Page 5 of On the Edge

“I’m Jonas. A friend of your dad’s, and I’m texting him now.” Jonas held up his phone as he typed fast. “He’s going to be thrilled.”

“He’s here?” Fuck. I had to be in rough shape if they’d sent for Dad.

“Yep. Denver too.” Jonas’s gaze turned cautious like I might object to that news. “Everyone’s been worried sick for you.”

“How…? How bad is it?”

Jonas sucked in a breath, hesitating.

“Give it to me straight.” I narrowed my eyes. This Jonas seemed like the honest type, less likely to sugarcoat the situation.

“You had a crash while racing. Do you remember that?”

“Not really, but it sounds likely. Was I winning?” I wasn’t so far gone that I’d forgotten who I was.Declan. Declan.My ears rang with a memory of the crowd roaring. I managed a pained laugh. It wasn’t my first rodeo with cracked ribs, but Jonas’s solemn expression said there was more wrong.

“Yeah, you were winning.” Jonas’s smile turned almost tender, laced with a sadness that made my very empty stomach clench. “And then you crashed off a jump. They had to airlift you from the track to the medical complex here in Salt Lake. Broken ankle. Broken tibia. Sprained wrist. Some cracked ribs. Lots of bruising.”

“Nothing that won’t heal by spring,” I scoffed, already calculating the start of the next racing series. Jonas didn’t join my attempt at laughter. “What else?”

“You have a TBI. It’s a brain injury, like a bad concussion.”

“Oh. Like football players get.” I quirked my lips, considering whether or not to be alarmed. “I’ve had my bell rung a time or two before.”

“I’m sure.” Jonas’s voice turned dry, not nearly as impressed as some would be. “But this time, you had a brain bleed. You needed surgery.”

“Surgery?” I reached toward my head only for the arm with the IV, my side, and my shoulder to protest before I could connect with my head. “Ow. Fuck.”

“Don’t try to reach.” Jonas reached over to gently tuck my arm back by my side, like that might keep me. He glanced down at my IV port with more than passing interest. Ah. Yeah, if he was a friend of Dad’s, he was likely some flavor of firstresponder. “Honestly, I’m absolutely shocked at how well you’re speaking. Time will show if all your other faculties are intact.”

“Faculties?” I narrowed my eyes, which hurt. “Ow. Thinking hurts.” Speaking wasn’t a problem, but my head felt like someone had kicked the video game up to hard mode without telling me or like my brain had less power than usual. “Faculty? Like teachers?”

“No, like walking, moving your hands, fine motor skills, vision. Speaking of, is the light in here too bright? You keep blinking and squinting.” Jonas reached over, doing something to the lights, which made things worse, not better. The fuzzy film at the edges of my peripheral vision grew wider in the dimmer light, but my growing headache receded a little.

“Bright? Nah. I could do without the weird hazy air in here and how dry my fucking eyes are…” I trailed off as it hit me that the problem wasn’t the lighting. “Fuck. My vision’s wonky. Hell. Always been twenty-twenty. Better not need glasses.”

“Don’t get too worked up.” Jonas patted my hand, carefully placing his larger hand below my IV site. He had a warm, sturdy touch. “The vision changes might be temporary. These sorts of injuries take time.”

“I don’t have time.”

“You’re going to have to if you want to heal.” Oh. Dude could do stern when he wanted, complete with a glare.

In the hall, voices sounded like a group of nurses chattering, the noise getting closer.

“Don’t tell about my vision shit,” I ordered Jonas.

“Doesn’t work like that with me.” Jonas didn’t appear cowed in the slightest. “I’m an ER nursing supervisor when I’m not road-tripping to Salt Lake with your dad and Denver. I can’t let you hide something important from the medical staff.”

“Fuck.” I groaned, shifting in the bed, which fucking hurt from my slightly numb ass to my arm and shoulder to my rightfoot, which felt weirdly weighty. I pushed those thoughts aside in favor of glowering right back at Jonas. “If the tour folks get wind of me having a little headache and some vision shit, they’re not gonna let me back on the bike till I clear concussion protocol and crap.”

“Declan.” Jonas leaned forward, forehead creasing. “Did you understand what I said? You’ve had a traumatic brain injury. Worse than a concussion. You’re not getting on a bike for a good long while, and that’s not accounting for your leg injury.”

Suddenly, my head felt too crowded, like a swimming pool on a hot July day. Jonas’s earlier explanation of my injuries seemed to float away, mingling with scraps of my dreams. I took a deep breath, not liking how hard it was to think.

“Was there a cat here?” For a second, I wondered if this whole conversation was another dream, but Jonas’s hand on mine was solid. I moved a finger over a rough spot on his thumb. Real. At least he was real, but my brain remained frustratingly foggy.

“No, it was a book I was reading to you.” If Jonas was surprised by my question, he didn’t show it, voice staying patient and calm. “A cozy murder mystery.”

“A book.” My back and shoulders sank back against the thin mattress. I should have known that. Should be able to find my way back to what we’d really been talking about, but I couldn’t. “Oh. Fuck it. My brain’s all jumbled.”

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