Page 115 of Terms + Conditions
Picking up my phone, the name on the screen only confirms my fear. The guys aren’t supposed to have their phones until tomorrow afternoon when they leave. Josh’s name across the screen only lessens my worry a small amount. His call means something is wrong, but at least I know whatever it is…it’s not him.
“I thought you guys were phone-free this weekend,” I say, trying to maintain a smile, knowing I have an audience.
Brie continues to ice the cookies, but I can tell she’s not paying much attention to what she’s doing. She’s trying to listen in on my conversation without being too obvious, but she’s doing a poor job at it. She curses under her breath when she drops a large dollop of orange icing on a yellow bumblebee.
I’m about to tell Josh I have to go when his words catch me off guard. I can barely get the words out to ask him to repeat himself. How is this even possible? They were supposed to stick together. How could they let this happen? I have so many questions, but the only thing I can manage is: “What do you—what do you mean he’smissing?”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
UNKNOWN POV
AN OVERWHELMING BLAST OF antiseptic fills my lungs with the first breath I register. Antiseptic, bleach, and the slightest tang of metal. I can almost taste it on my tongue. Fuck, my tongue feels like sandpaper against the roof of my mouth.
Why can’t I see anything? No matter how hard I try, my eyes won’t open. A door closes in the distance. A few loud dings echo through the air. Muffled voices sound, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. I force my lids to blink, one, two, three times until finally, the weights fall off, and the lids peel back to reveal a blinding white light.
What the hell?
I try to shield my eyes, but my left arm feels like a ton of bricks. My right is easier to manage. It releases from its binding, and I rub my eyes until they adjust to reveal a…hospital room.
I’m in a hospital.
Why am I in a hospital?
I have to get out of here. I have to—
“Oh!” a shrill voice sends a jolt through my head, and the dull pain that had been sitting in my left temple cracks my skull in two.
The voice belongs to an older woman, a nurse, dressed in blue scrubs with yellow ducks on them. Her blonde hair has been pulled into a tight bun on top of her head, and her eyes are hidden behind round glasses. She’s standing in the doorway with bright eyes and a wide smile.
“You’re awake! Good, I’ll get the doctor. He’ll be so glad to hear this.”
Great, maybe he can tell me why I’m here.
The nurse returns seconds later with a grey plastic pitcher and a white styrofoam cup filled to the brim with ice.
“I was startin’ to think you’d never wake up,” she says, pouring water into the cup and opening the bendy straw, stabbing it through the ice. She holds it up to my mouth. “Drink, sweetie, it’ll help your throat. You’ve been out a few days. Guarantee your throat’s as raw as sandpaper.”
Her name tag dangles from a daisy clip off the pocket of her scrubs—Janet, it reads. She radiates the same type of energy you’d expect your grandma to have. There are crows feet in the corners of her eyes and a smile that drags down around the sides of her lips. As she holds the cup to my mouth, I can see a jagged line on the outside of her thumb extending through her wrist to her arm.
“T-thank y-you,” I rasp out, barely able to hear myself.
“Take it easy, darlin’. Don’t want to strain yourself.”
“Good morning, Sunshine!”
My stomach twists in knots when an older man walks into the room. He’s dressed professionally, with a white lab coat over his clothes,Doctor Sanders, M.D.embroidered on the left side. His stark white hair is perfectly styled with a small swoop over his forehead, a white mustache rests atop his upper lip, and his striking blue eyes pierce right through me. He reminds me of Dick Van Dyke inDiagnosis: Murder.
“Glad to see you’re still with us. How are we feeling?” Doctor Sanders swoops down with his stethoscope, placing the cool metal against my chest. He moves it around my chest and then my back, and instinctively, I take a few deep breaths. “You sound great,” he says, straightening himself and wrapping the listening device around the back of his neck.
I take another sip of water, and the liquid feels great against the rawness of my throat. “W-what happened?”
“Well.” Doctor Sanders starts and pulls the stool up next to the bed. He crosses one foot over his knee and leans back against the thin air. “I was kind of hoping you could tell me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ol’ Bill Wyatt, his boy, and Mr. Blackwood found you wandering out in the woods ‘bout two days or so ago. You were in pretty bad shape, son. Two bruised ribs, a sprained ankle, and a pretty bad hit to the ol’ noggin. Looked like you’d been out there a while, you were severely dehydrated and chilled to the bone. Honestly, don’t know how you were still up and movin’ when they found you.”
“I don’t—I don’t remember anything.”
