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“This room is private, Mr. Reed. No one will disturb you.” Then he steps out, leaving Cyrus and me alone.
“Cyrus—” I start, and he lifts his hand to stop me.
He’s not one for words or emotions, but him doing this, him being here, means something.
Both of us are quiet.
The door to Payton’s room opens a crack, and from my angle, I can see her. Or at least what I think is Payton. I see a bed, an elevated foot. I see a machine.
I watch it.
Watch the graph. Watch her breathe.
Listen to the sounds of life.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Neither of us speaks. But we don’t need to.
Having him here is enough.
The door to the room opens, and the doctor walks toward us.
My pulse picks up. Standing, I walk toward him, Cyrus right behind me.
I swallow hard. “Is she okay?”
“She will be,” the doctor says, and Cyrus places a hand on my shoulder. “She was very lucky. She has a concussion. Cuts and bruises. A sprained ankle and wrist and she bruised her ribs, but she was very fortunate not to have broken anything.”
“Thank you.”
“You’ll be able to see her soon.”
I let out a deep breath, and my body vibrates with relief.
“Come on, sit,” Cyrus says, leading me back to the chair. “She’s going to be okay.”
“It was my fault.” I bury my head in my hands. “Our fault.”
“You think this was Paul?”
“Who else could it be? Especially since I am fairly sure this is about the shorting of Torenzo Corp. As soon as I get Payton home, I’m going to call a meeting to figure this out. But first, I need to make sure she is okay.”
“It could have been an acc—”
“Cyrus. You didn’t see it. It was no accident.”
His jaw tightens. “All you have to do is worry about Payton.” He pulls out his phone and starts typing out a text. “We will handle it. All you need to concern yourself with is your girl in there. You understand?”
I nod, too emotional to speak.
That’s when Ivy walks in, clothes in hand.
She throws her arms around me, hugging me tightly.
“Thanks for coming, sis.”
“What can I do to help? Have you called her sister?” I pull back and look at her.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Trent . . .” She inclines her head. “She’s her sister.”
“Fine, call Baker, have him contact her.”
Ivy nods her head and walks toward Cyrus. I turn away from them, granting them privacy.
Time goes by. One hour, to be exact. I know because I studied the clock on the wall as if it would tell me the secret of life.
Finally, the door opens, and a nurse smiles at me.
It’s my time to go in.
I take a step inside where Payton is lying on the bed unconscious, hooks and wires attached to her.
She looks so helpless.
Fragile.
It feels like I’m being stabbed as I look at her.
My emotions are all over the place.
I want to scream. I want to punch something. But most of all, I want to pull her into my lap, kiss her, and tell her I’ll take care of her.
Bruises litter her face.
Red welts, scrapes, and cuts from where her head hit the pavement.
I continue to look at her.
My heart lurches in my chest with each bandage I see. There is one on her head. Her wrist. Her leg is elevated and wrapped as well.
With the concussion and bruised ribs, I imagine she will be holed up for at least a few weeks in my place.
Payton doesn’t open her eyes as I make my approach.
I’m sure whatever drug they gave her for the pain has knocked her out.
I take the empty chair beside her bed. Again, I’m surprised that she doesn’t wake up and am slightly unnerved as well, but I sit by her bedside.
Her hand is in mine, my gaze glued to her face when I hear a groan.
Her eyes are still closed, but they start to blink.
With confusion still heavy in her gaze, she stares up at me, and when her eyes go wide, the machine next to the bed starts to beep faster. Her heart is beating rapidly.
“Payton, you’re okay,” I promise. “You’re safe.”
She tries to speak, but her words don’t make sense. It’s as if she’s gargling rocks.
“It wasn’t me, Payton. I was still in my car across the street. I ran to you as fast as I could.”
“The-the car.”
“It looked like mine, but it wasn’t my car.”
“I-I . . .” She coughs to clear her throat. “I know, Trent. I know you would never hurt me.” She inhales, and when she does, she cringes from the pain.
“You have to take it easy,” I tell her. “You hurt your ribs. They gave you something for the pain, but I imagine it still hurts.”
“Water.”
“Let me just check with the nurses,” I say because I’m not sure what she’s on and if she’s allowed. “I’ll be right back.”
