“I remember why I’m here,” I croaked out, feeling dry-mouthed and hoarse. “I don’t remember why you’re here.”
Shannon looked at me for a long moment, and then her eyes widened and she quickly scooted off the bed.
“You wanted me to stay with you,” she explained in a quiet tone, clasping her hands together.
I frowned. “I did?” I couldn’t remember. It was a haze.
Shannon nodded. “Yeah, I came to see you with Gibsie this morning… Well, it was like six o’ clock in the morning so I guess you could call it last night? I don’t know—”
“How long?” I interrupted her by asking.
I was feeling too damn desperate to listen to rambling.
Shannon stared blankly at me. “Huh?”
“How long am I out?” I bit out.
She checked her watch. “It’s eleven forty-five, so close to six hours.”
“No.” I shook my head and expelled a frustrated growl. “How long am I out?”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“How long am I out on injury!” I hissed, clenching the bedsheets as devastation checked into my heartbreak hotel.
“Johnny, it doesn’t matter—”
“It matters, Shannon,” I snapped, voice cracking. “It matters to me.”
She just stared at me with those big eyes full of fear, and concern, and sympathy.
I couldn’t deal. Not right now. I didn’t want her to see me break down.
I couldn’t cope with that.
“Can you pass me that, please?” I pointed to the chart hanging off the foot of my bed. “I need to see.”
She worried her lip, glancing at my chart nervously. “Johnny, maybe you should wait for a doctor—”
“I need to see the fucking chart,” I choked out. “I need to see for myself.”
Shannon flinched and I felt worse than ever.
“Please.” I exhaled a heavy sigh. “Pass me the chart.”
Without another word, she handed me the clipboard.
“Thank you.”
She dropped her head and sniffled.
Fuck.
Fuck!
“Can you go find my da?” I asked, desperately trying to wrangle in my emotions.
She looked up at me all lonesome and hurt. “If that’s what you want?”