Page 110 of Dead Set on You
Feeling uncertain about whatever she’s got planned, I breathe in and out, tilting my head up to the sun. After a moment of apprehension, I relax a little, feeling like I’ve missed its warmth on my face. I take in another big breath. The scent of the beach mixed with sunshine fills me with a sense of calm I haven’t felt in so long. Maybe ever.
“It’s the best, isn’t it?” Annie asks.
“Nothing compares,” I whisper, squeezing her hand tight, wanting to hold on forever.
We sit like that, eyes closed, faces tilted up to the sun. Birds chirp. Waves crash. The wind sighs.
Annie takes a deep breath. “I love you. Always.”
“I love you—”
CHAPTER THIRTYNOW
I didn’t die.
The thought weasels through the outrageous headache making my head feel like it’s being torn apart by piranhas. This is followed by a wave of nausea creeping into my throat.
Groaning—as one does when they wake up from dying—I blink my eyes open. Muted light sends a pang of pain vibrating through my brain. I feel as if I’ve downed a bottle of tequila and topped it off with two bottles of merlot, so I turn to breathing exercises.
One Mamma Mia.
Two Mamma Mia.
The sensation sinks its razor-sharp teeth in again, and I close my eyes, forcing my brain to focus. A staccato beeping cuts through my brain fog, and I snap my eyes open, then narrow them to slits when the light in the room makes my stomach crawl its way into my throat. I clamp my lips together and grind my teeth.
I will not throw—
“Oh my God, she’s about to throw up.”
Cold hands touch my skin and hold back my hair as I heave into a plastic tub, my throat burning like the nine circles of hell. I’m heaving and crying, but the cold hands stay with me as it passes. I lie back down, and Gemma’s face comes into focus.
Her hair is tied into a messy bun, and her eyes are puffy and red. Her cool fingers move to my hand and squeeze. “Hey,” she says, then sobs. Such a baby. “You’re back. You’re here.”
I take in a deep breath. Pain follows, settling deep into my bones and making it hard to make sense of Gemma’s words.
“Back?” I croak. The throbbing in my head lobs from the base of my skull to the forefront. Gemma’s face contorts in confusion, but I don’t know if it’s my imagination … or reality.
Her hold tightens. “You’ve been … out for a while.” She smiles, her teeth straight and white … and too bright? I close my eyes and sink back into the pillows with a groan. A wave of weakness swamps me.
Everything goes black.
When I open my eyes, it feels like someone’s anchored them to iron weights, and it takes legitimate effort to blink them open. The room’s darker than before, so I let my eyes adjust.
I’m in a hospital bed, and I’m attached to IVs and monitors, which hinder my already feeble movements. I feel like I’m an anchor that’s been tossed off the side of a ship and gotten stuck at the bottom of the ocean. Most days I can name at least three deep-sea species of fish on the brink of extinction; now I simply feel like one of them.
Taking a deep breath, I push myself upward, wincing at all the parts that hurt. But another groan joins mine, then the scraping of a chair and a male “Hold on!”
As I will my synapses to fire and for coherent thoughts to form, Ollie appears above me, a phone in his hand. “Evie! You’re awake!”
“I’ll be right there!” Gemma squeals from the other end of the phone.
“Hi, I’m Ollie,” he shouts, like I’ve forgotten who he is … or gone deaf. He holds the phone up to my face, where it has the uncanny power to make more of the nausea climb into my throat.
“Too bright,” I croak, attempting to lift my hand to ward off the brightness.
“Sorry!” Ollie drops the phone as Gemma shouts into it. “I’ll get the doctor.” Ollie trips over his legs as he scrambles for the door, Gemma’s voice bidding him to do her will.
The door closes and I lean back, breathing in and out.
