Page 99 of Life After You

Fuck. What if she’s scared? What if she’s asking for me and I’m not there?

I shove to my feet, patting my pockets—phone, wallet, keys—before bolting for the door.

“That’s fucking awesome, Logan! Wait—I’ll drive. And call the others before they lose their shit.” Chace scrambles up, grabbing his keys.

I hesitate for half a second before nodding. The hospital is only ten minutes away, but it might as well be a lifetime. The whole ride there, my leg bounces, my fingers drumming against my thigh. My chest is too tight, my pulse a hammer against my ribs. I keep glancing at the clock on the dash, every second stretching too damn long.

When Chace pulls up outside, I’m out of the car before he even shifts into park.

“I’ll come up with the others… go on Logan, you’ve been waiting for this.” I nod, eyes misting up. I slam the door shut before sprinting toward the entrance.

The hospital doors slide open, sterile air rushing past me, but I barely register it. My mind is already upstairs, in her room. I take the stairs two at a time, my heart in my throat, my hands shaking as I round the last corner.

Then I see her doctor, June, stepping out of Mac’s room.

My body locks up.

Her eyes meet mine, and she smiles—fucking smiles—and for the first time in weeks, I can actually breathe.

“Ah, Logan. I’m glad you’re here,” she says, resting a hand on my arm. “She woke up about an hour ago.”

The words hit me like a freight train. I sway with the impact, my fingers curling into fists at my sides, my entire body trembling from the force of it.

She’s awake.

She’s awake.

She’s awake.

I was afraid I had been dreaming… that I imagined the whole thing due to lack of sleep.

June keeps talking, but I don’t hear her. My heart is a war drum, pounding too fast, too loud. Every inch of me is strung too tight, like if I don’t get into that fucking room in the next five seconds, I might actually break.

“She woke up about an hour ago,” she repeats gently. “The nurses were going to call you.”

I barely manage to nod, my throat too thick to speak.

“I’ll, uh… I’ll be right back with her chart,” she says, squeezing my arm before walking away.

But I don’t wait.

I can’t wait.

I push open the door, step inside.

There she is.

Mac.

Her eyes are open. Her beautiful fucking eyes. A little hazy, a little unfocused, but they’re there.

She’s here.

Alive.

Breathing.

Looking right at me.

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