Finding Strength (The Searchers Book 5)

by Ripley Proserpina

  Stitches ran vertically from her temple to between her eyebrows, and she had dust on her skin.

  “Why is she still dirty?” he asked.

  “We can’t bathe her,” Marie told him quietly. “We clean the spots with injuries, the parts we can get to. We can’t necessarily move her to wash her right away.”

  That made sense, he guessed.

  “What else is wrong?” he asked, and he could feel Marie’s gaze on him.

  “Her brain is swollen,” she started. “That’s the most serious.”

  “But she had a helmet on…”

  “The girl flew through the air. If she hadn’t worn it, she’d be dead. That helmet saved her life, but she hit the ground hard. Broken fingers, broken wrist and arm on the side she landed on. Broken ribs, punctured lung.”

  Apollo listened to the category of injuries, and he couldn’t stand anymore, but there wasn’t a chair. He held onto the bed rail, leaning over to catch his breath.

  “Sir?”

  “I’m fine,” he said and sucked in a breath, forcing himself to get it together. He locked his knees and stood straight. “Keep going.”

  “Ruptured spleen—”

  “Was it removed?” he asked quickly.

  “No. She’s stable—good pulse, stable blood pressure. She’s not especially pale, and she isn’t sweating, so we’re monitoring. We’ll do a CT scan in a week to see how it looks.”

  “Okay,” he said. He glanced down her body, noticing the way one side of the blanket was higher than the other. “Broken leg?”

  “Femur,” Marie answered. “But she was lucky, because it didn’t tear any arteries.”

  “And her spine?”

  A monitor beeped, snatching both their attention. Marie touched a few buttons and the alarm stopped. “It’s just one of her IVs,” she told him, switching one bag for another and then entering the data into her computer. “Spines are tricky. The way she hit the ground—it pushed the bones together.” She pushed her fists against each other to demonstrate. “No fractures, but we noticed bruising and swelling near her hips.”

  Apollo touched the blankets, his fingers skimming something hard around her waist. It went all the way from her hips to her arms.

  “That’s an orthosis. It’s just to give her some more support.”

  “But she can walk?”

  Marie watched him. “She had an MRI. There was nothing that suggested she wouldn’t be able to walk.”

  Apollo touched the arm closest to him, running his knuckle along her skin. It was so soft. He thought about Cai in the waiting room, and how anxious he had to have been right now. At least now, Apollo knew. He knew everything that had happened. As the nurse had spoken, a different part of his brain had turned on. He began to fill in some of what the nurse said with what he’d learned in his classes. He started thinking about recovery time and treatment.

  All of those things were things he could do. As a sports medicine and physical therapy major, he’d focused so much of his time learning about the body. He smiled down at Nora, trying to infuse her with some of the hope he had.

  He leaned down, resting his cheek on the cold metal rail. “You’re going to be okay, baby. It’s going to be hard, and it’s going to hurt, but I’m going to help you. I won’t leave again. I promise.” He straightened. “Everyone’s going to ask you the same questions,” he told Marie. “I hope you don’t mind repeating yourself.”

  She only shrugged. “It’s my job.” Turning her wrist, she glanced at her watch. “Time’s up.”

  “Okay,” he said. “There are four more of us who’ll be here.”

  “Four more, what?” she asked as he kissed a spot of skin on her arm. Only his mask touched her skin, but he had to kiss her.

  And he didn’t answer Marie. Once she met them and saw how his friends loved and cared about Nora, she wouldn’t have any questions about who the five of them were.

  13

  Seok

  Apollo was here.

  Cai met him and Ryan when they got off the elevator, and as he accepted the coffee from his hand, he told them, “Apollo got here last night. He’s in there with Nora right now.”

  Seok nodded and rubbed his fingertips across his jeans. That was good.

  Last night, after he and Ryan got to Matisse’s home, he thought he’d be staring all night at the ceiling. But he’d fallen asleep.

  And woken up in a panic. Everything crashed onto him at the same time. Matisse’s accident. Nora’s injuries. Apollo maybe, or maybe not, making it from the airport to the hospital.

