“I didn’t make the decision about your surgery,” he said. “Sasha did.”
“Sasha? He’s not my medical directive. You are.”
“You made Sasha your medical directive in case I was unavailable. Remember?”
I blinked lethargically. “Now I remember. You were unavailable? Why?”
“I was in a car accident on my way home.”
“Flynn!” I cried.
“Easy. You have to stay calm.”
“Stay calm! You were in an accident! I’ve had brain surgery. I—”
“Hey.” His tone was commanding and forceful. “I need you to take a breath. Good. Another one.”
When I had myself under control, I asked, “Please tell me what happened. I can take it.”
“I was driving over an icy bridge, and a truck smashed into me, sending both our vehicles over the railing and into the river. A good Samaritan driving behind us stopped and rescued me. If it hadn’t been for him, I would’ve died. Aside from a concussion and mild hypothermia, I’m actually fine. No worse for wear.”
“It’s a miracle,” I murmured.
His parents had died in a car accident when he was a teenager, leaving him an orphan. Malcolm Buchanan had taken him in and raised him alongside his own sons.
How ironic that Flynn had almost died the same tragic way.
“Flynn.” I tugged on his hand, urging him closer to me.
He stood and then leaned down to brush his lips across my forehead. “Needless to say, I was unable to make any decisions for you. Ash called Jack for the medical directives.”
“Sasha went against my wishes,” I said. “He knew I didn’t want to have the surgery.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I would’ve made the same decision for you,” he announced.
“Despite that not being what I wanted?” I asked. “I resent him.”
“Resent all you want,” Flynn said tightly. “You’re alive. And you’re still you. My surviving a car accident isn’t the only miracle, Barrett.”
I closed my eyes. I was in information overload, and I could hardly process any of it.
Brain surgery.
Flynn in a car accident.
Two weeks of my life gone without me even knowing.
Decisions taken away from me. Decisions made for me, about my health, about my wants.
“I don’t want you to worry about anything, Barrett,” Flynn said quietly. “I want you to focus on healing. Everything else can wait.”
“What about the house?” I asked suddenly.
“It’s being handled.”
“And The Rex?”
“Also being handled.”
