Fall Into You (Morally Gray, #2)(88)

He has a gentle voice and a gentle smile, and now I’m even more afraid than I was before. My tongue doesn’t want to work, so I stare at him in terrified silence, waiting for him to speak again.

My expression must be pretty dire, because he starts to explain things to me slowly, as if I might not understand his words.

“You were in a car accident. You’re in the ICU. We gave you drugs to reduce the swelling in your brain, so you might feel disoriented and confused for a while. That’s normal.”

I’m in the ICU?

As if summoned by that thought, the pain in my body makes itself known.

It’s everywhere but worse in certain places. My head aches and my right hip throbs. My spine doesn’t feel right, as if it’s out of alignment, and all the nerves between the discs are pinched. And my throat is so raw and tender. Even my vocal cords are sore.

Everyone in the room is holding their breath. I can sense it without looking at them. The feeling of collective dread hangs in the air like an evil mist.

And I understand that I’ve been hurt very badly. That these people I love weren’t sure if I would live or die.

Cole.

My heartbeat goes haywire. My mouth, already dry, turns to dust and ashes. Cold descends over my entire body, making it feel as if I’ve been wrapped in sheets of ice.

I whisper, “Is Cole okay?”

Leaning over to shine a penlight in both my eyes, Dr. Dayan says, “You’ll be weak for a while. That’s normal too. Muscles atrophy quickly when they’re not used. Your throat will hurt as well. Your breathing tube was removed this morning when we stopped the paralytics.”

I don’t care about a stupid breathing tube right now. What I care about is the man who was in the car with me.

“Where’s Cole? Chelsea? Is he all right?”

Chelsea and the doctor share a glance. Then she squeezes my hand.

“Let him examine you, okay? Then we’ll talk.”

Her voice is soft. Too soft and tinged with sorrow. And I know what it means.

Cole isn’t okay.

Whatever’s wrong with me, it’s worse with him.

The sound of screeching tires and shattering glass fills my ears. The sensation of tumbling through empty space grips me. I suck in a breath that feels like fire and smells like smoke and burning fuel.

While the doctor taps my leg to see if I can feel it, I close my eyes and start to cry.





I wake to darkness.

It’s not total. Light from the hallway spills through the open door of the room. The curtain that surrounds the bed has been drawn to one side so I can see into the hallway to the nurses station beyond. Three people sit at the desk, an older woman in pink scrubs who’s typing on a computer keyboard and two younger women doing paperwork.

The only light inside my room comes from the hallway and the moonlight spilling through the window.

It must be very late, but I don’t know the time. If there’s a clock in this room, it’s not within sight.

I turn my head on the pillow and see my mother sleeping on the small sofa under the window, her legs drawn up and her arms wrapped around herself. She’s pale and too thin. Dark smudges under her eyes belie her exhaustion.

In the moonlight, she doesn’t look like she’s sleeping.

She looks like she’s dead.

But then she inhales and mumbles something incoherently, and the band of pain around my chest eases.

It tightens again when I think of Cole.

I have to know how he is. I have to know what happened to him. I barely remember anything about the accident that put me here, only that quick glimpse of the oncoming truck and a few snatches of the collision, but I know it must’ve been devastating.

Lifting my head feels like being hit with a sledgehammer.

Sitting upright leaves me gasping in pain.

Dizzy and nauseated, I squeeze my eyes shut and stay still for a while, gathering the strength to swing my legs over the side of the bed. At some point, someone lowered the guard rails, so I’m not trapped anymore.

When I feel more steady, I slide one leg at a time around, then gingerly scoot to the edge of the mattress until I can set my feet on the floor. It’s icy cold, even through the ugly blue hospital socks I’m wearing.

I try not to think of how I got into those socks or this pale blue gown either. I don’t wonder who had to take me out of my other clothes, or about how they must’ve been cut off my body. I push all thoughts out of my head and concentrate on standing up.

The effort it takes leaves me panting and covered in sweat.

I grab onto the metal pole that holds the bag of liquid I’m hooked up to. It’s got wheels, thank God. As carefully and quietly as I can, I shuffle around the end of the bed toward the open door, praying my mother doesn’t wake up and stop me.

She doesn’t.

When I reach the door, the nurses are still occupied with their work.

Weak, shaking, and in pain, I slink past the nurses station, slowly making my way down the hallway. The doors to the patient rooms don’t have windows, so I can’t see inside, but as I’m passing a room with a door painted bright yellow and numbered nine, the door opens suddenly and a doctor stands there.

He’s startled to see me, but I don’t pay attention to him.

I’m looking at the person lying on the bed in the room beyond.

It’s Cole.