I swear I can feel him. Whenever he’s close by, my heart races and my skin heats, like they know he’s around... like they’re waiting for his touch or attention.
Beep.
I just want to talk to you.
There are muffled sounds, movement, whispers... a door.
I blink my eyes open, but close them just as quickly because the light over my head is so bright that it’s shocking.
“Lights,” I say, or try to say. I’m not even sure the words come out. My mouth is so dry I can’t even move my tongue. It’s essentially stuck to the roof of my mouth and my lips feel dry and tight.
“Sawyer?” another voice, a different one, calls to me.
“Lights,” I say again, louder this time. “Bright.”
“Lights. Okay, I’ll turn them off. I’ve got it.”
I can hear the shuffling of feet and the click of a switch before darkness washes over my eyelids, giving me the sanctuary to open them without fear of pain.
I blink once, twice, then look around. A hospital room. I take stock of my body, trying to focus. Where am I hurt? How badly am I hurt?
I look down at my chest; my right arm is in a splint, lying across my body right under my chest. I feel like I’ve been repeatedly punched in the face, and my head is killing me, but all in all, I think I’m okay. It’s not lost on me how lucky I am to be breathing right now.
“Sawyer?” the voice says again, this time closer... much closer.
“Liv?” I turn my head toward her and see her standing against the door, dressed in leggings and a baggy tee. She must have just come here from bed.
“You scared the shit out of me.” She places her hand on her chest then begins to cry. “You can’t do that to me. Never again.”
I can feel a tear slip from my eye and leave a wet trail down my cheeks. “Water?” I ask.
“Yes. They left you a pitcher.” She pulls the rolling tray closer to me and pours water into a paper cup from one of those white and pink water pitchers that apparently come standard in every hospital.
She guides the straw between my lips and I suck the cold liquid into my mouth. It’s so refreshing and needed I swear I can hear my tongue sighing in relief.
“Thank you,” I say, then reach for her, wanting my friend to come closer, to hug her so she knows I’m all right.
She shakes her head. “You have so many tubes and wires. I can’t.”
“Liv, you’re not scared of anything. Come here, please.”
I pat the small side of the bed for her to sit next to me. There’s an IV stuck in the top of my hand that I hadn’t even noticed before, but it’s not attached to anything. Thank God. That makes me queasy.
She very gently half-sits on the bed next to me, and I lay my hand in her lap to hold her hand.
“Every single worst-case scenario ran through my head when I found out.” She stares at my hand as she talks. “You’re my best friend. I was so scared you were going to be so hurt, or worse.”
“But I’m okay, so no more tears.”
“How long have I been here?” I look toward the window. It’s still dark out.
“Just a few hours. You lost consciousness for a while. You hit your head really hard. The doctor said you have a concussion and a fractured arm. You’re pretty beaten up, but you’re incredibly lucky. Once they got you here, they gave you something in your IV for pain and I think that just kept you asleep for awhile. They did some scans to check your head, but said besides the concussion, there isn’t any swelling or bleeding. And when you hit the steering wheel, it cut your forehead open pretty bad. Sawyer, they said there was so much blood.” She looks down at our hands.
“That explains the throbbing.”
“Do you remember what happened?”
The lights flash in my eyes, the tires screech in my ears, my stomach drops as the car flips... It’s vivid in my mind, until that moment… after that, there’s nothing.
“Not really. I just remember swerving and then waking up here.”
The door to the hallway pushes open, sending light slicing through the room and revealing the black silhouette of a very backlit man that nearly fills the entire doorway. He’s stock-still... unmoving until he speaks.
“Ah, I’m glad to see you’re awake, Ms. Westbrook,” he says, as he steps into the room. He’s an older gentleman with a balding head, a white jacket synonymous with doctors, and a stethoscope around his neck. “I’m Dr. Wilder. I’m a trauma physician here in the emergency department.”
“Hi,” I say weakly.
He peeks over my chart again then adjusts his glasses. “You gave everyone quite a scare, but I’m happy to report that you’re going to be just fine. You took a nice bump on the head and you’ve got some cuts, scrapes, bruises, and that fracture in your arm, but overall, you made it out of this fairly well. As long as your vitals stay steady and there isn’t a change on the scan I’d like to do tomorrow morning, we’ll have you out of here by dinnertime tomorrow. How’s that sound?”
“That sounds perfect to me,” I tell him.
“Good. Now, I’d better go tell that boyfriend of yours you’re awake. He’s been pacing the waiting room for hours.” He laughs as he exits the way he came.
I nearly sit straight up, and I think I would have if I were able. “What? Isaac is here?”
Olivia nods. “He was the one who called me. He and his station were the first on site, sweetie. He pulled you free.”
My bottom lip begins to tremble and wet, hot tears fill my eyes as I try to process it all.
“Is he okay?” I ask in a husky tone, my dry throat and impending cry making it even deeper.
“I’ll go get him and you can
