I come to a stop in front of the partially open door and peer inside, but I only see the foot of her bed. Looks like no one else is there, and I’m relieved. I want to her meet her family, but not yet.
I want her all to myself for a little bit first.
Quietly I creep into the room, coming to a complete stop when I see my angel lying in bed. She looks…terrible. There’s a gash across her forehead, her left eye is bruised, a horrific combination of purple and yellow, and her left arm is covered in a hideous neon-pink cast. The hospital bed is propped up and she’s lying there with her eyes closed, her chest slowly rising and falling.
But I see her beneath the wounds and she’s still beautiful. Of course, she is. Seeing her hurt like this reminds me that she’s also incredibly fragile. Something worse could’ve happened to her, something traumatic, life-changing. And I don’t know what I would’ve done if that happened…
“Cannon,” a voice breathes. “You’re actually here.”
Her eyes have popped open and she’s staring at me, like I’m an apparition she dreamed up. I approach her bed, scared to touch her, yet desperate to touch her too.
“I’m here.” I smile at her. “You okay?”
“Why aren’t you at home playing your game?”
I frown. “I can’t. I hurt my knee, remember? Besides, it’s Monday. The game’s over.” And damn it, we lost.
“Oh.” She’s frowning too, glancing down at her arm in the pink cast. “That’s right. I don’t know how I forgot.”
“You’ve been a little preoccupied,” I tease, setting the vase on the table closest to her. “I brought you flowers.”
“Just like my dream.” She smiles, she’s not making much sense, but I’m rolling with it. She’s probably hopped up on meds. Hopefully only mild painkillers, though. “I thought you were still in my dream when I first saw you.”
“Nah, I’m here. Hopped the first plane I could find to get to you.” I shove my hands into the pockets of my jogger sweatpants, feeling awkward.
Cautiously, she scoots over on
the mattress, patting the empty spot beside her. “Come here.”
“Are you sure?”
“Please.” Her expression is serious. “I want to touch you. Make sure you’re real.”
I go to her bed and perch myself on the edge of the mattress, careful not to bump into her. Being this close, I can really see the damage the accident did to her. There are little scratches all over her face and neck, a strangely shaped bruise across her collarbone that I’m thinking the seatbelt might’ve caused.
Reaching out, I tentatively touch her hair, pushing it away from her forehead. “My poor baby,” I murmur.
She smiles and closes her eyes, a shuddering breath escaping her. “I’m so glad you’re here. Next to me.”
“You have a black eye.” Leave it up to me to state to the obvious.
“I know, I’m sure I look awful. I feel much better, though. At least my body doesn’t ache everywhere anymore,” she says, her eyes sliding open. “Maybe you should kiss me,” she whispers.
Thank Christ the airline provided me with toothpaste and a toothbrush before I got off the plane. Leaning in, I gently kiss her lips, not wanting to touch her anywhere else.
“You really are here,” she says, her voice soft, her eyes dancing with happiness. “No one makes me tingle with just a kiss like you do, Cannon Whittaker.”
I smile, readjust my position, and grimace with pain. She spots it immediately. “Is it your knee?”
“Yeah,” I grit out, rising back to my feet. “I can’t sit like that for too long. Hurts too damn much.”
“Oh, Cannon.” Her face falls. “I feel terrible. I’m so sorry.”
“Not your fault.” I shake my head. “It’s worse than I told you, Sus. I need surgery. I can’t play the rest of the season. This injury could—end my career.”
“Oh no, I don’t believe that. You’re too strong to have a knee injury put you out of football forever.” Her firm voice, the determination I hear there, the absolute belief in me, makes my heart, my entire body relax. I didn’t realize I was so damn tense. Just seeing her, hearing her voice, is making me feel better.
“We’ll see,” I tell her, but the doubt isn’t as strong, and I owe it all to her.