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The woman who referred to me asthat girlsteps forward, standing behind the exasperated receptionist. “She’s that girl that Rhylan Matthews made a big ol’ announcement about.”
“Please,” I beg. “I need to see him.”
* * *
My shoes clack against the linoleum floor, desperately clawing to get to Rhylan. While my only objective is to find him, to hold his warm hand and hear his soothing voice, I don’t know if I’m ready to face what I am about to walk into.
The last time I was in this exact situation, I walked into an image deeply carved into my brain. My dad’s lifeless body, gone, with only a shell left behind, holding what he used to be. What if that’s what I walk into right now? What if the only thing that remains of Rhylan is the cast aside casing of what held his warmth? Now cold and vacant, like my dad.
I repeat his room number over and over in my head, using every ounce of energy to commit it to memory. As if I’m holding on to the three single digits that point to his very location so that I can grasp on to something real. I whiz past people. Nurses and doctors, all oblivious to the raging war inside my chest. All I hear is the pounding of my heart, thrumming against my ears as I prepare myself. Somehow coming to terms that I may have lost Rhylan.
As I approach the room, I see the light streaming into the hallway. The light chatter of conversation floats out from the room that I’m too scared to enter. I strain to listen for Rhylan’s voice, unsure if I can even make it out over the echoing of my own breathing pounding against my ear drums.
I chant my own prayer, whispering my own bargaining to whoever would grant it.Please be alive. Please be okay. Please. Please. Please.
FIFTY-ONE
RHYLAN
When I come to, the overhead lights are glaring down, causing me to flinch away. The throbbing in my head pulsates when I move my head to avoid the light.
I try to move my limbs, a test to see if I’m still alive after the last thing I remember is seeing flashing images of Ellie, my subconscious telling me to say my goodbyes. But when I try to move my legs, they feel too heavy. I look down and see my left leg nestled in a boot propped on top of a small pile of pillows.
“How you feeling, kid?”
Levi’s sitting in a chair at my bedside wearing typical golf attire, his elbows resting on his knees as he smirks at me. “You must have some feline blood in you because I think you’ve made it down to your last four lives.”
I chuckle back but wince just as quickly, my hand moving to my left side. I notice the purple and red bruises forming along my forearm and bicep as I shift my position with no avail. It hurts too much to move.
“Working on your day off?”
“You keep me on my toes,” he answers, joking but unable to hide the worry set in his eyes.
“Is my car okay?” I ask, my voice hoarse but chipper considering the situation.
He grits his teeth, frowning as he shakes his head. “Sorry,” he finally says. “Believe me, I’m just as upset as you are.”
Before I have a chance to mourn, we’re interrupted by a soft knock.
“Rhylan?”
When I look up, I see Ellie. Her hair disheveled, eyes blotched red and hands trembling.
“I’m going to get some coffee,” Levi whispers as he stands, patting a hand on my shoulder.
He walks past Ellie, smiling politely at her as she points her gaze to the ground.
Once Levi’s gone, she runs to me. Her chest heaving in a sobbing mess as she blubbers incoherent words into my arms. I wince again, the sharp pain radiating to my abdomen as I lift my arm to embrace her. I do my best to hide my discomfort because I can’t think of a better place to be than right here, holding and consoling her.
“What happened?” she manages to say through her tears.
“I guess the other car lost control,” I answer, my voice strained as I try to hold back the grimace creeping up my face. Ellie tries to move away, her face changing when she sees that I’m in pain. “Don’t move,” I whisper, holding on to her wrist, preventing her from moving away from me. Pain and all, I want her as close as possible. When she stills, my hand moves to her face, brushing away the tears that have spilled down her cheek with my thumb.
“Mr. Matthews,” someone calls from the doorway. When Ellie and I both look up, we see a middle-aged man in a white lab coat walk briskly past the foot of the bed. He removes a large X-ray film from an even larger manila envelope. He holds it up against the light to quickly glance at it before looking down at me, taking in the sight of Ellie’s tear-stained face as she clutches to my side. “We’ve got the results from your X-ray, and it looks like you have a hairline fracture in your tibia.”
Ellie and I both stare at him, slightly confused but relieved, as he doesn’t appear too concerned with the prognosis.
“What does that mean?” Ellie asks, jumping in to demand answers.
