Page 121 of Just Between Us

“They took her back,” I manage after a couple tries. “She hit her head. Hasn’t woken up.”

Josie pulls back, hands swiping at her face. “I needed to see you with my own eyes. But Austin will know something’s wrong when he realizes half of us have disappeared.” She squeezes my hand, hard. “She’s tough, Liam. You know she is. She’ll be okay.”

She gives me a quick kiss on the top of my head and stands, disappearing back down the hall.

Lifting my head, I make eye contact with my dad who stands a few feet away. His arms are crossed, jaw working. He gives me a single nod. The kind that saysI’m hereandI love youwithout a single word.

But it’s my mom who moves first.

She doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t ask for details. She just lowers to the nasty ER floor beside me in her crisp white jeans and wraps both arms around me. The very same way she used to when I was a kid. The way she did two years ago in this very spot.

The tears come and don’t stop. I don’t have it in me to fight them anymore. Every bit of composure I’ve held onto since those tires left the road collapses. I cry in a way I haven’t done in years. Ugly wracking sobs. The kind that comes from somewhere deep within you when tears are the only language you know to speak.

“I can’t do this again, Mom.” I don’t even recognize my voice as my own. “I don’t have it in me. I can’t.”

She doesn’t serve me empty platitudes or promise Cassie will be okay. She just holds me tighter, cheek pressed to the top of my head, and lets me fall apart on a dirty hospital floor while life hangs in the balance.

“I’m sorry,sir. She’s still in surgery.”

From the blunt force trauma of hitting the window, right before the tree barreled in, Cassie suffered what they told me is called intracranial hemorrhaging. A brain bleed. Those two words sound like a death sentence, but Mom tried to assure me that the doctors would be able to repair the bleed.

“Can you at least tell me if she’s alive, goddammit?” I’m trying to keep my composure. They’ve been nothing but nice here, but the fear of the unknown has cinched itself around my aching ribs, and I can’t think straight.

She’s been in surgery over four hours now and nobody can tell me a damn thing. Penny is still in labor, and to say the atmosphere is tense would be an understatement. We’re all on edge, needing answers.

“Sir, as soon as more information is available, you’ll be the first to know.”

With a frustrated kick to the wall, I walk back to my seat next to Mom. The movement does nothing for my pain. The nurses finally wore me down and I allowed them to take me to triage for an exam. They bandaged my cuts, did an X-ray, which showed nothing, and they diagnosed me with bruised ribs aftera shit ton of poking and prodding. But I refused pain meds. When Cassie’s out of surgery I have to be fully alert, not groggy from some Hydrocodone.

Our friends and family have taken shifts, pacing the hallways between Austin and Penny and my nightmare. Josie shows up a few times with bloodshot eyes and Tyler takes turns sitting with his parents and next to me, a quiet steady presence. My brother and even my sister have called to check in, but I don’t feel like talking. Each time my phone rings, I hand it to my mom.

Cassie’s aunt, uncle, and mom arrived about thirty minutes ago, and I know I should spend some time with them, but I’m spent. How do I look them in the eye when I was the one driving, knowing damn well we should have pulled over? But should haves don’t mean a thing when you end up in a ditch surrounded by shards of glass.

Glancing around the waiting room, I see Cassie’s uncle, face buried in his hands, then her mom and aunt both staring off in space. I can’t do it. Call me a coward, or weak. I don’t fucking care. I’ve faced someone who blamed me before and I don’t have it in me to do it again.

“Mom.” My vocal cords are shredded from crying. “I was about to pull over when it happened. I shouldn’t have gotten us out in that mess.”

Mom takes my face in her hands, forcing me to look at her. “Listen to me, son. We are not traveling down the same path as last time. You heard what they said. She’s in surgery, they’ll repair it and Cassie will heal. She will need you as she does.”

Cassie will heal. I drop my chin to my chest and study the tiled floor, willing that to be true. She’ll heal. She’s got to.

The doors opposite us open and a woman wearing a surgical cap comes striding our way, her face a mask of stone. We all stand as one, a collective breath held while we wait for the news.

“I’m Doctor McKinley.” She makes eye contact with each of us, her face still unreadable. “Cassie just got out of surgery. They’re moving her to recovery as we speak.”

My relief is so violent, a physical force that brings me to my knees. My legs give out and I’m hitting hard tile. Mom puts a hand on my shoulder while I work to regulate my breathing, face in my hands. She’s in recovery. That’s good news.

“Can I see her? I need to see that she’s okay with my own eyes. Please.”

“Not yet. She suffered extensive injuries. Her body is pretty banged up with significant bruising already appearing on her chest and abdomen. We performed decompression surgery for the intracranial hemorrhaging—which she handled beautifully—but she needs to be kept in an environment with minimal stimulation. My team and I made the decision to put Cassie in a medically induced coma while her brain heals.”

A coma? What the hell? My mind goes to her toes. Her big toe that crosses over the second. Is she doing that now under the fog of a coma? Is she scared all alone in a room? Does she wonder why I didn’t do more to prevent this?

“Will she know we’re there?” I ask.

“There is a chance she’ll recognize voices. Her brain might react to you, but she will show no outward signs that she knows.”

“When can we see her?” Cassie’s mom asks.