Page 111 of Breakaway Hearts

“Yes,” I answer slowly. “Who is this?”

“I’m calling from Denver Health Emergency Department. You were listed as the emergency contact for Callie Marshall.”

The world turns to ice around me. My lungs stop working. My heart too.

“She’s been in an accident,” the woman continues. “Are you able to come to the hospital?”

“Is she okay?” I gasp out. “Oh my god, what happened? I’ll be right there.”

“She’s been involved in an accident,” she repeats. “A car accident.”

“But she wasn’t driving,” I breathe.

“She was crossing the street when a car hit her.”

“What?” It’s as if I’m hearing her through a tunnel. My fingers tighten around my phone, my stomach turning to a solid lump of cement. I can barely breathe, and my voice is hoarse as I say, “I’ll be there soon.”

My finger shakes as I end the call.

She’s been in an accident.

A car hit her when she was crossing the street.

Callie. My Callie. Is she okay? I press the heel of my hand against my chest, which is tight and half-constricted, as if a snake is wrapped around my ribcage.

Oh god. Please be okay. Callie, please be okay.

I will my body to function, almost begging it to take one step and then the next, and before I know it, I’m rushing out of the dining room and into the living room. Sienna’s presence has been obliterated from my memory, and when I see her, I hardly understand the words that come out of my own mouth.

I tell her I have to go, I’m pretty sure. She protests, but I’m already out the door, slamming it shut behind me.

I don’t remember the drive to the hospital. I must manage it somehow, but it’s a blur between departure and arrival. I swerve into a parking space and sprint into the emergency room, filled with people waiting, people crying, people bleeding, every person except Callie.

Where is she? Fuck, where is she?

“Callie Marshall,” I rasp to the nurse behind the front desk. “I’m here to see Callie Marshall.”

He types something into a computer, but he isn’t typing fast enough. He’s not even looking at me. I’m shaking. My lungs are seizing up. Where the fuck is Callie? Where is she?

“Are you family?” he asks.

“No.”

“Spouse?”

“Boyfriend,” I say quickly. “I’m her boyfriend.”

“You need to be immediate family in order to see her at this time.” He looks at me, heavy bags beneath his eyes and the weariness of a long shift written on his face. He doesn’t give a shit, I realize. “Please wait until the doctors finish their examination.”

I tap my fingers against the counter. “Which will be how long?”

“As you can see, it’s a busy night,” he says dryly. “I’m not sure.”

“I need to see her. Now.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Itispossible,” I insist, my voice rising to a volume that makes other patients and a few doctors look my way. “You can’t keep me away from her just because I’m not her husband. Hell, I’ll propose to her right now if that means you’ll let me see her.”

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