What I did the night of the accident was with one goal in mind. I had to be near Grace and make her see me again. Make her realize I’m not going anywhere.
I didn’t expect the night to end the way it did. I didn’t intend to kiss her. It just happened. I was selfish and reckless. That is what my feelings for Grace do to me. Because she is mine. She has been mine since I was ten and she gave me that little flower as a good luck charm. I just didn’t know it yet.
“I must be a big disappointment,” I mutter, averting my gaze to stare out the window. A lump forms in my throat as I imagine the regret he must be feeling.
“What? No. How can you even say that?” I hear the chair creak as he shifts his weight. Then he’s at my side, grasping my chin and forcing me to look at him. “I’m not happy, but that doesn’t mean you disappoint me. You get so passionate when you put your mind to something. Your heart rules your head. And that’s really okay. But you will never be a disappointment. All right?”
I nod, then attempt to swallow, which proves to be difficult. Luke ruffles my hair, then cups my head in both his hands and kisses my forehead.
“Is she really worth all this?” he asks. My chest tightens with the need to defend her, but before I can say anything, he continues, “Look what happened. You and Levi got hurt. What is it about her that makes two grown boys behave like that?”
“It’s Grace,” I say because her name should be an adjective in and of itself to describe her. I know my uncle’s question is coming from the pain of almost losing me. I can see that even through my drug-induced haze.
He drags his hand down his face and shakes his head.
Before he can say anything, I ask, “How is he? Levi, I mean.”
He looks like he wants to say something, probably about Grace, but I can’t do that right now. If or when we finally have that conversation, I need to be sober, not hopped up to my gills on medication.
“Better. He’s already left intensive care.”
“Good,” I mutter, feeling as if a weight has been lifted off my chest. “Very good.” I breathe out and relax into the pillows.
He looks at his watch, then reaches for his bag on the chair. “I have a lunch meeting. I’ll see you later, all right?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
Leaning down, he hugs me, squeezing me a little tighter. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m away.” He pulls back and shakes his head. “We still need to talk about Grace and what happened.”
“Of course.”
He stares at me for several seconds, then turns and strides to the door without another word.
In the sudden silence, the memory of New Year’s Eve rears its ugly head to haunt me. She did kiss me back, but what right did I have to behave like a Neanderthal?
That girl brings out the possessiveness in me like no one else can. Closing my eyes, I exhale and allow exhaustion to pull me under.
The following day, I walk into the kitchen at almost eleven o’clock in the morning. Mom looks up from the book she’s reading, scrutinizing me as I shuffle closer and hug her like I do each morning.
“How are you feeling?” she asks.
“Better.” I grab a mug from the cabinet above the counter and pour my coffee. Then I face her again and bring it to my lips. Her brows are bunched in a subtle frown. “Are you okay, Mom? Aren’t you supposed to be at the diner?”
Immediately, she schools her expression and smiles. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay after the headache you had last night. Are you still having nightmares?”
I groan. “Chris told you?” She nods, watching me expectantly. “On and off. I’m sure they’ll stop soon.” She eyes me doubtfully. “If they don’t, I’ll contact one of the therapists on the list Dr. Bachmann gave me. Did I tell you he’s Gavin’s father?”
Her eyes grow wide. “Your ex-boyfriend in high school?”
I nod. “I saw him too. He’s shadowing his dad.” Her brows rise in question. “I’ve gotten over it,” I lie, not wanting to burden her. She’s already dealing with the accident.
“If you say so.” Crap. She knows me like the back of her hand. I let it slide.
By the time we got home yesterday, I had a killer headache. After taking a shower and some Advil, I crawled in bed and slept through until this morning. Schools open on Monday, but I’m not ready—neither mentally nor physically. And then there’s Sol.
As if reading my mind, Mom says, “I think you should stay home another week just to make sure you’ve completely healed.” After a quick nod from me, she adds, “I’ll call them on Monday to let them know.”
I walk over and set my coffee on the table, then pull the chair out to sit down.
“Father Foster called. Sol is out of the ICU.”
“What? Why didn’t you tell me? When did that happen?”
“Yesterday. Sit down and eat your breakfast, then I’ll drop you off at the hospital.”
Lifting the mug to my lips, I gulp it all down. “Done. I’m going to change. Did he say if we can see Sol?”
She nods. “Visiting hours end at eight o’clock in the evening. We have enough time.”
I’m out of the room before she can finish that sentence. Five minutes later, I run back in, tucking my shirt into my jeans. “I’m ready.”
On the way out, she grabs the keys from the bowl at the door, then pauses with her hand on the door handle. Her gaze sharpens with a warning. “No talking about the kiss, okay?”
“Okay.” I wasn’t planning to talk about it. I just want to see for myself that he’s really fine.
MJ and Ivan are already with Sol when Mom and I get to his room. All conversation stops when we appear in the doorway. His eyes land on my mom, then cut to me and stay there. He’s watching me, and I’m taking him in. He looks so pale, and there’s a darkening bruise on his jaw, most likely a result from the accident. A sheet is draped over his body from the waist down, and over his left leg. His right one is partly exposed, revealing a large scar that runs from his hip down to just above his knee on the side of his thigh. Isn’t he supposed to be in a cast?
Several wires travel from under his hospital gown to the EKG machine next to his bed. Other than the beeping sound coming from the machines, the room is quiet, so our entry feels like a herd of elephants storming through a clearing.
My eyes bounce back to his face. There’s a slight hitch at one corner of his mouth as if he’s not sure if he should smile or not. I swear that indefinable ache in my chest, the emptiness I was feeling before, fills with that smile and a hundred heartbeats per second.
He’s okay. He’s really okay.
Sol whispers, “Hey, Gracie.”
I can’t move, rendered immobile by the relief rushing through me. At the same time, I want to fly to the bed and throw myself into his arms.
His smile morphs into a full-blown grin, and his blue-blue eyes light up, and oh God, I can’t breathe. I force air into my lungs. Breathe out. Then breathe in. It’s like the first real breath I’ve taken in a while.
Sol says, “You’re here. You’re really here.”
I just nod, afraid if I open my mouth, I’ll lose my shit.