Page 134 of Billion Dollar Mistake

I’m at the paramedic’s mercy.

She puts the foam around my neck and explains how she’s going to get me out. How I don’t need to move. I tune her out. My eyes are trying to find Nova.

I’m out of the car, but my body is on fire. The pain from my waist takes my breath away.

“I’m going to give you some pain relief. Do you have any allergies?”

I try to shake my head. It must work because she replies, “Good. This should make you feel a little better.”

The pain reduces, but my head feels groggy.

I can’t feel or see Nova, but I have to know if she is alright.

“Nova.” I finally manage to say.

“We are taking care of her. We have to take you to the hospital now.”

“No,” I choke out.

“You can’t stay here. The quicker you’re assessed, the quicker you’ll be able to see her in the hospital.”

She pushes more pain relief into my veins. It helps the pain in my hips but not my heart. My eyes close, too tired to stay awake. “Nova…” I call out before I fall unconscious.

A few hours later, I wake to new beeping sounds. I groan. I’ve never wished for silence and darkness, but today I do.

My eyes slowly adjust to the light as I slowly look around the hospital room. It’s not one of my hospitals, which is good. I don’t want any special treatment. I don’t deserve it. I hurt Nova.

I touch my neck, realizing the brace is gone. But the pain in my body is still a big reminder of the crash. But I deserve the pain. It’s only a fraction of the pain I’ve caused Nova.

I look around for any of my belongings. I need to find Nova.

I can’t see a single thing of mine. I’m in a hospital gown with a stupid IV drip and monitors attached to me.

I peer around the room. I try to find a phone or plan my escape. I touch the IV in my arm. I’m ready to remove it when the door to my room opens. I drop my hand away.

I turn my head to the sound. Mom and Dad enter.

“Oh Jeremy, you're awake,” she exclaims, tears filling her red-rimmed eyes. She’s obviously been crying.

“I don’t deserve to be,” I grumble.

She rushes forward, setting her coffee cup on the table, and hugs me.

Her body shakes as she cries.

“Please don’t cry, Mom. I’m fine.”

“You scared us, Son,” my dad says as he stands on the other side of the bed. He reaches out to touch my cheek as if he can’t believe I’m awake.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur.

Mom sniffles. “Are you sore? Do you need me to call the nurses?” she asks, pulling back to take a good look at me.

“No. I’m fine. But where’s Nova?” The tension in my voice mirrors the sudden knot in my stomach.

My mom looks over at my dad and my heart drops.

“What?” I choke, the weight of uncertainty settling over me. The backs of my eyes begin to sting and I fight to hold back tears. My parents have never seen me cry. I’m not a crier but fuck, for Nova, I’m a pussy and would cry over her.

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