Page 114 of Breakaway Hearts

An IV protrudes from the inside of my right forearm, and even with the blue curtains hiding me from the rest of the busy emergency room, it’s painfully evident that I’m in the hospital.

Ah right. I was hit by a car. Not a truck.

Close enough.

I try to move my left arm but find it stuck. For a moment, panic fills me. Did I lose mobility in my left arm? The entire left side of my body? No way. That can’t be. I turn my head slowly and let out a relieved breath as I see Reese, holding tightly to my hand and passed out with his head next to my hip.

“Reese,” I murmur. “What are you still doing here?”

“Taking care of you, of course,” he mumbles. He doesn’t lift his head, just snuggles closer to my body, although he stops just short of touching me. “Your mom came by last night, but she left a little bit ago. Went to grab some coffee and breakfast, I think, not from the hospital. I don’t blame her. Food here is shit.”

The thought of eating anything makes my stomach scream in protest, and I make a tiny noise in my throat. His head shoots up, his expression shifting from the usual groggy, near-unresponsive morning Reese to wide awake and attentive.

“What do you need?” he asks quickly. “Do you need anything?”

I clear my throat. “Water, maybe?”

“Water. Got it.”

He grabs a cup with a straw in it from nearby and hands it to me, hovering anxiously over me as I drink.

The cool water soothes my throat, and my foggy mind churns slowly as I take another sip. How did this happen? I hardly remember the tail-end of yesterday. I was distraught over Reese and Sienna, I remember that for sure. But the car…

Fuck, I didn’t see the car.

The hospital was a blur. I was barely conscious while they wheeled me from place to place, conducting all sorts of tests, poking and prodding me, all while my body felt like it’d been used as a punching bag.

I glance over at Reese as I hand the cup back to him. “What time is it? Shouldn’t you be at practice?”

He hesitates for a second, then shakes his head. “I skipped that too.”

“Too?”

My forehead wrinkles in confusion, but then I remember that he skipped his sponsorship meeting just to meet me at the hospital. He could’ve called anyone else—my mom, Margo, anyone—but he decided to show up on his own, even at the expense of a potentially huge deal.

Before I can completely process that fact, the curtain draws back and a doctor steps up to my bedside. I recognize him as the same one who took care of me last night, although he looks a bit more tired now.

“Good morning, Ms. Marshall,” he says. “Did you sleep well?”

I smile, which probably looks more like a grimace. “As well as can be expected, I guess.”

“Understandable.” He checks over my chart. “Well, your vitals all look good, so we’ll be discharging you today. You do have a mild concussion, so if the symptoms get worse—confusion, headache, dizziness, nausea—come back in right away. I’ll be sending you home with some pain meds as well.”

“What do I need to do to make sure she recovers quickly?” Reese asks. “Are there any foods she should avoid? Foods she should eat? Do we need to supplement her water intake with electrolytes? How about physical activity? She’s a teacher—a third grade teacher—is she okay to go to school?”

The doctor smiles and jots down a few notes on his clipboard. “Do keep hydrated, and if you can’t keep anything down, I’d suggest Pedialyte. But also come in if you’re struggling to eat. Take a few days off work is my suggestion. Being on your feet all day won’t be good for your recovery.”

“And food?” Reese prompts. “You didn’t answer my question about food.”

The doctor gives him an extremely patient look. “She can keep her diet the same, but I do recommend sticking with easily digestible foods at first.”

“Okay.” Reese nods seriously, as if he’s committing all of this to memory. “Got it.”

“You’ll receive preliminary billing information when you check out,” the doctor adds. “They’ll also make sure all of your insurance information is accurate.”

Shit. I didn’t even think about insurance. A cold sweat breaks out on the back of my neck as the doctor strides away. My school doesn’t exactly provide the best coverage, but if the cost is heavy, my deductible will at least be filled.

“Don’t worry about it for a second,” Reese says, as if reading my mind. “I’ve got you. No matter what.”

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