Page 111 of Before You Fell

Dad comes closer and Phoenix moves because he has no choice. His gaze stays on me as he stands. His boots sound heavy against the floor as he moves toward the door. Each step dragging like it wants to come back.

Dad walks him to the doorway and Phoenix pauses there without turning around. For one second, his shoulders rise with a breath that looks painful.

Then Dad glances back at me. “I’ll go get the doctor.”

He follows Phoenix out.

I blink at the ceiling. “Why do I feel like shit that I sent him away?”

Mom’s hand rests over mine. “Because doing what is right for your heart does not always feel good at first.”

I almost tell her that it sounds like something she found printed on a mug in a gift shop, right between Live Laugh Love and Healing Is a Journey, but my throat hurts too much.

The next few hours turn into one long hospital-flavored punishment.

Doctors come in. Nurses follow. They check my vitals, ask the same careful questions, shine lights in my eyes, take blood, adjust lines, unhook one machine.

Everyone is kind. But kindness doesn’t make it less humiliating to become a checklist in a hospital gown with your worst night scribbled across a chart.

I answer what I can. My name. The date. Where I am. What I remember.

Then the easy symptoms. Dry throat. Headache. Sick. Tired.

Ashamed doesn’t make the official list, which is bullshit, because it is currently doing the most damage.

Dad stays close. Mom stays closer. Neither of them says much, which almost makes it worse.

Dad doesn’t let Phoenix back in. I know because every time the door opens, some stupid part of me looks.

A knock sounds at the door and I turn my head to see Jax. He comes in first. Cruz follows. Jett comes in last.

For a second, none of them say anything. They simply observe me.

Jax swears under his breath and tips his head back toward the ceiling, as if he is thanking God and cursing him in the same breath. Cruz crosses the room and kisses my forehead. Jett stays at the end of the bed, his hand resting on the blanket.

These guys are trouble with pretty mouths, filthy words, egos too big for most rooms, and impulse control that should come with a public safety warning. But they are also family. And for the first time since I woke up, the room is full in a way that doesn’t crush me.

Jett glances toward the door, then back at me. He doesn’t say Phoenix’s name. None of them have to. Because Phoenix is here anyway, filling the room the way he always does, even in his absence. He sits in the silence between us, in every word left unsaid.

Time slips after that. It drags by in nurse checks, low voices, half-finished sentences, and everyone pretending not to look at me as if I might break if they blink too hard.

Eventually, the guys leave.

Jax kisses the top of my head and tells me not to scare the shit out of him again. Cruz squeezes my foot through the blanket. Jett gives my hand one careful touch before he walks out.

Mom and Dad stay longer. Long enough that Mom looks ready to fall over.

“We’re going to the motel to shower,” Mom says. “We won’t be long.”

Dad lingers near the door. “You call if you need anything.”

I nod and then they are gone too.

For the first time since I opened my eyes, I am alone in the room.

The quiet settles differently now. I turn my head and look through the glass doors. The curtains are pulled back just enough to show a thin slice of the hallway and there he is.

Phoenix sits across the hall with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.