“Some water would be great,” I reply, mouth like a desert.
She reaches to the side, returning with a cup and a straw as if by magic, then holds the straw to my lips. Grateful, I take a sip and another, but the effort of swallowing saps my energy.
Her words from earlier float to the surface of my brain fog. “You saidtheybrought me here. Who isthey? The cops?”
Oakley’s face scrunches up. “You don’t remember?”
I shake my head, trying not to think about the guns that had been aimed in my direction.
“Your,” she starts, then pauses and glances back over her shoulder at the door, as if checking we are alone, “daddies. They came looking for you at the dorm, but all we found was your stuff in the bushes. Xavier tracked you somehow, and they all left to get you.”
“They came for me?” I ask, barely able to get the words out past my rapidly tightening throat. I’m also not sure I actually understand her words. Xavier tracked me?
“Yeah, they must have only been a few minutes behind you. Honestly, woman, when you are better, I’m going to have to yell at you. Calling me and then getting yourself taken. It was like something out of a freaking movie, and I did not sign up to play a side character.”
I try to laugh, but it sounds forced even to my own ears. “Nothing but main character energy for you, Oaks.”
She gives my hand a squeeze. “Damn straight.”
We go quiet for a minute, the beeping heart monitor the only sound in the room. I can’t seem to join the pieces between my daddies and the guns I saw. The ache in my head is a dull throb,and my entire body feels exhausted, except for my wrist, which seems to be aching in time with my head. Which reminds me…
I raise my arm and find a black brace around my left hand, wrist, and forearm. My fingers wiggle easily enough, but my thumb aches when I try to force any kind of movement. Turning it from side to side, I see the front and back support plates that go all the way up my hand and the three Velcro straps. The whole thing feels heavy and tired, like I did a forearm workout or something.
“What—”
“Nothing’s broken, well, no bones are broken. A tendon. It has a partial tear.”
“Will it heal on its own, or am I going to need surgery?” My stomach sinks at the idea of surgery. Not just the fact that someone will need to cut into my body, but the fucking medical bills. I don’t have insurance, and I’m not covered by the state anymore. Most college-age kids are on their parents’ insurance.
I glance around the room and see that it’s a private room, and it’s fancy as fuck, cabinets, curtains over the windows, and there is even a fucking private bathroom. There is no way that this isn’t costing more than what I have in my bank account. I could fucking cry.
“The doctor was confident that it will. You might need physiotherapy once you get the brace off, though.”
I lower my arm back to the bed, mostly because the ache has traveled down into my elbow, and turn to her, mouth open to ask another question, but she has her hand held up to stop my words.
“No, I don’t know how long you need to leave the brace on, the doctor said she would be back to discuss it tomorrow.” Oakley lets out a massive yawn, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “Sorry, after getting your call last night, then finding outyou were gone, then the hospital calling me a bit after midnight, I think I might be starting to crash from the adrenaline rushes.”
“Oaks…” I don’t know what to say to her.Thank youdoesn’t seem like enough. I don’t even know what to think about this whole situation myself.
“Why did you?” she asked. “Have the hospital call me, I mean? Your daddies were all with you.”
My eyebrows shoot up, and my heart beats heavily in my chest, the stupid monitor keeping pace. “They were?”
Wait, fuck. My brain feels like it is full of Jell-O. I know Oakley said they came for me, so it makes sense they are here. Probably followed the ambulance or the cops or whatever.
Oakley glances at the monitor, then back at me. “Yeah. The hospital called because you asked for me, and when I got here, they were all sitting in the waiting room, looking tired as fuck.”
I stare up at the ceiling. “Huh. So the cops rescued me and they followed the paramedics.”
“No, babe, they did.” Oakley’s face is serious. Like super serious. Like she truly believes they are the ones who saved me.
But that does not explain the guns. What is more likely is that they tracked me to that house before calling the cops. I know I should be more concerned about the tracking thing, but my head is throbbing. “I think you might be confused.”
She shrugs one shoulder, then she seems to remember something and leans forward. “Oh, Xavier told me to tell you that you fell in your heels when you were coming home from a frat party.”
I frown. “But—”
“Just remember it for when the doctors come by again.”
