Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
I feel like cracking. I think he does too.
Neither of us speaks. I don’t think we can. It’s been so fucking long since they loaded her into the back of the ambulance and pulled away. She was breathing, but she wasn’t awake.
Christ, if she doesn’t wake up…
I choke on a groan, swaying on my feet.
“You should sit,” Nash says, clamping a steadying hand on my shoulder. “Before you collapse, Archer.”
“Don’t want to sit.” I shake him off. Resume pacing.
“Archer, you need to sit,” he tries again.
“Nash, fuck off and leave him alone,” Micah rasps.
I glance over, and our eyes meet. I see the fear I feel reflected in his gaze. For the first time since I married his sister, we’re in perfect accord. We’re both in hell. And it’s our own fault.
Had I just told her the truth, she wouldn’t be here now. Had he just bent a little, she wouldn’t be here now.
We fucked up, and we failed.
It feels like knives in my veins, tearing me apart.
Her brother knows exactly how I feel. He’s been here before, praying she survived. And now, he’s right back here again. Because of me. Because of us.
Everything we were arguing about seems so goddamn trivial with her somewhere behind those doors, hurt. She needed us, and we failed her. How the hell are we supposed to live with ourselves if she isn’t okay?
I can’t. God, I can’t.
She’s been the center of my world since the day I met her. Everything I’ve done has been to keep her close, to ensure some little piece of her world involved me. If this is how it ends, I’ll never forgive myself.
“I’m sorry,” I rasp, razorblades in my throat. “Christ, Micah, I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” His hands shake. His knee bounces up and down. “It doesn’t matter anymore. She does.”
I jerk my chin in a nod. He’s right. She’s the only thing that matters.
He slumps again.
I resume pacing.
No one else says anything.
One minute ticks by. Five. Fifteen. Half an hour.
A doctor finally—finally—steps into the waiting room, his eyes scanning the room. If he’s surprised to see a waiting room full of professional hockey players dressed in suits, I can’t tell. I can’t tell by his expression if the news is good or bad, either.
Fuck. Why can’t I breathe?
Micah is on his feet in an instant, crossing to my side.
“You’re all here for Wren Graves?” the doctor asks.
“I’m her brother,” Micah says, nodding. “He’s her husband.”
“H-how is she?” I ask, my voice shaking. I feel weak. Christ, so fucking weak. If she’s not okay, I already know I won’t be. I’m going to break and crumble into fucking pieces right here in this waiting room.
“She’s awake,” he says.
Micah chokes on an exhale, his shoulders shaking.
Nash plants his hands on my shoulders like he’s trying to keep me upright.
For a minute, all I can do is stare at the man in front of me, my mind a roar of sound. I want to fall to my knees and cry. She’s awake. Thank God. She’s awake.
“How bad is it, Doc?” Micah asks when I can’t find the words. My tongue feels cloven to the roof of my mouth.
“She’s got some cuts and bruises,” he says. “Surprisingly, nothing’s broken. Our main concern right now is the concussion. Because she was unconscious for over an hour, there are some concerns.”
Micah chokes beside me again.
The doctor’s gaze flickers around the waiting room. “You all play a professional sport. I’m sure you’re aware of the risks here. We want to keep her for a few days to make sure there aren’t any signs of major problems.”
I jerk my chin in a nod, trying to hold it together. Being unconscious that long with a concussion is never a good sign. Memory loss, seizures, and swelling on the brain are major immediate concerns, along with lingering headaches and vision problems, personality changes, brain fog… The goddamn list is endless. It’s been drilled into our heads since we were kids, picking up a stick for the first time. But it was supposed to be us at risk, not Wren. Never Wren.
“C-Can we see her?” I ask, my voice shaking.
“She can have visitors one at a time.” The doctor meets my gaze again. “She woke up asking for you, Mr. Graves. She hasn’t stopped yet. That’s a good sign.”
Micah glances at me, surprise flickering in his eyes. If it bothers him that she’s asking for me and not for him, he doesn’t say anything, though.
“If you’re ready, I’ll take you back,” the doctor says.
“Yeah. Shit, yeah,” I mutter, taking a step toward him.
“Tell her…” Micah clears his throat, looking at me, his brown eyes full of remorse behind his glasses. “Fuck, tell her that I love her, and I’m sorry.”
I jerk my chin in a nod as I follow behind the doctor on wooden legs, my heart pounding like a damn drum against my ribcage. Nurses cast furtive glances in my direction as we pass by the station in the center of the emergency room, but no one says anything to me. Or if they do, I don’t hear them.