Page 95 of You Again

“Rose,” Fran squawks, wrapping one arm around me. I hear her, but I can’t see her.

“Zev!” one of the girls next to us bellows.

She knows him, too.

They all do.

Zevulun was never the stranger I thought him to be. I’ve been foolish and wrong this whole time. Again.

My world narrows to a pinhole just before I’m lost to the blackness.

Forty

I wring my hands together, pacing outside the hospital room door. Strouse wants to run a few tests and keep an eye on her overnight. I’m grateful. I’ll be even more grateful when he allows me to go inside.

“You’re going to burn a hole in this hospital floor.” Callum stands against the wall, arms folded, watching me. “Zev,” he says when I don’t stop my pace. “It’s not helping.”

“It’s not hurting anything either. I need to move.”

“You’re limping.”

I hadn’t even noticed. But now that he mentions it, my leg’s killing me. “I’m fine.”

Fran exits Rosalie’s door—she isn’t family either, but she was allowed inside. Dr. Strouse follows her out.

“Is she⁠—”

“So far, so good,” Dr. Strouse says. “Looks like she was just overwhelmed. Her body panicked, and it was too much for her. We’ll keep an eye on her. But she should be home tomorrow.”

Fran stands in front of the door, eyes on me. “She wants to see you.”

“Does she know?” I say, unsure what I want the answer to be. I just got her back. And I don’t know what Rosalie will think of me once she knows that I knew her and never said anything.

“Yes,” Fran says, but she doesn’t look her normally joyful self. “She knows the two of you were together before.”

“And?” I stare at her. But Fran just moves out of the way of the door, allowing me inside.

I peer around at our friends; they all stare back with somber expressions. It’s quiet except for a hum from Roman and Stella’s little Ivy.

I suck in a breath, knowing there’s nowhere I’d rather be than next to Rosalie. No matter the circumstances. We’ve come this far, surely it can’t be for nothing.

The room is dim and it grows ever dimmer as the hospital door closes behind me. Her curtains are drawn, keeping the sun out; the only light streams from the cracked bathroom door.

“Rosalie?” I whisper.

She lies on her side, her hands clasped and beneath her cheek. She stares forward and she doesn’t move, not even with the sound of my voice.

“Hey, you.” I pat her foot. “You gave us a scare.”

But her position doesn’t change.

So, I take the seat next to her, making sure I’m right in her view. “Rosalie,” I say, looking at her. “I’m sorry.”

She blinks. It’s the first sign of life from her.

“I should have told you.” I rest my arms on my knees and bend to look her in the eyes—to force her to look at me. “Rosalie, I just⁠—”

“You did what I asked,” she says, her voice so small. “Everyone did.”