Page 138 of False God

All I can think about is Charlie crouched beside me at Chloe’s wedding, asking similar questions. No offense to Dr. Moore, but I preferred him as my physician.

“No.”

My stomach’s a little queasy, but I think that’s mostly due to the amount of champagne in my system.

“Excellent.” She scribbles something on my chart, then hangs it back off the end of the bed. “You have quite a … concerned cohort out in the hallway. I can update them, or I can let them in for a few minutes. Your call.”

“They can come in,” I say.

My parents must be frantic. My friends worried. Technically, the accident wasn’t my fault, but it feels like it was. And it happened at a very public event, attended by my entire family and almost everyone they know …

My stomach heaves. I’m tempted to call out to Dr. Moore—tell her I changed my mind—but the door is already opening.

Mom rushes in first. Followed by Dad, Kit, Bash, Grandpa, Aunt Hannah, Uncle Oliver, and my cousins, Rory and Wren. Behind them, Fran, Hugo, Bridget, Tripp, and Cal enter.

No Charlie, and I don’t realize I was looking for him until the disappointment of his absence settles in my stomach.

It’s a good thing, I try to convince myself. Means the accident must not have been the spectacle I was worried about.

Because I think he’d be here if he knew about it.

“I’m fine,” I repeat over and over again as they all fawn over me.

Feeling stupid and selfish for wishing someone else were here when they all showed up for me.

“All right—whoa!” Another doctor in navy scrubs enters my room. Tries to enter my room rather. He doesn’t make it past the threshold because there’s nowhere for him to go. “I’m going to …”

I miss whatever else he says because he’s still holding the door open.

And standing in the hallway, talking to Asher, is Charlie.

He looks terrible. His usual level of hotness, I mean, but with haunted eyes and messy hair and a missing suit jacket.

I stare until he catches me, his features freezing with surprise, then softening slightly into concern. His eyes dip down to look me over—so briefly, like the day we met—and then are back on mine.

Someone’s talking to me. Squeezing my hand.

“Lili! Lili!”

I hum, forcing myself to focus on Mom’s face.

“Do you want me to stay with you, honey? While you get your stitches?”

My family’s oblivious, but my friends have figured out my distraction, glancing between me and the hallway.

I clear my throat. “Could I get a minute first? Just a minute alone?”

I aim the question at the doctor. He looks relieved, honestly, to have a reason to back out of the crowded space.

“I’ll check on another patient and be back shortly,” he tells me.

Then, he leaves, the door shutting before I have the chance to look at Charlie again.

“Are you feeling worse?” Mom asks.

“She looks paler,” Wren remarks.

“We should get a second opinion,” Grandpa suggests, pulling out his phone. “I know the chief of neurology at?—”

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