A Lover's Lament

I thought I’d lost you too.

“Damn it, Wyatt,” I growl. His eyes search mine, and I can tell that he’s trying to decide what to do. “Please. Please tell me.” Frustrated, I lift my free hand to my head and wince when something pricks my finger. What the hell?

Gently, I run my hand further into my hair and follow what I presume to be stitches, finding that they stop just above my ear. Rubbing my thumb over the pads of my fingers, I hold my hand in front of my face, inspecting it closely. My hand shakes when I see the blood smudged on the tips of my fingers.

Blood on my head.

Sore, stiff body.

What the hell happened to me?

“You had to get fifteen stitches to close the gash above your temple,” Wyatt states softly. The distinct sound of tires squealing ricochets through my head, and I squeeze my eyes shut as memories start flooding in. “It took them forever to get it to stop bleeding.” I hear what he’s saying, but the flashbacks are pouring in too fast for me to stop and ask questions.

Headlights flashing. Honking … swerving.

“You also have twelve stitches to a laceration on your left arm.”

Metal crunches, glass shatters, tires squeal.

My heart races inside my chest and I grip the fabric of my gown, trying desperately to anchor myself to something.

“Three fractured ribs…”

My body flies forward, then it’s yanked back again before being tossed violently from side to side.

I wince, clutching my head. Too much … this is all too much. My breaths are becoming more and more shallow as anxiety trickles through my veins.

“And you have a bruised left hip.”

Moaning … gurgling … my head lolls to the side and I crack my eyes open.

My eyes drift shut. The memory of the metallic taste of blood floods my mouth.

Blood. Lots and lots of blood.

My eyes snap open and I search the room. Someone is missing. Where is Dad? Oh God. No. No, no, no. Please, no.

My mom comes barreling into the room at the same time realization hits me.

“Da-ad!” I scream. Mom comes to an abrupt halt at the end of my bed and her hand flies to her face, covering her mouth. She blinks once and tears start rolling down her face.

“Katie …”

I hear Wyatt say my name, but everything seems to be happening in slow-motion and I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from my mom, who’s watching me with a look of fear mixed with pain. She takes a hesitant step forward, as if I’m a wild animal and she’s trying to decide the best way to approach me. My eyes follow every move she makes, and when she sits next to me on the bed, opposite from Wyatt, she drops her hand from her face so she can brush her fingers along my cheek. Her beautiful eyes are bloodshot and puffy, and the dark circles around them tell me just how much pain she is in. I swallow hard whe

n her bottom lip trembles because I know—I can feel it in the pit of my soul—that whatever she’s about to tell me is going to rip my life to shreds.

“Katie,” she whispers, her eyes searching mine.

“Dad. Where’s Dad?”

“Daddy—” Her voice cracks, and once again she plasters a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. A tight band constricts around my heart. Lifting my hand, I rub absently at the ache in my chest.

“Shhh … it’s okay.” Bailey’s soothing voice catches me off-guard.

“Bailey?” I ask frantically, needing to see my sister. She walks to my bed and drapes her arm around mom’s shoulder. Tears are dripping down her flushed face and she looks at me for a brief moment, her lips pinched together, before she gives a slight shake of her head.

That one movement is monumental and packs a mean punch of silent words that slam straight into my gut. And that’s all it takes to confirm my worst nightmare—the one thing I was most fearful of.