Resolution (Mason Family 5)

No. This isn’t happening.

This can’t be fucking happening.

My hand trembles as fear dumps over me like a cold bucket of water.

I can’t breathe.

“Is she all right?” I ask. “Tell me she’s alright!”

God, she has to be all right. Let her be all right.

Tears prick my eyes as I climb back to my feet.

I have to get to her. I need to see her. I need to have her in my arms.

God, she has to be all right.

“Where is she?” I bark, grabbing my keys off the counter and storming into my garage. “Where is Dara?”

“She’s been transported to Savannah Methodist, sir. I can’t give you any more information than that.”

I end the call and start my car. The tires squeal as I rip down the driveway to get to her.

To get to Dara.

To get to my lady.

I should’ve gone with her. I should’ve protected her. Why can I never protect the people in my life I lo—I …

Please, God, let her be all right.

Don’t do this to me again.

I need her to be okay.

I need her.

I won’t make it this time.

THIRTY-EIGHT

DARA

“How are you feeling?” A redheaded woman in green scrubs looks at a screen above me. Then she clicks around a mobile computer-looking thing. “Are the lights too bright?”

My throat is so dry that I can barely speak. “They’re fine.”

I start to move, but everything—every single cell in my body—objects.

I hiss and relax as much as possible into the hard hospital bed.

My head throbs. I touch my face on the left side where it feels like I’ve been punched. It’s swollen and warm against my hand, but my head throbs too bad to process it.

Memories of the lights coming right at me—the dazzlingly bright, blinding lights—make me squint. The smell of smoke. The voices shouting and someone tugging on my arm.

It all starts to come back to me.

“What happened?” I ask, squinting at the nurse.

“Do you remember anything at all?”

I think. “A wreck, I think?”

“Yes, sweetie. You were in an accident.”

When? How long have I been here?

What’s happening?

I start to sit up, but my body screams at me in protest.

“The doctor will be in now that you’re awake,” she says. “Can I get you anything while you wait?”

“Water,” I say, the words burning my throat.

She nods and starts to leave.

“Um, hey,” I say, wincing at the pain in my side.

She stops by the door.

Tears wet my eyes as I remember what I was doing. Curt’s house.

Suddenly, the room feels really fucking big.

I’m afraid to ask the question on the tip of my tongue. I’m afraid to hear the answer. But the emptiness in my chest cries out longer and harder than the fear of being unwanted.

“Is there anyone here for me?” I ask.

Her face falls.

Tears fall down mine.

“The doctor will be right in,” she whispers and shuts the door softly behind her.

My chest shakes as I cry. It’s a pathetic attempt at crying because I don’t even have the energy to do it right.

I lick my lips and discover that they, too, are swollen. I wonder if anything is broken besides my spirit.

Damn Curt Bowery. Damn you and your piece-of-shit son.

I look around the room for my phone. I need to call Wade. There’s a chance no one has called him because I know he’d be here if he knew something happened.

The thought makes me smile.

He’ll come for me. I know it.

The idea of seeing his face and feeling his touch slows my tears. It’s the only balm to my wounds.

I just wonder how many I have.

A soft knock raps against the door. A balding man in a white coat comes into the room.

“Well, hello, sleeping beauty,” he says softly. “I’m Dr. Kidmore. How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a truck. Funnily enough, I’m not sure what hit me.”

He sets a notebook down on a stand. “I think your instincts are probably right on that.”

I try to smile.

He takes a quick glance at the machine overhead and then rolls a stool up beside the bed. “I’m going to do a few checks, okay?”

I nod, barely.

He shines his light in my eyes, which makes me squint. Ouch. His fingers are soft, though, as they press against what must be a patchwork of bruises given how much they hurt.

“You’re doing great, Dara. Are there specific areas of discomfort for you? There is a lot of bruising and swelling.”

I try to shrug but wince instead. “Well, my face hurts. My arm. It hurts to breathe too deep.”

“That makes sense. You have a small fracture in your left hand that will heal on its own. And a nicely cracked rib. You’re going to be pretty sore.”

I wince while trying to take a deep breath. “I believe that.”

He smiles.

“The other driver—are they okay?” I ask.

“He’s alive. I can’t say much else.”

I nod, my heart sinking. “I understand.”