Page 16 of The Curveball

I snatch the lanyard with the word VISITOR printed on one side of a plastic card and shoulder my way through the doors to the ER the second the buzzer unlocks the bolt. Only then do I realize I have no idea where they have Wren. I can’t exactly go through each door—right to privacy and all that.

My palms are sweaty and my heart jumps to my throat. Old fears, paranoias, and memories clash in my head until I feel like I might kick something. An orderly rounds the corner, and I curse in relief. Louder than expected, so the girl who looks like she barely hit eighteen jumps.

“Can you help me find a room? I’m looking for Wren Fox. A car accident.”

“Oh, yeah.” The girl pops a bubble with her gum and points down the left hallway. “We don’t have too many tonight, but I know she was put in room eleven because I just emptied the bio waste bins in there.”

Pleasant. With a hurried thank you, I quicken my pace until I find exam room eleven. Voices come from behind the door. Rushed, almost like an argument. I knock twice, then invite myself in.

My blood heats the back of my neck. She looks so tiny on the bed. Her hair is a little wild, with dainty curls around her forehead from the glisten of sweat on her brow. A nurse is holding her wrist, checking her blood pressure, and Wren is going on about the use of ice and heat.

“Ms. Fox, you need a CT scan. I’m not going to risk sending you out of here if there is damage,” says a tall, Amazonian-looking woman in a nice blouse. Her badge is clipped to her slacks and tells me her name is Anna, a nurse practitioner.

My mouth fills with cotton. On the left side of Wren’s forehead is a purplish knot.

Only once the door clicks behind me does Wren realize she’s no longer alone. Maybe I convince myself, but I swear there is a bit of relief at the sight of me before her face puckers.

Anna doesn’t seem as pleased. “Sir, you—”

“I’m the reason she’s here,” I hurry to say. “They said I could come back and bring her these.”

I hold up the bag with her stuff.

Wren breathes a sigh of relief. “Do you have my laptop?”

Crap. In all my haste I grabbed the notebooks, not the actual tool she uses to conduct her work.

“Um, no. But Skye and Parker said they’d keep an eye on your car for anything else you might need.”

Wren’s eyes turn a bit glassy, and I promptly decide tears in this woman’s eyes is my least favorite thing in the entire world. She starts to scoot to the edge of the hospital bed. “I need to get going.”

“Ms. Fox.” Anna faces me, tilts her head, and suddenly I’m her lifeline.

“Wren,” I say, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. “You need to get scans of your head.”

“It’s fine. Nothing a little ice won’t solve.”

“Are you kidding me?” It looks like she tucked a clementine under her skin. “Birdie, I’ve seen concussion-causing bruises. Babe, get the scan. Please.”

Wren’s face twists in pain when she gingerly touches the bump. Those big, burdened eyes lift to mine, and I think I might tear the world to pieces to find a way to make her smile again.

Chill out. It’s all heightened emotions of being here in this awful, sterile, cold place, and I need to keep it together for her sake before I start digging in with the really hard questions.

I take a step closer to her side. “A quick CT, and you’ll be golden.”

“No.” Her voice is so small. It’s breaking my freaking heart.

I lower my voice. “Wren, if it’s the insurance thing, trust me, mine is going to cover—”

“It’s not.” A green flame sparks in her eyes. Her chin quivers. “I hate X-rays, CT scans, MRIs, any sort of scan, okay? They . . . freak me out.”

Spiders. Clowns. Funerals. Those things are fears. Fear of an X-ray is a first for me.

I look at Anna. “Can I go with her?”

“Griffin, you don’t need to do that.”

“We can allow you to wait in the observation room,” Anna says.

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