“Yes.” It’s the easiest answer I’ve ever given. “What can I do to speed this process up?”
Someone knocks on the door to the small room where I’m being held captive. It opens a crack and another female voice calls in. “She’s asking about him again.”
“Send her in.” I answer for the nurse, earning a glare while she clips an oximeter to my finger.
She sighs, rolling her eyes. “I think he’s fine for her to come back.”
I keep my eyes on the door while she runs through the rest of her process, checking my temperature, blood pressure, and pulse.
When it finally opens, I try to sit up, but the nurse must have anticipated it. Her hand is on my shoulder, stopping my upward trajectory before it can even start. “Slow down, Romeo.” She gently presses me back against the pillow. “You just had to have your leg reassembled, so you’re going to want to pace yourself.”
I don’t think she understands that I’ve been pacing myself for almost a decade. I don’t want to be without Brooke a single second longer than absolutely necessary.
And I don’t have to. Because she comes barreling in, makeup smudged, hair messy, wearing rumpled work clothes and a nervous smile. I swear I watch her exhale when she sees me, shoulders dropping as a little of the tension tightening her expression leaves her body.
“You’re awake.” She comes straight to my side, eyes moving over my body. “Are you okay? Are you in pain?”
“I’m fine.” I give her the same answer I gave the nurse, lifting my arms to reach for her. “Come here.”
Again, my nurse shoots me down. “She cannot get in the bed with you. Especially not on that side.” One hand gestures at my elevated leg. “Like I just said, you just had to have that thing reassembled.”
Instead of climbing in with me the way I want, Brooke takes my hand, gripping it tight. “The surgeon said it went really well. That with physical therapy you should get full function back.”
I’m honestly not worried about my leg. I’m more worried about Brooke. “What about you? Are you okay?”
“We’ll have to talk about that later.” Her eyes dart to the nurse before coming back to me. “Do you remember what happened?”
I wrack my brain for memories, but come up pretty empty. “I remember the impact and trying to get out, but everything after that is pretty blurry.”
I do recollect enough to know my truck is probably totaled. But it did exactly what it was supposed to do—kept me and Walker intact.
Which reminds me.
“How’s Walker? Is he okay?”
Brooke nods, lifting my hand to her mouth so she can kiss my knuckles. “He needed a few stitches, but that’s it. They’ve already released him.”
“Good.” I thought it seemed like my side took the brunt of the impact, but hearing my cousin is better off than I am eases a little of the worry tugging at my gut. “What about the guy who hit us?” The words are barely out of my mouth before a little of the fog clears. “Fuck. Was it Matt?”
I’m not sure if I dreamed looking across the grass and seeing him bleeding and limp behind the wheel of the other car, or if it actually happened.
“No.” Brooke shakes her head. “It wasn’t Matt.” Her eyes move to the nurse again, watching as she types something into the computer before coming back to me. “But they haven’t figured out who it was yet.”
“I’ve got someone heading down to transfer you up to your room.” The nurse butts into our conversation. She turns to Brooke. “You can carry the bag of his belongings, but most of his clothes are ruined since they had to be cut off of him in the emergency room.”
“Figures. I’d just put a fresh shirt on.” A little more of my brain comes back online, and I turn to Brooke. “We didn’t make it to Walker’s appointment.”
Brooke gives me a small smile. “I know. He said he’ll figure it out.”
Shit. If this ruined his opportunity to look through the files pertaining to his mother’s death, I don’t know that I’ll ever forgive myself. And there’s already a ton of shit I don’t know that I’ll ever forgive myself for.
Plenty of it involves the woman walking alongside my bed as I’m rolled through the halls of the hospital.
The aide responsible for relocating me is pleasant and chatty, telling Brooke all about his cats as we ride our way up to the third floor. My new room is bigger than the recovery one, with plenty of seating space and a private bathroom. Not exactly a five-star hotel, but I’ve slept in worse places.
Like my bed without Brooke in it.
After the new nurse comes in, introducing herself and making sure I’m okay on the pain scale, Brooke and I are finally alone. And I’m not waiting a second longer to have her beside me.
