I open my mouth to speak, but it’s more of a rasp. My mouth is dry, and all I want is to drink a gallon of water. My stomach is roiling though, so I’m not sure it would be a great idea even though I’m horribly parched.
I clear my throat and try to wet my mouth so my tongue doesn’t feel so much like sandpaper. It helps, and this time I’m able to say Declan’s name. It’s barely more than a whisper, but he jolts as though he’s been Tasered. His ball cap falls to the floor and his wild eyes land on me.
“Ave? Oh, thank fucking God.” He clasps my hand between his, bows his head, and presses his lips to my knuckle. “I’m so glad you’re awake. I wasn’t sure … I didn’t think … I’m so sorry. So, so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
I don’t understand what he’s talking about. Or why he’d be sorry. I don’t have much in the way of memories. Just sounds I want to block out and pain that makes it hard to think. I note the needle in the back of my hand hooked up to an IV beside my bed. My right arm—the dominant one—is encased in a cast all the way past my elbow and is set in traction, keeping it raised and immobile. My left leg is also in a cast, all the way from my foot to the top of my thigh.
Real panic hits and the words are pitchy with fear. “What happened to me?”
“You were in a car accident. Thank God you’re awake. It’s been almost two days.” His voice cracks with emotion. “How do you feel? What hurts? What can I get you?”
“Thirsty.” Everything is too overwhelming to be able to get more than a single word out.
Declan clambers to his feet and almost face-plants into the nightstand beside the bed. He picks up a plastic glass of water with a bendy straw and brings it to my lips. I want to be able to do it myself, but I don’t feel strong enough to manage. As it is, I can barely muster the strength to suck the water through the straw.
Even tipping my head forward a fraction of an inch to meet the straw takes an incredible amount of energy. I rest back against the pillow, processing the various aches and pains. I’m foggy, and I don’t feel as if I’m quite connected to my body.
“How bad?” I don’t need to elaborate, considering my current state.
He sets the glass on the nightstand and takes my left hand in his, eyes flitting from my face back to the IV taped to my hand. “You have a broken ulna and radius in your right arm, and a fractured elbow. Your left tibia is broken and needed pins to keep everything in place while it heals. There’s a fracture in your fibula and femur. You also have a dislocated kneecap, bruised ribs, and some bruising and swelling in your face because the airbag deployed.”
“So really bad.” At least my sarcasm is still intact. It’s a deflection from the dread taking hold. Tiny fragments of memory filter in. The sound of metal scraping against metal. Starbursts of pain. Fear. Declan’s muffled voice. I can’t fit any of the pieces together, but I know it must be the accident that I’m remembering.
“I should’ve been with you. I don’t know what I was thinking. If we’d had my SUV, the rain wouldn’t have been a problem. I’m so sorry, Ave.” He chokes on the words and bows his head, fingers still wrapped around mine.
I want to be able to tell him it’s okay, but I’m in pretty rough shape by the look and feel of things. He’s not wrong. There’s a chance I wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t flaked out on me. But at the same time, who knows if being in his car would’ve even made a difference.
I lie there, breathing through the pain, trying to piece together what happened to put me here. “The white truck.”
“Do you remember the accident?” His eyes are wide with horror, and I have to wonder what he’s seen and whether there was news footage.
Declan is very good at beating himself up over his mistakes. Usually it’s work- or sports-related—missing a goal or pass, losing money on an investment or not securing the client he wanted, but it’s not often extended to the people in his life, mostly because he’s not a relationship kind of guy.
He’s an extra loyal friend and he rarely lets anyone down. He’s the first to help someone move, or fix something, or paint a room. Need a date to a wedding? He’s a great wingman. Need a friend to go on a road trip? He’s always up for the adventure. So the fact that he ditched me for a random hookup hurts more than I expected. And now he’s going to beat himself up about it because the hurt isn’t just emotional—I’m in a bad physical state. The kind that tells me I’m lucky to be here at all.
