Page 3 of A Love Song for Dreamers

When I start shaking instead of reaching for Rae’s sweatshirt, Elle takes my hand and walks me to the bathroom. Rae’s close on ourheels.

Inside the clean six-stall ladies’ room, I strip off my jacket and shove it in the garbage, revulsion taking over. Then I wash the blood off my hands, from under myfingernails.

The liquid soap doesn’t do the best job, and I wish I had one of those bar soaps or an old toothbrush orsomething.

“It’ll come out later.” Rae’s voice is calm, and it takes the edge off as I meet her steady gaze in themirror.

I pull the sweatshirt over my dress, grateful it’s at least hiding theblood.

Elle leans against one wall, looking paler thanusual.

“You okay?” I askher.

She lifts a shoulder. “My dad died in a hospital. It took a longtime.”

I hug her, for both of us, and she hugs meback.

Rae watches, and even though she’s not part of this impromptu group hug, it feels like it. She’s part of the moment, and their presence gives mestrength.

When we get back outside, the waiting room includes Beck, a handful of strangers, andZeke.

The ER doctor comes into the waiting room. “MissJamieson?”

But we’re all on our feet as one while I say, “How ishe?”

“He lost a significant amount of blood through a deep laceration in his forearm and hand. We’ve cleaned them, stitched them up. Not life-threatening. Your quick thinking helped keep it from gettingthere.”

If it wasn’t for me, he wouldn’t have been there. We wouldn’t have been walking home. If I hadn’t worn his ring around my neck, hadn’t made him fight for it, we would be back at his place rightnow.

“MissJamieson.”

“What?” I blurt, shakingmyself.

“Is Tyler right handdominant?”

Inod.

“That should make recovery easier. He won’t be doing anything with his left hand for sometime.”

A noise makes me realize I’ve dropped my bag on thefloor.

Zeke answers for me. “The kid’s a guitarist. He’s going on tour in two weeks. He needs toplay.”

The doctor stares down the executive. “We’ve moved him to a private room. In time, he’ll be able to look at options for reconstructive surgery. But playing guitar in two weeks is out of thequestion.”

The reality of it settles around us, leaving the air heavy andcloying.

“Aside from pain,” the doctor goes on, “there may be numbness in the arm and hand, limited to no mobility.” My stomach sinks further. “But you can see him now, if youlike.”

“Yes.” I look around at our friends, and theynod.

“You go,” Becksays.

I follow the doctor down the hall and pause outside theroom.

I listen through the door. There’s the beeping of a machine. His heartrate.

No other sounds. No raging or groaning. Justsilence.

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