When You Come Back to Me (Lost Boys 2)
Page 130
Chapter Twenty-Two
I gasped, air filling my lungs on a harsh inhale. My eyes flew open and saw a field of white, and then Dad was there, his face floating over me. His hand gave me a squeeze, the sensation bringing me into the room. A hospital. My left arm was heavy and immobile. My head ached.
“What happened?”
“Shh, it’s okay,” Dad said. “There was an accident, but you’re okay. The doctors say you’re going to be just fine.”
“What’s wrong with me?”
“You have a pretty bad concussion and a broken arm. But good news! It’s not your throwing arm. And you don’t need surgery. They’re running a few more tests. If those look good—which they will—you’ll be out of here in a few days.”
I sank deeper against the pillows, my thoughts slipping out of my grasp. My stomach twisted as if I’d forgotten something earth-shattering.
I bolted up and winced as pain battered my head. “How’s Mom? Is she…?”
“Easy, son. She’s okay. Worried about you, of course. She wants to be here so badly. Would’ve driven herself if Dazia hadn’t talked her out of it. You can FaceTime later today.”
“No, I have to get out of here. Something’s not right. I shouldn’t be away from her.”
“Just a few days—”
“She only has days, Dad,” I said, but it wasn’t only my mom. There was something else… “Tell me about the accident. What happened?”
Concern furrowed Dad’s brow. “They said some temporary memory loss for around the time of the accident was typical. What’s the last thing you remember?”
I closed my eyes. Headlights racing down a street. An ocean at night. Holden striding toward the sea…
“Holden!” My eyes flew open, panic ripping through me. A machine on the wall began to beep faster. “Where is he? Where’s Holden?”
“Easy, easy,” Dad said. “He’s fine, son. He’s okay.”
I sank back, my body going slack with relief and heavy exhaustion. “He’s okay? Where is he? What happened?”
“You two were on Highway 1. Holden said you swerved to avoid a deer. The truck went down a small ravine and rolled. You’re so lucky—”
“And he’s okay? You’re sure?”
“Not a scratch.” Dad shifted on his chair. “River…you were supposed to be at Prom with Violet. Who is Holden?”
Before I could answer, a tall doctor, around fifty years old with the name Stansfield on his badge, entered. He smiled kindly.
“Ah, he’s awake. Good to see it. How’re you doing, River?”
“Tired. Head hurts.”
Dr. Stansfield pulled a chair to my bedside. “That’s to be expected. You’ve had a
pretty rough knock to the temple.”
He took out a pen light and checked my eyes, then asked a few questions about my pain levels and what I remembered from the accident, which wasn’t much.
Dr. Stansfield nodded. “I have some news.”
Dad’s face went pale. “What is it?”
“We have a few more test results in. My initial assessment stands—you have a small brain bleed, River, that doesn’t require surgery. Our neurology team has agreed that it will resolve on its own.”
Dad clutched his chest with a laugh. “That’s great. Jeez, you scared me there, doc…”