  He’d taken the fastest shower known to man only to clear his head, and then rushed downstairs to find Ryan waiting for him. The two of them didn’t even need to talk.

  Somehow, Ryan had found a set of keys and they, with zero guilt, took one of the fancy cars in the Boudreau’s garage. When they got to the hospital, they stopped in the lobby to get coffee only because Seok was certain Cai had been awake all night, before sprinting upstairs.

  “How is she?” Seok asked.

  “Nurse said she had a good night. She’s stable. I figure Apollo will explain it all to us when he gets out.” Cai pulled his phone out of his pocket. “We only have fifteen minutes with her.”

  “Do we have to wait?” Ryan asked.

  Seok took a sip of his coffee and wrinkled his nose. The stuff was horrible, but it would do the trick of keeping him alert. Not that he needed that, actually. He felt overly alert, hyperaware. Everything from the monitors beeping down the hall to the smooth hum of the elevator filled his senses.

  “No,” Cai said. “After he comes out, I’ll go in. I’ll let the two of you fight over who goes next.”

  “Me,” Ryan said at the same time Seok swallowed his coffee.

  “Dammit.”

  The doors to the waiting room opened and Apollo strode through. He was wearing a tank top and gym shorts and looked as tired as Seok felt. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and the whites were red, but he smiled when he saw all of them. “She’s going to be okay,” he said.

  “How do you know?” Seok asked immediately, and winced. “The doctor put her in a coma.”

  Apollo nodded. “It will be hard, but our girl is a fighter. Anything she needs, we’ll give it to her.”

  “I’m going,” Cai said, and rushed out of the room.

  The door swung closed, and Ryan turned his attention to their friend. “What did they tell you?”

  Apollo gestured toward the chairs, but Seok didn’t want to sit. He wanted to know every single detail, and he couldn’t sit passively while he absorbed them.

  When neither he nor Ryan sat, Apollo started, “She has a broken arm, wrist, and fingers from trying to catch herself when she landed. She has a cut on her forehead, and road rash on her forearms and hands. She broke the upper part of her leg, so that’s casted. She tore her spleen, but because she’s in the coma, they’re not doing surgery for it. But she also has some bruising on her hips and lower back.”

  Seok’s stomach dropped and he quickly put his coffee down. He dug his fingers into his hair to keep from putting a fist through the wall. Roughly, he swept it back from his face before linking his hands behind his neck. “She won’t be able to walk?”

  “She’s wearing a brace right now around her neck and around her torso to take pressure off her vertebrae. She should be able to walk just fine.”

  “And her brain?” Ryan asked.

  Apollo was quiet. “I don’t know more about that than you do. Her blood pressure was steady. She’s breathing just fine. But we won’t really know until they wake her up.”

  “Did they say how long it was until they did that?” Ryan asked.

  Apollo shook his head. “I ran out of time. You’ll have to ask that question.”

  His friend straightened and nodded. “Of course.” He brought his coffee to his mouth, but his hand shook so he placed it on a table and sat. “One of us should check on Matisse soon.”

  “I need to clean up,” Apo
llo said. “I came from the gym, and I don’t want to get her sick from the airplane.”

  “Here.” Ryan tossed him a set of keys. “Orange level, far right.”

  “What kind of car?” Apollo asked, and then shook his head. “Never mind. I’ll just hit the button.”

  “It’s a Jaguar,” Ryan told him. “But it doesn’t make a sound when you push the button. I checked.”

  Seok shook his head. A memory flashed through his head. He suddenly recalled that he’d had a Jaguar in high school. He could remember sitting in traffic, horns blaring all around him because it had stalled and wouldn’t turn over. “Fucking Jags. They never work.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Ryan answered.

  “I’ll be back in an hour, maybe less,” Apollo said, mashing his thumb against the elevator button.

  “Can you find your way there?” Seok asked, and his friend nodded.

  “I remember.”

