“They let you in.”
“I told them we’re close friends.”
The bewilderment was likely caused by painkillers, but maybe not. She did know she’d been unconscious for several hours. “How’d you find out?” As if that made any difference. But the little things were a place to start.
“About the accident? You’re on the morning news.” His mouth twisted. “You haven’t been identified, but I recognized your Jeep.”
“I wasn’t trying.” She felt a desperate need for him to believe her. “I said I wouldn’t.”
“I know you weren’t.” His free hand lifted to her face, gently stroking. With his fingertips he massaged her temple, the undamaged part of her forehead.
Her eyes wanted to roll back. Keeping them open took a real effort. “Not my fault,” she whispered.
“I know that, too,” he murmured. “I talked to a state patrol officer on the way in. They’ve been reconstructing the accident and talking to the people who weren’t as badly injured. Another driver saw it happen, too, and pulled over to help. Apparently, an oncoming car was trying to pass a pickup, driven by an eighteen-year-old guy who viewed that as a challenge and sped up. Nobody was passing him,” he said sardonically.
“Oh.” Suddenly her vision blurred. “I thought I was going to die.” It just burst out of her. “I was so scared. Why was I scared?”
Even as he swore, he shifted from the chair to the bed. He flattened his hands on each side of her shoulders and bent to touch his forehead to hers. It felt like an embrace, probably the closest he dared come with her so obviously battered.
“Because you don’t want to die.” Breath warm against her lips, he spoke softly, but his voice was ragged, too. “You already found that out, remember? It’s not your time, Erin.”
Hot tears ran down her face, blinded her. She tasted salt. “Maybe I can’t die,” she whispered.
“Please don’t. Please.”
She started to sob. She could, because he was here, but, oh, it hurt. His arms came around her and he half lifted her so she could cry against his shoulder, let him soak up her tears and her pain.
If only he didn’t withhold so much. If only he’d let her take on some of his pain, too.
One second she savored his strength, tried to gather her weary mind. The next she slid into darkness.
* * *
WITH NO WARNING, her cheeks still wet, Erin fell asleep. Cole hoped she was actually asleep, and hadn’t plunged back into the coma that had kept her unresponsive for almost four hours last night, according to the doctor.
After laying her carefully back on the pillows, he studied her. The rise and fall of her chest was slow, even. Her lips were slightly parted. Movement flickered behind her eyelids. REM. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen her sleep.
Finally relaxing, he eased off the bed and settled himself in the chair again to wait. The relief he’d felt when she talked to him was so profound he was still weak from it. She was alive. Injured, but conscious and already beginning to recover.
He’d brought a day pack with his school stuff, but he hadn’t been able to do anything other than stare at her and will her to open her eyes. Now that she had, he unzipped the pack and pulled out a book.
Nurses poked their heads in every so often. One brought him a chilled bottle of water, for which he murmured “Thanks.” He would read a few paragraphs and look up, his concentration not the best. She was under so deep she didn’t stir for nearly two hours.
When she did, she swallowed and opened and closed her mouth a couple of times. Finally, her lashes lifted, revealing confusion. She moaned when she rolled her head to stare uncomprehendingly at him.
The sound was enough to bring a nurse, who prompted Erin to press a button to give herself a shot of pain relief, then held a water bottle with a straw to her mouth.
“Thank you,” she whispered afterward. “It felt like I had a mouthful of sand.”
The nurse chuckled. “Not the first time I’ve heard that.”
Erin fixed her eyes on Cole. At least he saw clarity in them, even if he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Not until the nurse was gone did Erin say, “You’re still here.”