Page 31 of Unmasking You

Maybe it would be a good idea to avoid Jamie.

Chapter 11

Jamie

Present day

The beeping of the machine is the only sound in the otherwise silent room. The space is filled with the smell of antiseptic, probably used to disinfect the various cuts on Shane’s face, and I suspect there are so many more on his body hidden by the covers.

Every time my eyes close, a beep from the heart monitor wakes me up. Every time I leave my uncomfortable chair to check on Shane, he remains stubbornly asleep. My only relief is that he’s still breathing.

When it’s not the beep of the machines, it’s the nurse on shift coming in every couple of hours to check on Shane and to wake him up to give him medication. He seems out of it most of the time, and his answers are not always comprehensible, but at least he’s waking up.

I tremble at the memory of him lying unconscious on the road.

They’ve assured me he’s not dying. That was so much of a relief that I sobbed like a baby. They also said that he was awake but confused for a few moments. He had dislocated his right shoulder and broken his right wrist. He’d also sustained an injury to his left leg as well as a concussion, but they’re keeping an eye on his vital signs to make sure he doesn’t go into a coma.

They said Shane was lucky because it could have been so much worse. I believe them since I thought he was dead when I saw him flying up and over the car.

I go back to my chair, keeping my eyes focused on the body beneath the sheets and the rise and fall of his chest, the only sign he’s alive.

The memories of our past, the one I try so hard to forget, and the more recent memory of the accident overlap whenever my mind is not focused on Shane. It’s as if my mind is trying to remind me of the mistakes we made.

He hurt me so badly and so deeply. It was like he’d ripped my heart from my chest, thrown it to the floor, and stomped on it. This man, though… he’s the person who risked his life to save my dog, and the two faces of Shane, one past and one present, are not adding up.

I want to remain cold and unaffected. I want to stay angry at him. I don’t want to forgive and forget; that’s an impossible task. I will never be whole again, and it’s Shane’s fault. Everything I suffered haunted me for months, years, and it’s still haunting me today.

Ten years, and he never reached out before. He never asked for forgiveness. He never asked how I was or how I am. It seems like we have a different version of the past we shared. How can he forget that what we once were died the day he pushed me away?

The rift cannot be mended; there is no pride to be soothed. There is only fear. A fear that has created cracks too deep and too jagged to be fixed.

But here I am… waiting for him to wake up.

I’m itching with the need to reach out to him, to take his hand in mine, to give my strength to him so that he can wake up and heal. Because when he does, I can leave and go back to a life where he’s not part of it.

I wait for his eyelids to flutter or his fingers to twitch, but he remains trapped inside his dreamless sleep.

I give in to the need to touch him and reach for his hand resting motionless on the white sheet. He’s cold to the touch, and my heart tugs inside my chest, worrying that he’s in pain.

“Shane…” I whisper, but I can hear the prayer, the plea in it. “I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. If only I’d made sure the leash was secure. If you come back, I swear I’ll listen. I may not be able to forgive you, but I’ll listen.”

His fingers move inside my grip, and tears fill my eyes.

I want to, but I can’t ignore the small smile filling my lips and the sense of relief at the thought that Shane is going to open his eyes soon.

The ringing of my phone pulls me from sleep, and the light in the room makes my eyes hurt. I closed them for a minute, too tired to keep them open with my will.

Shane is still asleep, and he looks worse than he looked last night. His face is a canvas of green and purple spots, with red cuts and scrapes caused by hitting the asphalt.

I sit up, grunting because of the uncomfortable position I spent the night in. I place my elbow on my knees and keep looking at Shane.

He’s still sleeping. At least, I hope that’s what he’s doing. He looks pale and fragile under the sheets. His features remind me of the boy I once admired and loved… It pains me to admit it even now, and I only admitted it once before…

I shake my head because I don’t want to go back there. I don’t want to twist what happened or make it less traumatic—or less painful—only because he’s lying in a hospital bed, and it’s my fault he’s here.

A groan fills the room, bringing my attention back to Shane, my thoughts forgotten as I watch his eyes flutter. My breath stops and only resumes when his eyes open after a couple of blinks. He looks around, confused, until his gaze lands on me, and then, his eyes wet with unshed tears, he speaks.

“Jamie…” His voice is weak, and hoarse, and way too quiet to be creating a storm inside me.

---