I remember the guy in the white truck who couldn’t handle being stuck behind anyone, weaving through traffic, and using the merge lane to get ahead when he was tired of my cautious driving. He’d cut off a small car ahead of me, and it had been a flurry of hard braking. I’d followed suit, but with my tires and the slick conditions, I knew I wasn’t going to be able to stop in time, so I swerved toward the shoulder, hoping to avoid the car in front of me. Unfortunately, I must not have been the only person with that idea, because someone slammed into the back of my car, causing me to lurch forward.
After that, it was a lot of spinning and screeching and my own screaming. The memories are spotty. I recall bursts of pain I couldn’t escape and Declan’s voice, telling me he was getting help.
And now here I am. Helpless. And still in a lot of pain.
Declan calls in a nurse, and she checks my vitals, asking all kinds of questions that should be simple, but I can’t seem to communicate around the agony, which is worsening by the second. I try to tell her this, but my words are garbled and don’t make a lot of sense.
She hits a button, and Declan takes his seat beside me again. I hear his apology and feel the warmth of his hand on mine before the world goes dark again.
The next time I wake, Declan isn’t sitting beside my bed, but my sisters are. Light pours in from the window and the sunshine cuts a line across the end of my bed, highlighting my painted toenails. They’re probably the only part of me that looks halfway decent. I noticed a chip out of the nail on my big toe as well as purple and blue bruising.
“Hey.” Harley pushes up out of her chair and brushes stray hairs away from my face. She may be the youngest, but she’s also the most maternal. If someone needs to be taken care of, she’s the one who always steps up to the plate.
London drops the piece of paper she’s holding on the floor and stands, but hangs back while Harley fusses over me. “You gave us a real scare, Ave.” She turns her head away and takes a deep breath, as though she’s trying to keep her emotions in check.
I lick my lips. Like the last time I woke, I’m parched. Harley, being Harley, seems to pick up on that immediately and reaches for the water beside my bed. I let her lift it to my mouth, aware I don’t have the strength or coordination to do it myself. I have no idea how long I’ve been asleep this time.
“Declan?” My voice is a raspy whisper.
London purses her lips, her expression shuttering. “We sent him home to shower about an hour ago. I expect he’ll be back soon.”
“He hasn’t left your side since you came out of surgery,” Harley adds.
“How long have I been here?” My voice gains strength with use.
“This is day three. They kept you sedated for the first twenty-four hours because they wanted to be able to manage your pain levels and keep you still,” Harley explains.
“How long will I have to stay here?” I don’t have time for long hospital stays. “Oh God, I missed the alumni meeting.”
Harley pats my hand reassuringly. “It’s okay. We’re taking care of everything.” She motions to a bouquet of flowers on the table next to my bed. In fact, there are several bouquets. “They want you to heal and so do we, so no worrying about work. Your new job is to rest and let your bones knit and your bruises heal.” Her smile is tremulous, her own fears bleeding through in her words and her expression. If this is bringing up memories I’d rather not face, I’m sure it’s the same for her.
A few minutes later the doctor comes in, and London and Harley are asked to step out while I’m checked over. Neither o
f them wants to leave, but they assure me they’ll be right outside the room. By the time I’ve been assessed, prodded, and monitored for sensation in my toes and my ability to follow her finger with my eyes without moving my head, Declan has returned.
He looks clean but exhausted as the three of them step back into the room to discuss my extensive healing and treatment plan with the doctor. “Once you’re able to sit up and move from the bed to a wheelchair, we’ll be able to release you. However, you’re going to need a lot of support, particularly during the first few weeks.”
“So I can go home soon?” I ask hopefully.
“Depending on how you progress, it’s a possibility, but we don’t want to rush anything.”
“How soon is soon?” I want to be at home, not in a hospital bed with all the unfamiliar smells and sounds.
