Fighting Our Way (Broken Tracks 2)

“Nate?” I whisper, my throat clogging up as a lump builds.

“Don’t try to talk, Lia,” he says softly, pushing my hair back from my face.

“I…” I swallow, clutching onto his hand with all of my strength—which isn’t much. My heartbeat speeds up, one of the machines next to me sounding louder and louder. “Phoebe,” I gasp.

A hand landing softly on my cheek stops my frantic searching of the room and I look into Nate’s eyes as he cups my face gently. “I swear down on my life that I’ll never let that woman near you again. You’re safe here.”

I don’t move my gaze from his, trying to find the truth in his eyes, and when that’s all I’m met with, I nod slowly. Part of me doesn’t want to accept that he’ll keep me safe, but the part that has my pulse racing and my eyes searching for her wants to latch onto his protection and never let go.

Taking a calming breath, I turn my gaze away from Nate and take stock of everything. The first thing I see is my leg in plaster. I stare at my toes trying to make them move, but they don’t budge. I frown, flicking my gaze back to Nate briefly before looking over at my other leg and pulling the hospital blanket aside.

“What?” I whisper, more to myself than Nate.

My leg won’t move; what the hell is going on? I concentrate on trying to get my toes to move more than I’ve ever done on anything else in my entire life. But nothing happens.

I reach down and touch my thigh gently, but if I wasn’t looking, I wouldn’t even know I was touching it.

My eyes widen as realization crashes down around me. “No!” I cry out, slapping my open palm against my leg, the sound reverberating around us in the sterile hospital room. I still don’t feel a thing.

“Lia, stop!”

“This can’t be happening!” I shout, tears running down my face as I twist my upper body and make a fist, beating against my leg and willing some kind of sensation to appear.

Nate rushes at me, trying to grab ahold of my arms, his eyes looking down at my waist frantically. “Lia, you have to stop! You’ve just had major surgery.”

I don’t stop, I keep going, trying to feel anything—even a little twinge—but there’s nothing.

“Lia!”

Nate finally manages to grab me but I break free of his hold as I take in his shocked and distressed face.

“Why?” I scream, yanking the blankets off my body as I try to sit up, but I can’t because I can’t feel anything from my waist down. This can’t be real, it’s all a dream, it’s not really happening. Maybe if I pinch myself I’ll wake up in my bed in the pool house and these last few months won’t have happened?

I inspect myself, seeing fresh red blood flowing from my left side and onto my hospital-issued gown. I can’t b

ring myself to care as I continue to try and sit up, sure that if I can see my legs better then they’ll work.

I manage to roll slightly onto my side, blood staining the bed.

“Oh, God, you’ve torn your stitches,” Nate gasps, trying to lean over me but I bat him away. His hand grasping my wrist and giving a squeeze brings my attention back to him, but I don’t stop thrashing about as he shouts, “I can’t do anything unless you tell me what’s going on!”

I ignore him, trying to yank out of his grasp but it’s harder this time because he’s anticipated it. When I finally manage to get free of him, I nearly fall off the bed as I slam my fists down on my legs over and over again, tears streaming down my face and guttural sobs escaping my throat.

“I can’t… this… no…”

Squeezing my eyes closed, I pray to a God I’m not even certain is listening. If he is then all I want is to be able to feel again. I can’t survive without my legs, I know I can’t.

But it doesn’t matter how many times I chant the prayer in my head, no feeling comes back, and as soon as I realize my prayers aren’t going to be answered, I open my eyes, my body becoming very still as I stare into Nate’s green ones. They beg me to stop, flashing with worry and panic as he lifts his hand to my face, cupping my cheek.

“What are you doing to yourself? Let me in: help me understand.”

“They’re not working,” I manage to get out between panicked breaths.

I watch him for a beat as his gaze flicks between my eyes before taking one last breath and shoving him away with all of my strength. He stumbles back as I pull at the wires that are coming out of my arms, my movements frantic as I grab my thigh, squeezing it and shouting, “Feel, dammit!”

“Your legs aren’t working?” he asks in a panicked voice before he leans over me, slamming his hand against something on the wall, a loud beeping alarm sounding around us as he grips my arms and tries to restrain me.

Several sets of footsteps sound, coming faster and faster, the rhythm like that of a large drum before three people dressed in scrubs appear in the room.