My mouth dries at the single word, and the buzzing in my head grows louder. The doctor lists Elizabeth’s injuries, and I do my best to catch the words out of his mouth. Concussion. Contusions. Cuts. Near-drowning and water in her lungs. Fentanyl in her system, which could’ve killed her.
I struggle to catch up, then stop when he speaks of the drug. “I don’t understand.” She doesn’t do stuff like that. If she did, I would’ve heard.
The doctor frowns, the gaze still somber, but now taking on vague disapproval. He says a few things, but I can’t process a word as I look at Elizabeth lying on the bed.
She looks so thin. She’s lost even more weight. Dark circles under her eyes look like bruises on her pale face, and the stapled gash an inch above her hairline so is long and straight, it’s like someone took a scalpel to it. A clear mask over her nose and mouth provides her with precious oxygen, while a monitor records a bunch of numbers and spits out lines going up and down on its screen.
I go over and take her limp hand. It’s cool, and I squeeze it, willing my body heat to warm it and let her know she isn’t alone.
I vaguely sense the doctor leave and Antoine come in. I keep holding her hand.
“Here.” Antoine pushes a chair at me, and I sit without breaking contact with her. He perches on the edge of the bed, his fingers loosely linked. “You okay?”
“No.” The muscles in my jaw flex. “I’m going to find out who did this to her.”
“Why don’t you freshen up back at the hotel? I’ll watch her while you do.”
“I—”
“You have salt in your hair, and you reek like old seaweed. Come on. The nurse said Elizabeth is sedated and should sleep for at least a couple of hours. You need to get yourself ready for when she wakes up.”
I don’t want to leave, but Antoine’s right. “I’ll be back in an hour and half,” I say. “Call me if she wakes up early.”
“Your phone still working?”
I curse under my breath. “No. Call the hotel.”
He nods. “You’ll be the first to hear if she opens her eyes.”
Chapter Six
Dominic
Elizabeth doesn’t wake up the first day. She doesn’t wake up the second, either.
I basically live at the hospital, with Antoine bringing me a new phone and fresh changes of clothes.
He also brings food, reminding me the importance of taking care of myself for her sake. Only for that reason do I choke it down. Nothing has any flavor or texture. Even coffee is bland. But I eat because Antoine’s right. I have to be strong and ready.
The days start to blur. On the fourth day, doctors begin to look worried and whisper among themselves. But they still haven’t found a solution by the next day or the day after. They just appeared…puzzled as they remove the staples from her scalp.
“Why don’t you read her something?” Antoine suggests.
“Like what?” If he has a suggestion, I’ll take it. It’s better than sitting on my ass and wondering when Elizabeth’s going to wake up.
“Whatever she likes to read. It helped my grandmother after her”—he clears his throat—“stroke.”
I rub my forehead. What does Elizabeth like…?
I can’t think of anything. I don’t remember her reading, but then, we weren’t exactly interested in cracking open books when we were together ten years ago. I realize our love when we were young was too full of stolen moments, Elizabeth trying to hide who she was, me trying to squeeze in whatever I could between classes, work and taking care of Kristen.
When I continue to stare up at him, Antoine purses his lips, then leaves. Half an hour later, he returns with a plastic bag full of shiny paperbacks. “Try these.”
I pull them out, then stare dumbfounded. They’re fiction, most with topless men on their covers.
“Romance,” Antoine explains. “A lot of women like it.” He shrugs. “Can’t hurt.”
Antoine leaves, and I pull a chair up to Elizabeth’s bed and start to read. The first book is about a couple that almost has sex—but doesn’t—with the girl hoping to never run into the guy again because she lied and then felt awkward about the relationship. So of course they run into each other again. I could’ve guessed that.