“How much pain was she in?” I look over at Shirley. “And she didn’t say anything?” I watch her face as she talks, seeing if she’ll hide anything from me.
“Everyone has their own threshold for pain,” she says matter-of-factly. “We all handle it differently.” She stands in front of me, her eyes not giving away anything. I turn back and watch Willow. “Why don’t you take off for a couple of hours?” I side-eye her. “It might be what you need. Get out of here and get a good night’s sleep. She isn’t going anywhere,” she says, and I just shake my head.
“That woman”—she points at Willow—“has been through more than we will ever know. More than she will ever admit to anyone.” She swallows down the lump in her throat. “I want you to keep that in mind when you talk to her.” I ignore the beating of my own heart, and the way my stomach sinks at her words.
“They need to come and get an official statement from her tomorrow afternoon,” I say, and she shakes her head.
“That is going to be interesting,” she says. “Will you be in the room?”
“What do you think?” I cross my arms over my chest.
“I don’t think that is a good idea,” she answers honestly. I just look over at her. “I don’t know you, Quinn,” she starts, looking at me over her glasses that sit on the tip of her nose, “but from what I can tell, I don’t think you can listen to her story without losing your shit.” I almost roll my eyes at her. “Think about that before tomorrow. She is going to need someone on her side.” She takes a deep breath. “And I don’t think anyone has ever been on her side.”
I don’t answer because she turns around and walks away from me to the nurses’ desk. She sits there and writes in the folder. I walk back into the room and go to sit in the chair beside Willow’s bed. Shirley’s words replay in my head. “And I don’t think anyone has ever been on her side.”
I watch her sleep, and she whimpers. I scoot forward and hold her hand in mine, the casted arm in the sling. Her eyes open halfway. “I’m here,” I tell her as she blinks, trying to stay awake.
“Does it hurt?” I whisper.
She licks her lips. “Not really.” She closes her eyes.
“I’m sorry about before,” I say, not sure if she is awake or not. “I should have held your hand while you went through all of that.” Her eyes flutter open just for a second before closing again.
Her eyes open again. “You don’t have to be sorry,” she says softly. “You didn’t do anything to hurt me.” Her voice trails off, and then she closes them again, this time not opening them as she slips back to sleep.
“Tomorrow is going to be tough,” I say when the sun goes down, the hallway gets dark, and she still hasn’t woken up. I put her small hand in mine as I trail my finger on the top of her hand. “But I’m going to be here,” I say. She mumbles as her fingers twitch in my hand. “I’m going to be here, and I’m going to be by your side.”
Chapter 10
Willow
“I’m going to be by your side.” I hear his soft voice, and I fight to open my eyes, I feel the softness on my hand, but the heaviness stops me as I sink into sleep again. I want to force my eyes open again to talk to him.
I’m in the dark forest as I hear his voice over and over again. “You will never be free of me,” he says as I run away from the voice. Running as fast as I can, I fall over the rocks. The pain rips through me, and I scream, my eyes flying open, and I look around the dark room.
I blink a couple of times, this time getting my eyes adjusted, the lights from the nurses’ station coming in just a bit. Enough for me to see around the room just a touch. The room is unchanged from the last time, the containers of pie still sitting uneaten on the shelf.
My body aches suddenly. I have been sore before in my life, but nothing like this. My whole body screams out every single time I try to move.
My arm presses down on my chest. The sling is tied tightly around my waist. The pain in my shoulder is just a fraction of what it was yesterday.
My hand warms as I look down and see Quinn with his head on the bed, right next to his hand on top of mine. I think about moving my hand, but I don’t want to wake him.
When the doctor came into the room yesterday to tell me that my clavicle was broken, the first thing I did was look over at Quinn, whose face went from a smile to rage. I tried not to watch him walk out of the room. I tried to pretend it didn’t bother me. I pretended I didn’t care. I shouldn’t care, I kept reminding myself.
I look down at this man who I don’t think has slept since I came here. I have never seen him with his guard down, but I get to look at him for once, without him looking back at me. I get to see the softness of his face. I get to see the way his hair falls softly on his forehead. I wonder if his hair feels like silk.
Who the hell is this man? I have so many questions about him and no way to find out. The only way I can find out is if he tells me, and I’m not going to ask him. Because I know if I ask him the question, I have to be ready to answer his questions, and I don’t know how to do that without baring my whole fucking soul.
He must sense I’m watching him because his eyes blink open for a second and then close again, only for a couple of seconds before he blinks again as he looks up at me staring at him.
He gets up, groaning when he rolls his neck. “Did I wake you?” he asks softly.
“What are you still doing here?” I ask, and he looks at me with a confused look. “Who are you really?”
His voice comes out almost in a whisper. “I can ask you the same,” he says, and I swallow down the lump in my throat that comes out.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I say and avoid his eyes. “I’m no one.” I blink away the tears that threaten to fall. I blink as fast as I can to fight them away.
“You are not no one,” he says, his eyes hard. “I don’t know your story, and I’m not sure you’ll actually tell me, but one thing I know for sure is that you are not no one.” He looks down at his hand on top of mine, and he slowly moves it off. The cold air hits my hand as soon as it’s free from his. He sits back in the chair. “Do you want water?” he asks as if he just didn’t stop my heart in my throat.
He walks out of the room, and only then do I let a tear escape, wiping it away as soon as I feel it on my cheek. “He didn’t mean it,” I tell myself. “He doesn’t know you.”
He comes back into the room with a cup in his hand. “Do you want me to open the shades?” He holds the cup in his hand and holds it for me. “The sun is almost set to rise.”
The cold water feels refreshing when I take a couple of sips. “I take it you’re a morning person?”
He smiles and chuckles. “You can say that.” He puts the cup down, walks over to the shades, and opens them. The sky is still dark, but you can see that the sun is about to rise.
“Do you watch the sun rise every day?” I don’t know why I’m asking him.
“Pretty much,” he says, looking out the window. “I get up at around five.”