Page 114 of Don't Think

“Hi, I’m looking for an update on Allison Windsor,” I say quickly, trying not to sound as nervous as I feel.

She raises an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, that information is only for—”

“I’m her husband,” I blurt, dropping my hand to my side.

Her eyes widen. “Oh! I’m so sorry, Mr. Windsor. Can you give me her date of birth so I can look her up?”

“March 22, 1983,” I answer automatically.

Thank God for our late-night talks.

Her fingers fly across the keyboard, the sound clattering around in my skull with every key she jams. The sound ramps up the anxiety crawling under my skin unbearably.

“Mr. Windsor, it looks like your wife is currently in surgery. They shouldn’t be too much longer, but I’ll make sure the doctor comes to find you right away,” she says sympathetically.

My eyebrow arches. “She’s okay though, right?”

She nods. “It looks like she’s stable on my end, but the doctor will know more. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more.”

I give her a tight-lipped smile. “Okay, thank you.”

Reluctantly, I peel myself away from the desk and drag myself back to the chair beside Ana.

As soon as I sink into it, she leans in.

“What did they say?” she asks quietly, like it’s a secret.

I shake my head and shrug. “Basically, that she’s stable, and they’ll come and get me when she’s out.”

“It’s already been a while. Maybe it won’t be too much longer?” Nora’s voice cuts through, and when I turn around, she’s sitting beside me.

“Jesus, Nora. Are you okay?” I ask, my eyes scanning her for damage.

She has a sling just like Ana said, and a small cut above her eyebrow, but otherwise, you’d never guess she’d just been in a crash.

She shrugs, her eyes falling to the floor. “I’m okay. I just want to know if Allie’s okay.”

Then her eyes lift to mine, and I see it—the hurt glazing over them.

“There was so much blood, Jax,” she whispers.

I pinch my eyes closed, willing the images to stop invading my brain the way they are. My hand finds her back, and I rub it gently.

“She’s going to be fine,” I whisper back, wishing it into existence.

“She better be fucking fine,” Ana says behind me.

“The best thing we can do for her right now is just sit and wait,” I say to them both.

And pray—

To whatever god might be listening, but I can’t think of a god that would let this happen.

To a mother. A nurse.Anotherperson I love.

Shehasto be fine.

“Mr. Windsor?”