Page 62 of The Way We Are

I nod, grateful she went to bat for me at all. Jim had to pull me out of the ambulance when the paramedics refused my request to ride with Savannah, so I’ll take anything I can get.

“Well, go on; don’t waste a second,” Regina says, jerking her chin to Savannah.

It takes my brain commanding my legs to move three times before they finally step over the threshold separating Savannah’s room from the corridor. And even then, my steps are still wobbly.

“She’s just sleeping,” assures a blonde, middle-aged nurse when she spots my reluctant approach. I’m not hesitant because I’m spooked; I just don’t want to disturb her. “We gave her a sedative to help her sleep. She’ll be out for a few hours.”

“She’s not... There’s no...”

“Side effects from the accident?” the nurse fills in, recognizing words are failing me.

When I nod, the nurse shakes her head. “She was responsive when she arrived. The sedative was only ordered to give her body time to recoup from its ordeal. Being shocked with a defibrillator is the equivalent of being kicked by a horse. It’s pretty tiring.”

Her eyes drift to Regina watching our exchange with sorrow in her eyes. "I'll wait for you outside."

Just before she exits, she spins back around to face me. The shimmer of her name tag glistening in the light captures my attention: Cybil.

“Do you know Savannah’s last name? The paramedic said she wasn’t carrying any ID,” Cybil asks.

I nod. “Savannah Fontane,” I reply, my voice groggy with emotion.

Cybil tries to shut it down, but I see the quickest flare blaze through her eyes. “Savannah Fontane? As in, Thorn Fontane? She’s Thorn’s daughter?”

I nod my head, not the least bit surprised she knows Savannah’s dad. Rumors were before Savannah’s mom snagged him, he was quite popular with the ladies. I even think my mom had a crush on him at one stage, which is just weird if I’m being totally honest.

“Has anyone called her dad? He’d want to be here,” I ask.

Cybil’s throat works hard to swallow. “No, but I’ll do that now.” She rockets out of the room like her backside is on fire.

Up until five seconds ago, Cybil was a stranger, but I still know she's lying. Don't ask me how I know. I just do.

I wait for the familiar sound of a lock clicking into place before moving to stand at Savannah’s bedside. My hands ball into fists. I’m dying to touch her, but too afraid I’ll hurt her if I act on my desires.

After a few seconds of silent deliberation, I run my index finger over the indent embedded in her cheek. My touch is barely more than a feather grazing her skin, but it doesn't stop Savannah's dimple from growing in size. Even sleeping, she can sense my touch. I trail my finger up her cheek, stopping at her hair that has somewhat dried the past hour. The salty water has given it more bounce than it usually has, adding some faint curls to the ends.

As my finger glides past her ear, I whisper, “You scared the shit out of me.” My words are more for me than her. “You should haveneverput my life before yours. Don’teverdo that again.” This time, there's no doubt my words are for her.

Needing a second to calm my emotions before they get the better of me, I drop my eyes to the floor and take in some deep breaths. There are a million things I want to say, but when I spot the rise and fall of Savannah’s chest, they vanish into thin air. She's here, breathing, and that's all that matters. The rest can wait.

With Regina keeping Cybil deep in conversation, the original five minutes she negotiated stretches to fifteen. I use the time well. I sit so close to Savannah, the sheet covering her tiny frame crumples under my knees. I hold her hand while all the things I plan to say to her when she wakes filter through my mind. It's only fifteen minutes, but every second fills me with hope that there will be many more to follow.

I stop stroking my thumb along Savannah’s when the creak of a door sounds through my ears. “I’ll be back,” I promise, recognizing my time is up.

Even afraid I’m stepping over boundaries Savannah has the right to refuse doesn’t stop me from pressing a kiss to the edge of her mouth. I left her side once tonight on bad terms; I’m not doing it a second time.

The panic misting my skin gets a moment of reprieve when Savannah releases a soft breath the instant my lips touch her. It could just be my imagination, but I swear the faint murmur of my name accompanied her exhalation.

I pull back, hoping her eyes will be open. They aren’t—dammit.

My brow bows when Cybil hands me a pair of jeans, a short-sleeve shirt, and holey running shoes. The clothes I could have mistaken as someone else’s, but the skanky shoes leave no doubt they are mine.

“Your friends dropped them at reception for you,” she explains to my confused expression. “You can use the bathroom to get changed.” She points to the stark white door attached to Savannah’s private suite.

After issuing my thanks with a smile, I push off my feet. The white tiles on the floors and walls give the modern bathroom a bleak, sterile feeling, but it's nicer than the one I have at home.

Ignoring the fact Brax and Chris forgot to grab me fresh underwear and socks, I start undressing. I'd rather free-ball than remain in my ruined clothing. After tonight, the salty scent of the sea will forever haunt me.

While tugging my white dress shirt off via its expensive cuff, a flash of red captures my attention. With the bathroom’s fluorescent light haloing my skin with an unnatural glow, the thin red rope twisted around my wrist looks as vibrant as it did the day Savannah gifted it to me. It was the same day we created our list.

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