  The doors opened, and Apollo slipped inside, disappearing from sight as they closed. Seok sat next to Ryan, knee bouncing as he leaned forward.

  “How much coffee did you have?” he asked.

  Seok reached for the cup next to him. “A sip.” It wasn’t the coffee making him anxious. It was everything. Apollo leaving and Seok not being certain he’d ever see his friend again. Matisse. Nora. The hospital. Everything.

  His brain was on overload, and he wasn’t sure how much he could take before he exploded.

  14

  Matisse

  Fucking beeping. Matisse reached a hand out, trying to find his phone to shut off the alarm, but something tugged at his wrist.

  He shook off the covers, all with his eyes closed, but someone grabbed his hand, and his eyes shot open.

  His mother, eyes bloodshot and sunken, leaned over him. “You’re okay.”

  What the fuck? Anxiety skyrocketing, he tried to sit up, but he couldn’t. His hand wasn’t just tethered, it was covered in a cast and secured to his body with a sling. The hard plastic neck brace dug into the back of his head, and his shoulder might have literally been on fire. He glanced at it. Nope. Well, it sure as shit felt that way.

  His mom was here, and his dad. Dad was asleep in the corner, but still, he was here.

  Which meant something bad had happened.

  “Where—” His throat was dry, and it hurt to swallow, but he did.

  “Hold on.” Mom got a cup of water and lifted the straw to his lips. Matisse drank deeply until the water was gone.

  While he drank, he tried to remember how he’d ended up here, but the last thing he remembered was sitting by the pool with Nora.

  In between then, and now, was a big blank spot.

  “Mom?” Why couldn’t he remember?

  “You’re okay.” She placed the cup on the bedside table and gripped the railing, leaning closer. “You were in an accident, but you’re going to be okay.”

  On his motorcycle… he had no memory of it. Nothing. “What happened?”

  Mom glanced at the corner of the room and Matisse followed her gaze. Dad was still sleeping, and he wondered for a second if she needed his support. Oh, shit. Had he hurt someone? Hit another car or a pedestrian?

  “What happened?” he asked again, his voice tight.

  Mom paused, taking a breath. Matisse didn’t think he could be more scared, but in that second, he felt utter terror. Who had he hurt? What had he done?

  “I need you to listen, and I need you to stay calm,” Mom said. She stared at him, held his gaze, and reached for his uninjured hand. All of a sudden, the room was too loud. The lights too bright. The buzz and beep of machines burrowed under his skin. He could almost feel it, a tremor just beneath the surface that sizzled along his spine. He wanted to take off his skin, and he began to lift his hands to his ears to stop the sounds, but his arm screamed, and his Mom stopped him. “Matisse Boudreau. This is going to be hard, but you’ll get through it. Do you understand me?”

  It took a moment for her words to process. They had to filter through a thousand sensations demanding his complete attention, but when they did, he nodded. Just tell me.

  “We were going out to dinner. You and Nora took the motorcycle—”

  He gagged, and Mom grabbed a plastic bin from the table, holding it under his chin. There was nothing in his stomach, but it rebelled, clenching and heaving as his entire system overloaded.

  From a distance, his mom’s voice filtered to him… “She’s alive. She’s alive. Tisse. She’s alive.”

  She’s alive.

  Matisse lifted his head and drove it back into the pillow.

  “Tisse!”

  Dad’s face appeared in his sight. He shoved his hand beneath Matisse’s head, like he could stop him, but Matisse was committed. All of this needed to stop. He lifted and slammed his head back, hoping he could jar his brain enough to make him pass out. This was too much. He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t handle it.

  “Matisse!” Apollo’s voice boomed through the room, overshadowing everything, and he paused.

  Apollo, looking as tired as he’d ever seen him, hurried to his bedside and stared down at him. Matisse couldn’t have looked away if he tried. “Listen, man. Nora is alive, and you need to get your shit together. She’s going to need us. You got it?”

  She’s going to need us. What had he done to her? This was all his fault.

