Page 15 of Mine

Chapter Six

The nurses a Mercy Hospital shuffled in and out of Quentin’s room every thirty minutes. It was as if they needed to check vital signs around the clock. Phoebe sat in a chair on the side of his bed watching him sleep. From the looks of his restful slumber and solid physique, you couldn’t tell he had slightly bruised ribs.

She traced his dark brown features, strong nose, smooth skin, and thick brows. The groomed hair around his mouth connected with his close-cropped beard, and his locks were pulled back off his carved structural face. Phoebe had been in her office poring over mountains of paperwork when Jordan had walked in suddenly with alarm written all over his face.

“What’s wrong?” she’d asked, instantly clutching the paper in her hand.

“It’s Quentin, he’s been in an accident.”

It was all she’d needed to hear. Phoebe’s heart had dropped, and she stood quickly and grabbed her coat, leaving her phone, purse, and shoes sitting by the desk.

“You should at least put some shoes on,” Jordan said.

Phoebe glanced down then around the room mechanically, then robotically walked back to her shoes to claim them. From there she’d followed him to the elevator, but it wouldn’t come fast enough so she evaded her spot for the stairs.

“Phoebe!” Jordan had called after her. But she kept moving with her mind in a fog at what could’ve happened to him. Jordan had caught up with her, but Phoebe’s feet never stop running.

“I’m driving,” Jordan said, noticing his sister’s visibly shaken demeanor. He coached her to the car, and although she’d asked him questions about the accident, she numbly stared off into space until their arrival at the hospital.

Phoebe turned to the TV that hung on the wall then back to him. She’d been there an hour, and he’d slept soundly ever since. She reached out to him and squeezed his hand. Phoebe needed to know that he was okay. He looked fine, great actually for someone who’d been hit by a car, but not hearing it from his voice made Phoebe’s chest tightened, and now Phoebe wished she had answered his phone calls.

What if he didn’t make it? God forbid, what if he died? Phoebe’s eyes watered, and the squeezing in her throat made her clasp his hand again. When his eyes fluttered open, Phoebe held her breath and spoke.

“Quentin?”

His long lashes fluttered again, and a deep whisper strummed from his voice, “Hey, baby girl.”

Phoebe exhaled a long breath, and her head fell onto the edge of his bed. Quentin glanced around the room, then squinted and stretched his eyes.

“We’re in the hospital.”

It wasn’t a question, just his solid observation. Phoebe glanced up at him, and Quentin’s brows knocked together in a frown.

“Why are you crying?” he asked.

Phoebe held on to his hand while dabbing at her eyes with the back of her other hand.

“You have no idea, do you?”

Quentin looked around again then sat forward.

“Wait!” Phoebe said, standing to stop him from moving. Quentin peered up at her.

“Why am I in the hospital? And Why does— aah!” he said, biting down on his teeth. “What…?” Quentin thought over the last thing he remembered.

The coffee shop, Amber, the Volkswagen.

“Please lay back down,” Phoebe said.

Quentin sat back against the hospital mattress just as the door swung open, and Amber traipsed through the door. Her eyes widened upon seeing Quentin awake, and her hands flew to her mouth.

“Quentin…” she whispered sharply, muffling her voice with the cover of her hand. Amber walked over to stand on the other side of his bed. Phoebe’s brow rose just as Amber noticed her holding his hand. “Um, I’m sorry,” Amber said. “I didn’t mean to barge in like that. I’m just so glad to see you up. Jesus Christ, what are you Clark Kent?”

“Phoebe, this is Amber. Amber, this is Phoebe,” he said, making the introductions as fast as possible.

“Hi.” Amber stuck her hand out to shake Phoebe’s.

“How are you?” Phoebe returned her gesture then pulled her focus back to Quentin. “You scared me to death,” she said. “I could kick your ass.”

---