“I’m good,” I cut him off. “Thanks.”
Angie told me last semester that she thought Eli had a thing for me. That she got a “vibe” from him.
I’ve never gotten that vibe. Eli is so driven to become a world-renowned surgeon that I doubt he plans to have any kind of relationship for the next ten years. Besides, he’s not my type. He’s thin with black hair and dark eyes. Put on some eyeliner and he’d pass for goth.
Nope. My type is blond and blue-eyed and named Henry Simpson.
But I can’t pine for him. Not now. And I can’t obsess over my near assault last night.
I don’t have the time.
Surgery.
That’s my focus for the next month.
And for the rest of my life.
Eight
Henry
My sleep is not long-lived, but it’s enough. The headache behind my eyebrows has dulled a little, and my throat doesn’t feel as raw. I’m still tired, but there’s less ache in my brain. Less pull to slip back into unconsciousness.
My mother is still sitting next to my bed. Did she go home last night? I have no idea.
“Mom?”
“Yes, sweetheart. I’m here.”
“Did you…” I swallow. “Sorry. It hurts to talk.”
She squeezes my arm. “Then don’t. You just rest. The doctor says you’re doing great and you can go home tomorrow or the next day. You can probably go back to work in a few weeks.” She shakes her head. “Thank God for Zach. If he hadn’t run to the house and warned us…” Her lip trembles, and she looks away.
I’d be dead.
That’s what she can’t say.
I can’t say it either. “I shouldn’t have been in the house without a hard hat,” I say. “I know better.”
She sniffles. “None of this is your fault, Henry.” She reaches out, her hand warm on my arm. “What’s important is that you’re okay.”
I want to believe her. But the memory of that beam cracking my skull open won’t let me. It’s my own mistake that put me in this hospital bed. My ridiculous need to renovate a perfectly good house just because I felt broken inside. Because I shot a man.
Still, I manage a weak smile. “Thanks, Mom.”
She squeezes my arm before pulling back. “I’m going to take a break for a bit, okay? Get some fresh air.”
“Sure.”
Once she leaves, I let my head fall back against the stiff hospital pillow. The room is quiet, the only sound the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. I stare at the ceiling, the tiles blurring as my mind starts to wander.
My father said they couldn’t reach Angie and Jason. They’re probably somewhere sunny, drinking cocktails and making love. Except no. They went to Switzerland. It could be sunny in Switzerland. With cocktails. And lots of lovemaking. Something about Jason wanting to go there…
Dave and Sage are in the waiting room, their lives on pause as they cope with my accident. They’re probably trying to make sense of it all, just like I am.
The door creaks open, and my father steps in, his boots echoing in the quiet room. He looks tired, his eyes rimmed with red, his skin paler than usual. The lines on his forehead seem etched deep with worry.
“Henry,” he murmurs.
