Page 31 of To Belong Together
A tight U-turn pointed Erin toward home. Gannon had talked with her longer than necessary and shared details the radio and entertainment shows would love to have. Was his motivation really that he’d wanted a technician’s take on the accident?
Whatever the case, she trusted him to relay her message to John. Would John realize that for once, she was the one who’d revealed only the tip of the iceberg?
11
John didn’t recognize the voice that spoke to him. He ought to get his phone out and call for help, but he couldn’t move. Pain pinned him in place. He dragged his right hand across his cheek, and something dark and wet smeared from his wrist to his knuckle. Panic iced his muscles and shot his heart into high gear.
If the liquid coating his hand was blood, there was a lot of it. Would he survive until help got there? How long had he been out? The last thing he remembered was careening toward the trees. He blinked, but his vision didn’t clear.
“Emergency responders are on the way, John. Are you all right?”
The car’s system must’ve alerted someone to the accident. Thank God.
“I’m bleeding. My head hurts.” The blood seemed to flow from his left eye. Was it still there? He didn’t want to feel to find out.
Bone-deep pain pulled John from the dream.
Cabinets and a countertop lined the far wall of the hospital room. The light over the sink spilled a pool of yellow, dimly illuminating the room. The digital clock on the wall declared the time in extra-large numbers—3:48 a.m. Late enough for another dose of painkillers. Straightening his fingers, he found the button to call a nurse.
“You need anything?”
He pushed against the ache in his skull and turned his head.
Gannon sat up on the couch, arching his back and rolling his shoulders. Behind him, the closed blinds were a mix of shadows and an orange glow from the exterior lights.
John closed his eyes. Turning his head had increased the hammering in his skull. “Couldn’t bribe anyone for a bed?”
Gannon’s sigh was heavy with fatigue. “I’d rather sleep on a couch than on the twin-sized torture device this thing unfolds into. It’s just one night, anyway.”
For a moment, John second-guessed himself, but no. He was certain he’d been in this bed last night too. “Two and counting.”
“For you, but I didn’t sleep here last night. Left at three a.m., after your parents arrived and the doctors said you’d be okay.”
This wasn’t okay. He unclenched his teeth to speak. “Where are they now?”
“My place, getting a good night’s rest. Which is what you’re supposed to be doing.”
Before Gannon continued, the nurse arrived, asked a series of questions, then brought another dose of medication.
“Vicki, right?” Gannon rose and angled toward her, his voice too friendly for the hour. And he’d used her name. John knew the signs; Gannon was about to try to get his way. “Are you sure he can’t have anything stronger?”
John knew the answer, so he downed the pills.
The nurse’s quiet chuckle signaled she wasn’t about to be sweet-talked. “We wouldn’t be able to tell symptoms of his concussion from side effects of narcotics, and we can’t risk that.” She turned and left.
Gannon frowned and eyed the door like he might go in hunt of a more easily swayed nurse.
“I already don’t feel like myself.” John rested his eyes.
“We’ll get you through the next couple of days. Things will get back to normal.” Gannon pushed an armchair closer and pulled the lever to prop his feet up. “Anyway, I prefer this version of you. You talk. Imagine everything you’d say if you were on drugs.”
“Talking’s never done me any good.”
“How would you know? You’ve never tried it.”
“You’ve forgotten the story about my dad.”
Gannon’s silence stretched, and when he spoke, his voice was serious. “That was decades ago, and the way it played out wasn’t your fault.”