  Apollo narrowed his eyes. “I see where you’re going. I see what you’re thinking, but stop. It’s not your fault. You were hit by a drunk driver. Nora is alive, and she’s hurt, but she’s going to be fine. Hear me?”

  Alive. Fine. Matisse nodded. “Have you seen her?” His voice shook.

  “Yeah.” He straightened and ran a hand along the back of his head down to his neck before he lifted his face to the ceiling. “They’re keeping her asleep for a while. But when she wakes up, you’re going to have your shit together.”

  The way he said it—like there was no choice but for Tisse to get himself together. Even though he’d just learned he’d hurt the one person he loved most in the world.

  Why couldn’t he remember?

  He shut his eyes, willing his brain to recall the events that led up to his accident, but there was nothing. He lifted his head again, ready to slam it.

  “Matisse. I’m not fucking around.”

  He couldn’t get overwhelmed. Couldn’t get stuck in his own head. He took a breath and released it. And nodded.

  Okay. He took another breath, focusing only on what his friend had said and not the beeping, or buzzing, or light—just Apollo. Breathe.

  “You good?” Apollo asked when he met his gaze.

  “Yeah.” Matisse nodded. And then, because the only one he needed to fool was himself, he said it again. “Yeah.”

  15

  Apollo

  Matisse fell into a tense sleep. Apollo had never seen him like this—equal parts over-reactive and catatonic.

  But it made sense.

  Apollo was holding on by a thread as well. The only thing that kept him moving forward was the thought of Nora. They all had to hold it together for Nora.

  “We’re going to go home for a while,” Nicole said, resting her hand on Apollo’s shoulder. “Get some sleep. One of us will be back this afternoon. In the meantime, Genevieve is on her way. She knows how to deal with Tisse as well. Do you want to come back with us?”

  Apollo shook his head. He’d already been to their house, showered, and returned. “No, thank you.” In a little while it would be his turn to go into the ICU and sit with Nora. He just needed more time with her. “Maybe tonight.”

  It would be good for all of them to get sleep. As long as she was sleeping, they should sleep. They’d need all their energy and wits about them when she woke up.

  It wasn’t going to get easier.

  Apollo took his phone out. He needed to email his professors, but the battery was dead. Oh, well. All the people he loved were right here.

  “Do you have a charger?” he asked Nicole.

/>   She dug into her giant purse and pulled one out. “Here.” She stared at him for a moment as Guillaume gathered his coat, wallet, and phone. “Call us if anything changes.”

  “I will,” he answered.

  Nicole kissed Matisse’s forehead, and Guillaume squeezed his good hand, and then they were gone. The chair in the corner, the one where Matisse’s dad had rested, had a footrest and reclined somewhat.

  It was too small for someone Apollo’s size, but he didn’t have a lot of choices. He settled into it, easing against the back before flipping up the footrest. It was cold in the hospital. Why was it always so cold in hospitals? What purpose did it serve?

  Goosebumps broke out along his skin, and so he crossed his arms, trying to conserve his body heat. He leaned his head back, but he was taller than the back of the chair and so his neck was bent way back.

  He didn’t have the energy to get up, get a blanket, or find a pillow. All he wanted to do was sleep, so he closed his eyes.

  “Apollo.” Matisse’s hoarse voice woke him out of a dead sleep. He blinked, trying to remember where he was. Groaning, he straightened his neck.

  “Fuck.” He turned his head to the left and to the right. The muscles bunched and burned. Rolling his shoulders, he met Matisse’s gaze. “How are you?”

  “Hurts,” Matisse replied. “This collar. I can’t move.” He lifted his hand, feeling around the plastic until he found an end to the fasteners. With a rip, he undid the Velcro at the sides.

  “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.” Apollo stood and went to the bed. “Hold on. You don’t know if you should take that off.”

  “I don’t give a fuck,” Matisse said. “It hurts like hell. I have a broken arm, not a broken neck.”

  Rather than argue, Apollo pressed the call button. Let his friend go head-to-head with the nurses.

  Wincing, he pulled the brace off and tossed it to the end of the bed.