’s brow furrows with concern. “What do you mean?”
I shake my head, wincing again at the pain. I seriously need to stop doing that. “No, that’s not... we met on the road? In the rain?”
Her eyes light up with recognition when she realizes what I am trying to say.
“Yes. You moved to your cottage permanently after... Eric. You got a flat tire driving back from Portland about three months ago, and Ryder stopped to help you.”
Memories start to realign, forming a clearer picture. My head throbs as I try to force myself to make sense of it all.
“But my manuscript... He’s the MMC in my new book… He came to life...”
Her expression grows more worried before recognition hits again. “Oh! You’ve been working on a romance novel about abook-boyfriend who comes to life, remember? But Ryder is real, Noia. Very real. And more than worried about you.”
Before I can answer, the door opens, and Ryder comes in holding a paper bag and two coffee cups.
“Noia.” Setting everything down haphazardly on the table, he rushes to my side. “Thank god.”
When his hand touches mine, I feel the same electricity I felt that first day we met in the rain—the same warmth, the same connection.