“It’s one step at a time, Avery. The breaks in your arm are clean, and we’re hoping for a six-week healing time, but your leg has multiple breaks, and because of the femur fracture, we’re looking at closer to eight weeks’ recovery time. The bruised ribs and hairline fractures mean you’re going to need to take it easy for quite a while, and you won’t be able to use crutches until your ribs have healed. We’ll be able to assess your recovery time and what the next steps will be in a couple of weeks.”
Harley steps up and slips her hand into mine as dismay starts to take over. Weeks of rest and relaxation might sound like a dream to some people, but to me it’s a nightmare. I need to stay busy, and being physically active is part of that.
I remember what it was like when I had to have pins put in my ankle as a teen, before my parents passed. Two months of sitting around watching TV, not being able to do the things I loved was torture back then. I can’t even begin to imagine what it’ll be like now.
It feels a lot like I can’t breathe. “What does all of this mean?”
“You’ll need someone to be with you around the clock to help you with your basic needs and moving around for the first couple of weeks in order to avoid any potential setbacks. Your injuries could have been far worse, and we’re very lucky that we were able to treat you as quickly as we did; otherwise, the prognosis might not be as positive. But you’ll be able to walk again and have full use of your arm.”
“I’ll be able to walk again?” The alarm is clear in my tone. “What about sports? Will I be able to play again?”
“It’s possible that no-contact sports could be acceptable, but we’ll need to assess that as you heal.”
“Right. Okay.” My mind feels like it’s spinning out of control. How will I bathe? Use the bathroom? How am I going to sleep? Get into my bed?
The doctor says she’ll be back later today, giving us time to discuss the bomb that has been dropped on me.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, just take a breath.” Harley brushes my hair away from my face, and I realize I’m in full-on panic mode, breath coming in short, quick bursts, nausea making my stomach ache and twist.
“Obviously you’ll come stay with us while you’re healing,” London says, all authority, her hard eyes on Declan.
They usually get along, but right now I can feel the animosity brewing, and I’m not sure what’s happened in the past few days, apart from me ending up in my current state.
“She’ll come home with me. I’ll take care of Avery,” Declan, who has been hanging back so far, says with quiet certainty, as if any other option is ridiculous.
“Like hell she will,” London snaps. “You were supposed to be with her when this happened.” She jabs a finger in my direction, her expression fierce, but her chin trembling.
Declan runs a hand through his hair, and his jaw clenches and releases several times, as if he’s trying to compose himself and struggling to do so. “I know. And I wish I could go back in time and fix it, but I can’t. I’ve already cleared time off with my boss, and she’s agreed to let me work from home.” His gaze shifts to me, imploring. “I let you down and I’m so sorry about that. If you want to stay with London and Harley, I completely understand, but I’ve already made arrangements with work and I’ve talked to the doctors, so I know exactly what I need to make you comfortable while you’re recovering.”
His guilt feels like another body in the room.
“Harley and I can help you recover. You can stay with us,” London assures me.
“How can you do that when you both have to run Spark House? Someone needs to handle Avery’s responsibilities. You can’t do that and take care of her at the same time.”
“We’ll make it work. We’ll hire a nurse’s aide if we need to,” London argues.
Declan’s lips thin. “Are you going to interview for that? When will you have time? And how is it better to have a stranger helping Avery recover?”
“How reliable have you proven yourself to be?” London grabs the bedrail, knuckles going white. “What happens when you decide you want to go out? Are you going to drag Avery along with you? Will you leave her at home alone? There are two of us and one of you. I think we’re the better option here. Besides, we’re her family. At least with us, she knows she’s our first priority.”
I hold up the hand that isn’t in a cast. “Can we call a time-out for a second?”
Both of them snap their jaws shut and turn their heated gazes my way.
Logically, staying with my sisters doesn’t make a lot of sense. They’re going to have to pick up the slack for me, and that means they’ll need to be at Spark House, even more than they already are, and I’ll have to work remotely—with one hand and one working leg—and that’s when I’ll actually be able to keep my eyes open for more than an hour at a time.
