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“She’s been moved to critical care now. Turn—”
“Wait, the person I spoke to said she was stable.”
A doctor in green scrubs and a white coat greets me, taking me to another part of the hospital.
“What happened?”
“As far as we can tell, your sister was in a vehicle with two other girls. Another driver ran through a stop sign. Hit the driver’s side. Your sister’s very lucky.”
I blow out a breath.Lucky means she’s okay, right?
“Can I see her?”
“She’s out right now but you can sit with her.”
“Wait, what?”
The doctor lists several injuries. I can’t keep track.Why wasn’t I there?A broken arm and bang on the head seem to be the worst of it.
I’m still not prepared. My baby sister. Swallowed whole by a white hospital bed. White sheets. White blankets. White cast halfway up her left arm. White bandage around her head. Her skin so pale.
Except for the red blood all over her face.
My stomach lurches, my vision narrows, throwing me back to the night I found my parents. The night I found Libby in the closet covered in blood.
“Her face.” My voice quivers. “What happened?”
The doctor steps closer, frowning at my question. Did she already explain?
I’m caught. Unable to shake off the grip of the past.
“…windshield shattered…safety glass…scratches will heal…looks worse than it is.” The doctor’s voice drones on and on.
Scratches. Not blood spatter.
I fall into a chair by her bedside.
“I’m so sorry, pudding,” I whisper.
Guilt tumbles over me like blocks of ice.
I should’ve been there.
She shouldn’t have had to get a ride with a friend. One I know damn well isn’t a safe driver.
Instead of being there when Libby needed me, I was at some stupid motorcycle club in the middle of nowhere. Worried about my own selfish needs,again.
Rage consumes me until I’m ready to throw something out the window.
I sit there staring at my sister. Completely still on the outside.
Coming apart on the inside.
I don’t know how long I’m sitting there seething when a nurse bustles into the room to tell me there’s a man here to see Libby. He’s insistent. But he’s not family, so they won’t let him past the front desk.
It has to be Dex.
“No, he’s not family,” I whisper.
