Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 71130 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71130 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Am I in the hospital?
“You’re awake,” I hear Noah say, relief coating his words. “Finally. You had me worried.”
“Noah?” Confused, I mutter, “Turn on a light.”
He doesn’t answer me, and I try to move into a sitting position. Pain sears through my stomach and chest, and it increases the pounding in my head.
“No, stay still.” I feel his hands on my shoulders.
“What?” There’s a flutter of panic in my chest. “Where am I? Why’s it dark?” As I ask the questions, my mind fights the worry back, refusing to even think it.
“Shit,” I hear Noah mutter. “Just stay still. I’m going to call the doctor.”
Doctor?
I hear movement, then Noah says, “He just woke up.” He continues to whisper something I can’t make out.
I feel strong fingers wrap around mine. “Hey, my boy,” Dad’s voice quivers.
I shut my eyes tightly as the realization becomes impossible to ignore.
God. Please.
Was I in an accident?
My lashes lift slowly, anxiety building unbearably when I still can’t see anything.
“Dad, what happened?” I whisper, my voice filled with apprehension. “I can’t see anything.”
I feel him move, guessing he’s sitting on the bed next to me. His fingers skim the right side of my head. “Don’t panic. You and Fallon were in a car accident. You took a blow to the head, and it’s probably only temporary. Fallon’s okay.”
Temporary?
Fallon?
What the fuck happened?
I suck in a painful breath of air as everything spins into chaos inside me. Shutting my eyes, I try to focus on the headache, on the dull throb in my stomach and side.
I try to focus on anything but the stark reality that I can’t see.
Dad presses a kiss to my temple, and I feel his lips quiver against my skin.
Fuck. No.
Please.
No.
The beeping begins to increase as my heartbeat speeds up.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” Dad murmurs. “I promise.”
Slowly, I shake my head, and it feels like I’m losing grip with reality as the words fall over my lips, “I can’t see.”
I hear someone come into the room, and Dad pulls away from me.
“I thought there was no damage?” Dad grinds out, clearly upset, and it rips through me like a tornado.
“The CT scan showed nothing,” a foreign voice answers. “The brain is complex. We’ll do more tests now that Mr. Reed is awake.”
A hand settles on my shoulder. “Mr. Reed, I’m Dr. Davis. Can you open your eyes for me?”
A part of me refuses to believe that I might be blind, and it keeps me from doing as the doctor asked.
“Kao?” Dad takes hold of my right hand. “Open your eyes.”
I suck in a breath and hold it as I slowly open them.
Nothing.
God.
There’s nothing.
Instantly, I’m thrown into a pit of despair as the breath rushes from me.
Dr. Davis does his checks. He talks with Dad, but I’m unable to take in anything. I hear more voices. Some panicked, others filled with devastation.
I remain still, blankly staring into a black chasm where no one can reach me. Time wraps into something incomprehensible.
Seconds. Minutes. Hours. They’ve all lost meaning.
Then a soft touch feathers over my left hand, and a familiar delicate scent chases the smell of sanitizer. Fallon. She presses a kiss to my cheek, and then I hear her whisper, “I missed you.”
My eyes drift shut, and I desperately want to follow her voice to the light.
“Fallon.” Her name is nothing more than a whisper, carrying the intensity of a prayer.
“I’m here.” Her palm rests against my cheek, and she presses another kiss to my temple.
Through my despair, my worry for her still triumphs. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Just whiplash and a little concussion. How do you feel?”
Her voice wraps me in a sheltered cocoon, where the truth of my situation can’t follow me.
“Kao?” Her voice is gentle, and I can clearly hear her love for me. “How do you feel?”
Weird
Scared.
Weak
Lost.
My lips part. “Okay.” I suck in an agonizing breath. “I’m okay.”
I feel her move closer again. Her left cheek presses against mine, and her silky hair gets stuck on the scruff on my jaw. Then she whispers, “Thank you for waking up.” Her breaths drift over my skin and ear. “Thank you for keeping me safe.”
Fallon’s okay.
But you lost your sight.
Fallon’s okay. She’s all that matters.
“We need to take Mr. Reed for a scan,” a woman says.
Fallon begins to pull away, but with my right hand, I grab hold of her arm. “Wait.” I pull her closer to me until I can feel her breath on my face again.
I try to lift my left arm, but the pain increases in my side, and it has me freezing for a moment. I breathe through it, then turning my head toward her, I ask, “You’re okay, right?”
“Yeah,” her answer flutters over my cheek.
I wish I could see for myself that she’s not hurt.
I move my right hand up her back until I reach something that feels like foam and rubber instead of her neck.