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Two hours later, Ava walked in and went straight for the nest to see Summer. There was barely a passing glance to us, or a nod hello. She’s still in there. Has been for at least twenty minutes, while the rest of us sit around the living room and wait for her to come back out, so one of us can go back in.
Probably Maverick, since Hudson just had his turn, and I was before him. Though, Hudson may try to go back anyway. It has been hard to keep him out; Brooklyn has had to pull rank so someone else can get a turn, and we aren’t overwhelming her with multiple scents at once. Per the good doctor’s orders.
Footsteps on the stairs have all of us swiveling around to see Ava coming down.
“Anything?” Brooklyn asks, hopeful that seeing her best friend might elicit a reaction.
Ava meets all of our eyes and shakes her head. “I’m going to head out. Lots to do today at the bar.” Her eyes drop from mine when I frown at her, and then she’s out the door a split second later.
“That was weird, right?” Hudson asks, making a face at her hasty retreat.
“Yeah,” I answer. Definitely weird. She shot out of here like her ass was on fire.
Why was she acting so shifty?
“Who knows,” Mav shrugs, “I’m going up.” Brooklyn has to shoot daggers at Hudson when he looks like he’s about to protest. He huffs, folds his arms across his chest, and sits back against the couch cushion again.
We all sit in silence for a second, Hudson pouting, Brooklyn flipping her phone over and over in her hand, and me tapping my foot incessantly before I give up and go find the TV remote. Something to fill the silence and pass the time, rather than us all commiserating when there isn’t anything more we can be doing.
Thirty minutes later, footsteps thud from upstairs, and Mav’s frantic voice is screaming at us from the top of the steps, not even bothering to come all the way down. “Get up here! Now!”
There’s thudding like he’s running away, a pause, and then he’s running back, yelling again. “And bring water!”
Brooklyn, Hudson, and I all jump to our feet at the same time. A worried, half-hopeful look is exchanged before they’re darting up the stairs after Mav.
I’ll get the water then.
Snagging a bottle from the fridge, I’m sprinting for the stairs, too. When I get upstairs, my heart drops into my stomach when I see Brooklyn standing frozen in the doorway to Summer’s nest. Her hand is resting on her throat, and tears stream down her cheeks.
No.
No, no, no.
My feet carry me to the door, and I prepare myself for the worst. But tears build in my eyes, too, when I see Summer propped up on a dozen pillows, smiling softly at me.
Hudson and Maverick are on either side of her, hands fluttering uselessly around her like they want to help but have no idea what she needs and are trying not to disturb the IV in her arm.
“How are you feeling?” I ask in a daze, walking into the room and crawling up in the nest so I can sit next to her, too. Gingerbread hits me right away, and I take a big whiff, relishing that her scent has returned. It’s still a little muted, not quite to her usual level, but it’sthere.
And she’s smiling at me.Seeingme.
“Like I got hit by a truck,” her usually sweet, lyrical voice comes out raspy. Ragged.
“Here,” I offer, untwisting the cap and handing the bottle over to Hudson so he can help her take a sip.
She does, wincing slightly on the first drink. But she finishes a few decent sips before she hands it back to Hudson with a grateful smile. “What’s wrong?” She frowns as she surely gets a good look at the stress lining all our eyes and shoulders.
Shock shoots through me. I didn’t even think about the possibility that she wouldn’t remember anything.
“What do you remember?” Brooklyn hedges, finally walking into the room and perching delicately on the edge of the mattress.
Summer’s brows knit together, and she looks off into space for so long that my heart rate spikes, and I worry she’s getting worse again. “… eating lunch with Wells. Going to the bathroom.”
“Anything else?” Maverick asks softly. A small shake of her head.
Brooklyn, Maverick, Hudson, and I all look at each other. Nobody wants to be the one to tell her.
“What?” she asks, fidgeting with the blanket covering her legs, and worry marring her face.
