Page 167 of Sunrise & Serenity

The scent of disinfectant and stale coffee lingers in the corridors. No matter how many hospital visits I’ve had during my career, I’ll always hate that smell.

I barely remember parking. By the time I reach the fourth floor, my pulse is hammering so hard I can barely hear anything else.

The elevator doors glide open, and I’m already moving before they fully part.

I’ve spent the past forty-five minutes clinging to Dad’s words that Sage is okay. But every horrible possibility is still alive in my head—concussion, brain bleed, surgery, death.

I shove it all down.

A nurse steps into my path near the station desk. “Sir⁠—”

“I’m looking for Sage Emerson. Room 417.”

River texted me the number because I’d forgotten to ask before I raced out of there.

Maybe it’s my expression or the urgency in my voice that makes her face soften. “Are you a family member?”

I’m not risking being turned away, so without blinking, I answer. “Fiancé. How is she?”

She gives me a sympathetic smile. “She’s stable.”

The breath leaves my lungs so fast it hurts.

Stable.

The word should make me feel a hell of a lot better than it does. But all I can think about is Sage lying at the bottom of that ditch while I was hours away.

The nurse points down the corridor. “Her family’s with her now. You can go in.”

I nod once and get moving. The closer I get to the room, the harder it is to breathe.

Now that I’m here, and under false pretenses, another fear sets in. What if she doesn’t want to see me? Hell, I’d deserve it for leaving. But I think I’ll lose my mind if she asks me to go.

I stop outside room 417, and with my hand braced against the doorframe, I take a deep breath. Then I push the door open.

The first thing I notice is Sage, lying in bed, her eyes closed, lashes dark against her pale cheeks. Her hair spills messily across the pillow beneath the thick bandage wrapped around her head, while an IV line runs from a pole into the top of her hand.

The monitor beside her beeps softly, the sound hitting deep inside my chest.

For one awful, disorienting second, I’m sixteen again. Another room. Another hallway. A doctor explaining injuries to Dad while blood roared in my ears, drowning out half the words.

The room tilts a little beneath my feet before I force myself to breathe again.

That’s when I notice everybody else.

Sage’s mom sits in a chair by the window, wearing an immaculate cream power suit that probably costs more than my truck payment. Her posture is perfect, her expression composed, as if she’s in court arguing a case rather than sitting in a dim hospital room.

Beside her, Sage’s dad stands with his arms crossed, wearing a crisp suit jacket. The resemblance around the eyes is unmistakable, even if the look he’s giving me could freeze water.

Graham is here as well. Leaning against the wall, looking just like he did the last time I saw him—expensive, polished, and entirely too comfortable in Sage’s orbit. He’s watching me, his expression dark.

Ignoring him, I take a step toward the bed, but he shifts to block my path.

Sage’s dad moves forward as well. “And you are?” The question is dismissive. Like they’ve already assessed me and decided I’m beneath consideration. Or maybe Graham’s been talking.

“Holden McBride.”

Sage’s mom’s expression cools another degree. “The cowboy.”