Page 97 of Worth the Shot

I try. God, I try. My fingers twitch, reaching toward her without permission, like my body recognizes her faster than my brain. Her hand closes around mine. And for the first time since everything went black on the ice, I feel something that outweighs the pain.

I feel her.

Still, the world keeps slipping. It fades out, floods back in, slips again. Every time I claw my way upward, something drags me under. Hands are on me now, moving me, turning me, strapping something across my chest. My head is held still, too still, like someone bolted my skull to the bed. A voice cuts through the haze.

“He’s waking up faster than expected. Let’s move to CT.”

More movement. Wheels. A clatter. The squeak of a stretcher being pushed at full speed. My stomach rolls with every bump, pain ricocheting through my head and face hard enough to make my vision pulse white behind my eyelids. I try to lift a hand, try to reach for the only solid thing in this entire mess, the warm grip I remember a minute ago. But someone pushes my arm gently back down and I feel it again. A thumb brushing the inside of my wrist. Even half-conscious, my stomach flutters with her touch.

The hallway is cold and bright and lights flicker across my eyelids as I’m pushed under them. My head throbs with every flash, every sound, every breath that drags itself through the tube in my throat. I groan involuntarily, the noise rumbling out of me raw and ugly.

“We’re almost there,” someone whispers close to my ear. Her. It has to be her. “Stay with me, Brennan,” she says again, this time softer and more scared. I wish I could hold her hand and tell her it’s okay, take that worry away from her. But I can’t.

They wheel me into another room that feels colder and louder, the hum of a machine filling the space like a storm. My body moves without my permission as it’s lifted and slid onto something harder. My head is still locked in place as the machine starts and a loud, mechanical whir engulfs the room, followed by a rolling motion and a sensation like the world is spinning without me. My brain throbs against my skull, every pain nerve firing at once. My fingers twitch, searching for her, but there’s only air. I can hear voices through the glass and they’re muffled but urgent. A doctor reads something that consists of my name, some numbers and words that don’t make sense.

Then one phrase cuts through:

“No bleed. No shift.”

Silence drops heavy inside me.

Safe. I think that’s what it means. I’m safe.

The pulling sensation starts again, dragging me upward, like something inside me is trying to wake me whether I’m ready or not. I’m moved again, this time back onto a bed or at least something softer. The hallway lights flash past, stabbing into my skull, but I follow the small, steady point of warmth: the hand that finds mine again. Her hand. The one thing that makes sense. I know she’s there. I don’t know how I know, but I do. The world steadies just a little. Then someone says:

“Okay, Brennan. Big breath in.” Hands on my jaw are followed by something sliding, burning and scraping. Suddenly a cough rips itself free, air flooding my lungs that’s sharp and painful but real. And when my eyes finally crack open…she’s the first thing I see.

Chapter Forty

Delaney

His eyes open and it feels like my world finally starts to spin again. His cough fills the room and suddenly I love that noise. I love anything that tells me he’s going to be okay, that there’s no major damage. Well, aside from a nasty concussion and some brutal facial fractures.

“What the fuck…” he manages, barely.

“I know. Just take a few slow breaths. Keep coughing if you need to.”

My fingers move through his hair without thinking, trying to provide comfort, a lifeline, or whatever he needs right now. I feel him soften under my touch, just a little. Enough to tell me it helps. Then he shifts his head and lets out a low, guttural groan that rips straight through me. My heart breaks into a million pieces and my stomach flips. Right on cue, the Oral Maxillofacial Surgeon walks in, all bright lights and bad news.

“This should be fun,” I mutter under my breath.

I step back, because I have to, not because I want to. I’m supposed to be doing nurse things like charting, adjusting drips and prepping meds but I can’t pull my eyes off him. Not when every wince feels like a knife to the chest. The OMFS attending palpates around his face and Brennan flinches each time, jaw tight, breath hissing out between his teeth. They check his bite, the swelling, the lacerations. It’s textbook trauma, and I already know the diagnosis before they open their mouth.

The surgeon finally turns to the room consisting of the team doctor, assistant trainer, and technically, me, though he doesn’t realize how closely I’m listening.

“Orbital floor fracture, left side, plus a lateral maxillary fracture. CT looks clean otherwise. We’ll keep him on ice and elevation, start antibiotics, and watch his vision overnight. If the muscle’s entrapped or the defect is large, he’ll need surgery in the next couple of days. If not, we may manage conservatively.”

His voice is calm and so matter-of-fact. My heart is anything but.

As the surgeon finishes, Brennan shifts again, blinking his one eye harder, like he’s trying to force the world into focus. His lashes stick together from dried blood. His good eye tracks the room slowly, sluggishly but still so deliberate, like it’s instinct for him to search for me.

“Laney?” he breathes out, the word warped around pain and swelling.

My heart cracks clean in half. “Yeah. I’m right here.”

He tries to lift a hand toward me, but only gets halfway before he winces and lets it fall back onto the mattress. His fingers find mine anyway, grazing my wrist like he just needs something real to hold onto.

His voice is hoarse, barely there. “Did…did we win?”