Page 64 of Dark Truths

“Oh, still though.”

“If it’s anyone’s fault, it is mine.”

“How so?” Rose repeats my question back to me.

“She overheard a conversation and made a wrong assumption. She ran out before I could stop her.”

Rose nods several times like she’s processing the information. “I see.”

Presuming the conversation is over, I start to turn around when she reaches out and touches my arm. When I twist back to her, she drops her hand.

“Can I give you some advice? About Gabriella?”

I’m sure if I said no, it’d make no difference.

“What is it?”

“Gabriella said you’re keeping something from her and that whatever it is, is stopping you from committing to her completely. So figure it out soon because she could have died tonight from you not being honest with her.”

I meet her hard eyes for a long second as her words take root in the back of my mind, joining the many other reasons why I need to tell Gabriella the truth. And soon.

“You’ll stay with her?” I ask instead of acknowledging her advice.

“Of course.”

Nodding once, I lift my eyes to Michael, who now stands with his arms across his chest as he continues to stare us down.

“Thank you.” I say to Rose and then turn around to leave the hospital with a new heavy weight on my shoulders.

25

Gabriella

Have you ever woken up from a deep, dreamless sleep, momentarily disoriented and unsure of where you are? The kind of sleep that makes you question whether you’ve lost an entire day or a week.

That’s how I feel when I open my eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling, accompanied by the steady beeping of a machine and the sound of low murmured voices. Slowly, I turn my head toward the window, noticing the sun—setting or rising? Without a clock, it’s hard to tell.

“She’s awake.”

Suddenly, my family converges on me, their excited laughter and relief overwhelming my senses.

“Gabriella?”

“Oh, thank the Lord.”

“Are you okay?”

“How do you feel?”

I lift my hand and whack my face with a hard brace that extends all the way to my elbow. What the hell?

“One at a damn time, please,” I grumble, my frustration growing when I raise my other hand and see the lines of IVs connecting me to the bags hanging from the hook above.

“You were in a car accident,” Rose explains first, her hands squeezing my blanket covered feet. “Do you remember any of that?”

The memory of a blinding light, the screeching sound metal makes as it collapses under brute force, and the smoky, burnt rubber smell of airbags deploying flash through my mind.

“Yes.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I didn’t see it coming. Is the other driver okay?”

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