My head feels like a jumbled mess of information and worries, and we haven’t even made an actual decision yet. All my stuff is at my place. Moving it all into Harley and London’s would be a huge pain in the ass.
“Considering the demands that are going to be on you and Harley while I’m recovering, and Declan being able to get flex hours, it makes the most sense for me to stay in my condo.”
“You don’t need to do that. Harley and I can make it work,” London repeats, worry in her voice.
“But how? You don’t even have a spare bedroom.”
“We’ll convert the office, or Harley and I can share a room.” London wrings her hands.
I cock a brow. “Really? You two are going to bunk together? I know how much fun it was when we were kids and you and I had to share a room during family vacations.” I motion between London and me. “I can’t imagine any of us have gotten more flexible about our personal habits. Besides, you can’t relegate one person to come and take care of me because you’ll both be needed at Spark House. If Declan already has the time off to help me manage while I’m healing, then staying at my own place where I’m most comfortable makes the most sense.”
“I’ve ordered all the stuff the nursing staff said you would need, and most of it has been delivered already. I’m reorganizing the living room, so you’ll be able to get around a lot easier when you’re ready to come home,” Declan says to me and then turns to London. “I know you’re angry with me and I understand why. I get it, and I know you don’t have a lot of faith in my abilities considering where we are, but I can be there, and Avery’s right. You’re going to need to be free to manage events since you’re down a person.”
London finally backs down, but she sure doesn’t seem happy about conceding. “Fine. But Harley and I will be checking in daily.” She takes my hand. “And if you change your mind, you can come stay with us. Or we could figure something out at Spark House if we really need to.”
The last thing I want is to be at Spark House, bedridden and watching my sisters pull double time while I can do absolutely nothing to help. But I don’t want to hurt London’s feelings or incite more anger, so I nod my agreement.
8
LET THAT REALITY SINK IN
AVERY
I spend a week in the hospital. Seven days has never felt so long, and all I want is my
bed and my bathroom and the use of my arm and my leg.
The first time I saw my face post-accident, I cried. I’m not really a vain person. I don’t wear much makeup or put a lot of effort into dressing up and getting fancy like London sometimes does. At best, I’m a lip gloss and coat of mascara kind of woman. But seeing the bruises under my eyes and across the bridge of my nose, the healing split lip, and the scratches across my cheek from the shattered driver’s side window was a huge wake-up call.
Because apart from broken bones and a banged-up face, it could’ve been a lot worse.
I could’ve been one of the four friends who were in the car behind the white pickup. They were in a sedan, and when the pickup cut them off, they braked, but not fast enough, and ended up crashing into the back of the truck. The driver and passenger in front died on impact, and the two friends in the back were rushed to the hospital. Only one of the four survived.
So I have to remind myself that bruises fade and broken bones heal. I’m lucky to be alive, even if the time between being broken and feeling normal again is going to seem like an eternity.
The day I’m discharged from the hospital my sisters are there, along with Declan. God forbid London would allow him to take me home on his own. She’s become a hovering mother bird. I send him to the SUV with my bag so I can get a minute alone with my sisters.
I take London’s hand in mine and give it a squeeze. “Hey, I know you’re still mad at Declan, and I get it, but if you can pretend to be civil this morning, I would really appreciate it. Going home is really stressful, and Harley mediating while you glare daggers at Declan and argue about what’s best for me, while somewhat entertaining, isn’t all that helpful. Besides, he already feels bad enough.”
London drops her head and sighs. “I want to make sure you’re okay and taken care of, but I can’t do that when you’re living at your place and not ours.”
“I know, and I appreciate that, but this makes the most sense. Declan has the ability to take the time off, and he’s better equipped to help me physically. Besides, he owes me, so let him do this, and if it’s not working, you’ll be the first to know.”
When Sparks Fly Page 6