Stitches.
I try to open my eyes but the light stabs at my retinas and I close them again in a hurry. My mouth’s dry like a desert and my throat aches when I attempt to swallow.
Who does the voice belong to? Something in it tugs at me, makes me feel safe. Makes me feel young and protected.
Footsteps approach the bed and an unfamiliar woman’s voice says, “Feeling better today, Asher?”
I finally manage to open my eyes to slits and get a look at her. Auburn-haired and middle-aged, she looks determined to get an answer out of me as she fusses with plastic bags hanging from a metal stand by my bed.
“Yeah.” My voice’s so rusty I wince at the sound. “What...?” I wave at the bags hanging over my head, and a sting on the back of my hand makes me narrow my eyes at it. A needle is stuck into my flesh, white tape holding it in place.
“Saline, antibiotics, and you also had a liter of blood pumped into you,” she says cheerfully as if discussing the latest episode of her favorite TV show. “Glad to see you more alert. The doctor will be with you in a minute.”
I swallow again and she glares at me until I nod. What, does my opinion matter? Do I get a say in this?
She leans over and pats my hand, the one without a needle. Her brown eyes warm up. “Really good to see you back among the living, young man.”
And she bustles away and out the room, leaving me to stare at her ample backside.
I can’t remember how I got here. It bugs me. I remember the fight club... I remember fighting. The rest is murky.
A sound comes from my right and I twist my head to see, wincing as the pounding in my head redoubles.
Zane. Of course, that’s one of the familiar male voices. He comes to stand by the bed, a grin tugging at his lips.
“Fucker,” he says and his eyes look suspiciously wet. “Scared the living crap out of me, man. The hell happened to you?”
I frown. “It’s all a bit hazy.”
Zane grabs a glass with a straw from a table by the bed and gives me to drink. I sip gratefully at the water. It feels heavenly going down my parched throat.
I give Zane a once over and don’t like what I see. He looks fucking awful, sickly pale, dark crescents under his eyes. “You look like shit.”
“Thanks.” He grimaces.
“You’ve been here since yesterday, Ash,” the other male voice says, that vaguely familiar, authoritative voice, and I try to twist more to see who it is but my ribs are killing me and there’s a fire low in my back. “Zane hasn’t moved from your side.”
Well, that makes sense. Zane wouldn’t. He’s my bro, my best friend. Makes me feel guilty, of course, as it always does when Zane takes care of me.
“The others were here, too,” Zane says, a defensiveness in his voice I’m not used to hearing. “Tessa and Audrey and Rafe. Even Dylan.”
Audrey. I blink. “She was here?”
“She’s the one who found you, dimwit.” Zane looks like he wants to give me a mock punch, then thinks better of it.
“Z-man, who’s the other guy?” If only he’d come around the bed so I could see...
Zane scowls, which makes me even more curious. Silence stretches.
“Ash.” The invisible guy seems to hesitate. “It’s been a long time.”
That statement sends warning bells ringing inside my head, but there’s too much noise in there already, and my pulse thumps in my ears, so I’m not even certain I heard him right.
Then he does step around the bed and I see him. I blink stupidly. It’s a lot like staring in a mirror, and my twisty thoughts get even crazier.
Calm down, Ash.
I draw a deep breath and my ribcage shoots warning pains through my torso. Hello, cracked ribs. “You are...”