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I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna.
Izzy, no, come back. Please come back. No?—
The light swallows her.
Nononono.
Please don’t leave me. Please don’t fucking leave me, Iz. Please don’t?—
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
It’s quiet, save for the rhythmic beeping coming from the heart monitor.
The door to his hospital room has been left open, but we’re far enough from the nurse’s station, that except for the occasional sound of passing footsteps, or a distant voice over a loudspeaker, it’s so silent I can almost imagine we’re someplace else.
Like his bedroom.
Or mine.
Sniffing, I scoot my chair closer to his bedside, my gaze dragging from the machine showing his steady heart rate, back to the face I just can’t seem to bear to look away from for more than a few seconds. Not since I got here twenty minutes ago.
His nose wrinkles, ever so slightly, and I straighten in my seat, holding my breath.
He’s been asleep since they let me in his room. But every now and then he makes a sound, or moves the slightest bit, making me wonder if this is the time he’ll finally wake up.
According to Sherry, he was in and out consciousness when the ambulance arrived early this morning—minutes after she’d administered the Narcan. When he first arrived, they had to intubate him, but fortunately he’d started breathing on his own within a couple hours.
Then and only then did they move him upstairs, and allow visitors aside from his mom.
I told Waylon to go first, after Gavin had his turn, but he just shook his head and said, “I can’t…I can’t see him like this. I’m sorry.”
And then he was gone, with Ivy racing after him.
It’s evening now. Late enough that the sun has already started to set, bathing the room in shadows. Sherry had stopped in a few moments ago, and said he’d probably be waking up soon. She gave me a small, tired smile, and asked me to call her when he does.
There’s a sniff, and a low moan, pulling me back to the present once more, and then my gaze drops to where the hand hooked up to the IV clenches and releases near his thigh.
He stills, just as I do, as if realizing there’s something there. Just before he can tear it away with his other hand, I lurch forward, and catch the wrist not hooked up to a machine just in time.
“Hey,” I say in a hush. “Don’t do that. It’s okay.”
His eyes fly open, swinging to mine, and my lungs stall at the sight.
I wet my lips, and slowly ease away from him, sitting back down, not tearing my gaze from his bleary, dilated eyes.
“Jer?” he barely manages to scrape out.
Swallowing tightly, I nod. “Yeah, I’m here.”
His face creases, and he shakes his head.
Clamping my hands together so tight my bones creak, I tell him, “You’re in the hospital. But you’re gonna be okay.”
Is he though?
His frown only deepens, as if he heard my doubts. “I–” He starts coughing, and I quickly grab the cup of water on his table, and a straw.
“Here,” I murmur, helping him bring it to his lips. His fingers tremble, and he scowls when the IV gets in his way. “Slow, okay?”
