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“I was in a medically induced coma for three days to help the swelling in my brain go down after they removed a part of my skull to help with the intracranial pressure, I have a broken wrist, my lung collapsed and my ribs are broken, but it’s hard to know if that happened when I was hit by the car, or when they gave me CPR to keep me alive. They fixed the internal bleeding, and I think we’re at three surgeries on the leg with more to come. At this point, they should just fucking cut it off. It’d be easier for everyone involved,” he says bitterly, a hardness in his face that wasn’t there before the accident.

“Owen…you can’t mean that…” I trail off, wondering how the hell he’s supposed to get past this. Blake’s warning makes a lot more sense now.

“Except I do. I’m not even close to being done with surgeries, and I’m being told it’s a goddamn miracle I’m alive. I tore every fucking ligament in my knee, and my bone was broken so badly, it’s being held together with these fucking metal rods. It’s not like I’ll ever play football again, so what the hell do I need my leg for?” His voice shakes, and I can’t breathe.

“It’s your leg. Of course you need it! You’re going to get better, Owen.”

“No.You’regoing to get better. Your life is going to go back to normal, and I’m happy for you. I really am glad that you’re okay, and I don’t regret pushing you out of the way. I’d do the same thing again in a heartbeat because knowing that you’re going to be fine is the only thing keeping me from losing my mind as I sit here with the knowledge thatmy life will never be the same.” He pauses to take a few deep breaths, and I feel tears spill down my cheeks. Owen motions with his good arm down at the mangled part of his body. “I’m not going to get better. This is what I’m stuck with for the rest of my life, trapped with the memories of what I used to be able to do as easy as breathing air because some drunk idiot tried to hit us with his car. The hope is to get my leg to a good enough place to seeifI canwalkwithout a limp. It might be my leg, but it’s fucking useless to me now.”

I reach for his hand, squeezing it reassuringly as my heart splits in two, wishing more than anything I could take some of the burden off his shoulders. “I don’t know how I can ever thank you for what you did, but we’ll get through this together. You’re not alone.”

His own tears fall as he looks away toward the window. “I’m glad you’re okay, Thalia,” he whispers brokenly.

“Thank you for saving me.”

I sit in the chair long after his eyes shut and his breathing steadies. Sebastian enters the room, and I’m sure he can read every emotion on my face as I look at him. I reluctantly let go of Owen’s hand, walking out of the room as Bash follows behind me. “Love, I’m sorry I didn’t let you come sooner. You needed to rest, and so did Owen.”

What? That’s what he’s apologizing for? What about not fucking telling me about all of this in the first place! “He’s my brother, Sebastian. I deserved to know how bad he was hurt, especially when the only reason he’s here is because Owen chose to fucking save m—” My voice cracks, attracting the attention of a few nurses coming out of a different room. “You don’t let me do anything either. Who do you think you are making that decision for me?”

“I did tell you! The doctors told you too!” Sebastian snaps, his face twisting in anguish as he presses his fingers to his temples. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I don’t let you do anything, but you’re not healthy right now. Your mind isn’t functioning the way it should be, and I wanted to give you more time to get better before bringing you here.”

“What? I-I would know if you told me how severely injured Owen is. My brain is fine—I’m fine,” I insist, but why would he lie about this?

“Thalia, when you kept asking about Owen and what happened after you were already told a few times, the doctors ran some tests and determined your concussion was causing anterograde amnesia. They think it’s temporary, just until your brain has more time to heal, but the doctors suggested keeping you home and away from the stress of the accident. I’m sorry, but I’m doing the best I can,” he says, gently tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. This doesn’t make any sense. My brain wouldn’t play tricks on me like this. “What day is it?” Sebastian asks softly, and I know the answer. This is easy.

“Thursday.”

He smiles sadly, kissing my forehead sweetly. “It’s Tuesday. That’s how I know.”

My cheeks burn in embarrassment because Chris and I just talked about this an hour ago, and I already forgot the correct answer. Bash was right not to tell me anything. I’ve been so angry with him for watching over me like a hawk, for keeping me from leaving the house, but he was right to do so.

I lean in, resting my head on his chest. “Bash, I’m not okay,” I whisper, clutching at his back with my one good arm as his fold around me immediately.

“You’re not right now, but you will be. It’s going to be okay; you just need more rest,” Sebastian promises, holding me firmly.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Sebastian

I FEEL GUILTY arriving at the stadium every day. I feel guilty throwing passes to the rookie tight end we had to start playing because our season isn’t over just because Owen’s done. Hell, I feel guilty even stepping on the field.

Everyone on the team is feeling the loss of Owen’s presence. Not only was he a great player, but a great teammate off the field as well.

Seeing him in the hospital growing more defeated every day is hard. Then I feel more guilt because the woman I love is going to be okay when we’re not sure how much better Owen is going to get.

At least Thalia’s concussion symptoms are finally starting to go away, and her sling comes off next week, just in time for her birthday coming up. She’s going stir crazy in the house, but she started journaling, and I think it’s really helped her remember things.

With the season in full force, I’m spread thin across the board, and my already short patience is now threadbare. I ended up putting in an offer on the house Thalia loved with the marble countertops, high ceilings, and windows shecouldn’t stop going on about prior to the accident. I didn’t have time to move, so I ended up paying a company to move my things I kept in storage from the old house into the new one so it wasn’t bare bones. Once Thalia is feeling completely better, and I have a little more time on my hands, my plan is to have us decorate it together so it feels like a home instead of a place I live.

The football leaves my hands, spiraling straight toward Reece, and he fumbles the ball, letting it slip through his fingers to hit the ground. It’s exactly what he did in last week’s loss, and I bite my tongue to keep my mouth shut. Coach whistles for us to run the play again, except this time it’s my fault because I overthrow it.

At the end of practice, I’m pulled aside by our offensive coach. “Walker, we need to talk.”

I pull my helmet off, tucking it under my arm. “About?” I’m drenched in sweat, and I told Thalia I’d pick up dinner on my way home.

“Reece. He’s having a hard time adjusting to his new role on the team.”

I can’t help, but shake my head. I don’t have time or patience to babysit the rookie, even if I wanted to. “We all are; it’s not an easy transition to make, let alone two months into the season.”

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