Page 94 of Afterglow

“She hit her head and we’re pretty sure her wrist is broken. Once she wakes up and we’re sure she and the baby are stable, we’ll take her to x-ray and get her wrist sorted out.” Becca squeezes my palm, pushing the door with her other hand.

My eyes snap to hers. “She’s not awake?”

She was waiting to tell me this, knowing it would only freak me out more.

“She’s been in and out of consciousness. This is her body’s way of stabilizing. Her vitals are good, everything is fine. Between hitting her head and the pain meds, it might be a little bit before she fully comes to.”

“But she’s okay, you’re sure?”

“I had neuro come up and look at her and they aren’t worried about damage beyond a concussion, which we’re monitoring her for.”

We round the corner of the private room she’s in and my knees threaten to buckle again.

She looks peaceful, but everything about it is wrong. There’s a bandage across her forehead and there’s blood in her hair. Her wrist is in a splint with ice taped to it. Her shirt is lifted and monitors are strapped to her stomach. There’s an IV in her hand. It’s all too much.

I want her to be awake. I want to say things, to make her believe how much I love her, but I can’t do any of that. So instead, I drop to the floor next to her bed, plant my head next to her hip, and wrap my arm gingerly around her at the base of her stomach.

And that’s when I truly lose it.

CHAPTER FORTY

Leanne

It’s fuzzy inside my head. Warm and fuzzy, like I’m floating along the surface of a bubbly pool.

The fuzz clears in spurts, voices carrying across in waves, and then it thickens again and I sink below the surface where it’s quiet again.

A man’s voice I don’t recognize says, “She likely has a concussion, but the laceration is superficial, nothing to be concerned about. When she wakes up, we can check all her neurological signs, but I’m not worried. Her body is doing what it can to take care of itself.”

“She’ll need an x-ray for that arm. The paramedics said they thought it might have hit the steering wheel.” This voice is soft, female, and again unfamiliar.

“Leanne, you’re doing great. You and your baby girl are doing so good, okay? Don’t worry. You’re safe. I’ve got you.” This woman’s voice I know, and it makes me want to open my eyes, but they’re frustratingly heavy.

“Can she hear me?” A male voice tugs at me. It’s rough but tender, and so strong it’s embedded within the walls of my heart. I love that voice.

“I think she can, and it never hurts to try,” says the female voice again.

“Hey, blondie.” A bearded face swims in my mind. “I love you so much, you know that? God, I hope you know that. You gotta wake up so I can tell you. I can see our butterfly’s heartbeat on the monitor and it’s so strong, Leanne. Just like yours. You’re so strong.” The voice is right beside me on the sea of foam, but before I can say his name, I sink back beneath the surface.

Pressure on my hand draws me toward consciousness. Three squeezes—gentle yet firm. It’s familiar, comforting, and my own fingers ache to return the motion. I want him to know everything is okay too.

My eyelids are heavy, so it takes several attempts to pry them open, fluttering a few times before the brightness of the room fades enough for objects to form in front of me. Each shape comes into focus one by one—like the hand resting on my stomach between the monitors strapped to it and the head beside my hip. Dark rumpled hair splayed on the sheet.

It’s a monumental effort to lift my hand, but it finds the strands and whispers through them.

Bryce jumps and his dark brown eyes, rimmed red and puffy, find my hazel ones.

“You’re awake,” he rasps, as if his voice has been dragged over hot coals.

“You’re here,” I whisper in response, the words feeling like sawdust in my throat.

Relief begins to replace the haunted look in his eyes and he smiles softly. “I’m here.”

He presses a kiss to my cheek and I lean into it, wanting nothing more than his closeness. At first the memories are a trickle, and then a deluge, as the past few hours—days?—start coming back.

“How long have I been out? Is—” I swing my head around to look at the monitor, and it shows two pulsing lines, one much faster than the other. Relief tugs me back into my pillows as the burst of adrenaline wears off.

“Only a couple of hours. And she’s fine, Leanne.” He splays his fingers across my belly where I feel an immediate kick of pressure. Then he tucks a wayward strand of hair behind my ear, making my eyes drift closed. “Becca’s going to take us for an ultrasound after you get your x-ray.”