"Did you see her maybe in the cabin?" I ask.
"I didn’t see anyone but my father,” he says, “but that isn’t to say she wasn’t there."
"She said she tried to run away and warn Chelsea," I start to tell him, “and then he caught her."
He shakes his head. “Nothing you say will surprise me."
"There you are." I look to the right and see Chelsea walking toward us very slowly.
“What are you doing out of bed?" Mayson asks, looking around to see if there is a wheelchair he can grab.
"I’m tired of lying around doing nothing,” she huffs out. “I’m fine. I can lie in bed at home." She looks at me. “You look like shit."
"Right back at you,” I say, and she laughs. She comes over to me, and I hug her.
"Watch her shoulder," Mayson tells me, and I just look at him. Chelsea, Amelia, and I grew up together, almost like triplets. In school, it was always the three of us. They are my best friends; they know me better than I know myself.
"Did she wake up?" Chelsea asks, looking into the room where Willow sleeps.
"For a bit," I tell her. “Her name is Willow,” I say, and she looks over at the chart on the wall.
"Her heartbeat is all over the place. She must be in pain," Chelsea says, her medical training kicking in. "They upped her pain meds but not by much."
"She says she’s fine,” I say, and she looks at me with her mouth open.
"They drilled a hole in her head to reduce the swelling. I can confirm with you from other patients that I've had that she is in a fuck ton of pain. That isn’t even counting all her other injuries."
"Did you see her?" Mayson asks Chelsea. “At the cabin."
"No." She shakes her head. “I told you, I told Uncle Casey, and I’ve told Uncle Jacob over and over again. He was alone. Drove the car alone. Carried me alone. In the cabin, he was alone. I had no idea she was even there."
"We should get you into bed," Mayson says, and she tries to pretend she isn’t tired, but the yawn that escapes her tells us otherwise.
"Go rest. I’ll come and get you tomorrow when she gets up, and we can hear her story,” I say. “Maybe she can answer our questions."
"Well, the other person is sitting on ice in the morgue,” Mayson says.
"It’s a good thing,” I say. “Because if he wasn’t, I don’t know what I would do."
Chelsea looks over at me, and her eyebrows pinch together. I know she wants to ask me questions, but she doesn’t. I also know she is saving it for another day when she can sit down with me and see if I’m lying to her. It was something we did when we were kids, and as we grew, we were able to see when someone was lying to us. "I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, and Mayson holds her hand as they walk back to her room.
I walk back into the room, stopping at the foot of her bed to look at her. The monitor shows her heart is beating steadily. She lies there so peaceful with her chest moving up and down rhythmically.
Making my way over to the chair beside her bed, I reach out and grab her hand. It’s small and fragile and cold. I put my other hand on it to warm her up. One hand holds her while I use the other one to rub her finger. My index finger rubbing hers, I’m tempted to bring her hand to my lips and softly kiss it. “Willow,” I say her name softly. “What secrets are you keeping?” I ask.
Chapter 8
Willow
My eyes flicker open, and I take a deep breath. The pain in my head is just a bit less than it was last night. I woke up three times during the night, and each time I woke up, he was by my side.
His eyes on his computer, he would get up and make sure I was okay. I wanted to tell him to leave. I wanted to get the nurse to get him to leave, but the darkness came to take me away before I could do any of those things.
I fight the sleep off and look at the chair, and for the first time, he isn’t there. My heart speeds up, and I can’t stop it. My breathing comes faster and faster as if I’m running a marathon. My mind runs in overdrive as I take in the empty room and suddenly feel all alone. I’ve been wishing for him to be gone, and when he is, I don’t feel as safe. I push the thought away. The only one you can count on, Willow, is yourself, I remind myself over and over again.
Glancing around the room, I look for where I can escape, and then I see him. Standing in the hallway with a blonde who smiles up at him. She gets on her tippy toes and kisses his cheek and then turns to walk away from him. He stands there watching her walk away from him. I swallow down the sudden lump in my throat as I watch him walk back into the room.
"Good morning,” he says, and I see the big brown bag in his hand.
"What time is it?" I ask.
"Just after nine,” he says, putting the bag down on the hospital tray. “How are you feeling?"
"Groggy," I answer him honestly. “But I’m fine." He just looks at me with his hands on his hips, and I see he’s wearing a different shirt. Maybe he did leave when I was sleeping.
"I’ll get Shirley,” he says between his teeth, almost hissing.
"Good morning, Willow,” Shirley says, coming in, and I wait for Quinn to follow her, but he doesn’t. He just stands outside the room, looking in.
"Good morning," I say, and she comes to me and takes my vitals.
"How are you this morning?" she asks.
"Fine,” I say, and she looks at me over her glasses.
"Um, Shirley," I say her name softly as I look out to see Quinn still standing there watching. I move my head back to make sure he won’t see me. “Why is he here?"
"He hasn’t left here since you got here,” she says. “He takes off for twenty minutes each night to take a shower."
My mouth opens. “What day is it?"
"Friday,” she says, and she looks at me. “Now answer me honestly, and I promise not to tell anyone." I swallow, not sure I can actually answer the truth to anyone. "How are you really feeling?"
I look down. “I’m in a little bit of pain," I admit and don’t meet her eyes. Just in case she sees that a little bit means a lot.
"Where does it hurt?" she asks, her voice so soft it’s like we’re whispering to each other. She puts her hand on my arm to make me feel safe.
"My head throbs,” I say. “Side feels like someone is stabbing me, and then on the other side, it feels like I’m being kicked." Tears sting my eyes, and I lift my hand and hiss out at the pain shooting all the way up to my shoulder.
"Did your arm hurt when you lifted it?" she asks, and I want to tell her yes, but I look down at my lap.
"It’s not that bad." I ignore the thumping of my heart as I try to block out the pain.
"I’ll be back,” she says, and I grab her arm, surprising her.
"Don’t tell anyone," I beg, fearing she will tell someone how much pain I’m in. "I’m fine."
"Willow,” she says, her voice very low. “No one is going to know what you told me,” she says. “But I think you need an X-ray just to make sure everything is okay."