Page 326 of Faking the Goal

Thank you.

God...

Thank you.

Every god listening.

Every saint.

Every deity.

Every guardian watching over this broken world.

I don't care who answered.

I don't care who heard me.

Thank you for bringing my girl back to me.

I would've traded every dream I've ever had, every game I've ever played, every future I'd ever imagined if it meant getting this one moment.

Just this.

Her eyes looking back at me.

Nothing else has ever mattered more.

CHAPTER 41

TAYLOR

The past few hours have been a blur of bright lights, machines, and an endless parade of doctors and nurses.

Apparently, waking up after spending three days unconscious earns you far more attention than I'd ever care to receive.

I've lost count of how many neurological exams they've put me through. They've shined lights into my eyes so many times I'm convinced I could identify every flashlight brand on the market now. They make me follow fingers from side to side, ask me the same questions over and over, check my pupils, my reflexes, my memory, my speech, and wheel me off for what feels like the hundredth scan of the day just to make sure there isn't any delayed bleeding or brain injury hiding where they can't see it yet.

By the time my doctor finally returns this evening, he smiles and tells me everything looks encouraging—that I'm healing well, my scans are reassuring, and barring any setbacks, he expects me to make a full recovery.

Healing well.

Yeah...

Tell that to my body.

Every breath reminds me several of my ribs are broken. My head throbs with a dull ache that never quite goes away, my face feels swollen, and every muscle protests the smallest movement like it's personally offended I even tried.

Healing is a very generous word.

Through every test, every scan, every question, Kentaro never leaves my side.

If a nurse wheels me somewhere, he walks beside the bed.

If they ask me to sit up, he's already there before I can even think about trying.

If they leave the room for five minutes, he somehow manages to spend all five of them looking at me like he's terrified I'll disappear again if he blinks.

We still haven't really talked.