Page 44 of Sunshine

. . . careful with her neck . . .

. . . a medic, goddammit!

When I finally open myeyes, I’m nearly blinded by the bright white fluorescent bulb that buzzes from the ceiling above. It takes a handful of breaths to realize I’m lying in a bed, in an unfamiliar room. There’s a dull ache in my right temple, but I brace through the pain and turn my head to look around the room. To my left, there’s nothing but a white wall with an attached counter adorned with a small silver sink. To my right, I find my mother sitting in a chair with her head in her hands.

“Mom?” I’m surprised by how weak and tired my voice sounds. It sends a chill up my spine—something really bad must have happened.

Her head whips up, eyes wide and full of worry. “Layla,” she says through the woosh of an exhale. And then she stands to pivot toward the door, her purse thumping against the metal door jamb. “Nurse?”

“What happened?” I ask.

She turns back to me, moving to the side of the bed as she grabs my hand in hers. “Oh, my sweet bug. You fainted on the field.”

My brows pull together and a surge of pain immediately pulses through my forehead. “I did?”

She nods. “Coach West thinks you may have been locking your knees.” I groan—it’s something Coach has drilled into us about standing in formation, always warning us to keep our knees soft to avoid issues like this.

A nurse in dark green scrubs and a bouncy ponytail bounds into the room. She pumps sanitizer into her hands and rubs them together as she moves to effortlessly cut in front of my mother. I wonder if she realizes that in any other circumstance, Mom would have had her ass for something like that. “Hi, Layla,” she says brightly. “My name is Yawen. Do you know why you’re here today?” I can only shake my head and watch as her deep brown eyes hold mine.

Her smile parts to reveal beautiful white teeth. “That’s okay,” she reassures. “An ambulance brought you here from the football game you were cheering at. It seems you lost consciousness and may have hit your head when you fell. Can you tell me what day it is?”

My gaze drops to the white letters embroidered on her scrub top: TEXAS HEALTH MEMORIAL HOSPITAL. “Saturday,” I answer.

“Good. Do you know the date?”

“December thirteenth.”

“And what team were you cheering for today?”

“The Saddlebrook Falls Mustangs—my high school team.”

Her eyes crinkle as her cool hand caresses my arm. “Great job, Layla. I’m going to send a doctor in to give you a more thorough exam, but we’re hopeful you can get out of here this evening, okay?”

I nod and look back at my mom as Yawen leaves, noting the pinch of worry between her brows. “Is Jason okay?” I ask.

“What do you mean?”

“When he carried me off the field,” I say. “Did he look okay?”

Mom gives me a peculiar look before smoothing it away. “Yes, honey. Jason was fine—just worried about you, of course.”

I nod, settling back against my pillow. “Good.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

NOW

Iwake with a start, my body jerking and stomach sinking as the sensation offallingwashes over me. But I’m not falling—I’m in bed, tucked between a heavy comforter and foreign bedsheets that smell like Irish Spring and faint hints of cigarette smoke.

On impulse, one eye snaps blearily open, and I take in the room around me: an ugly taupe wall with a vintage portrait of a rodeo arena hanging in a wooden frame, an old pine desk and chair set, and a brown leather belt with a bright silver buckle hanging over the back of it.

Wells.

With a second jolt, the memories of last night come crashing back and I quickly turn to look behind me, searching for the six-foot-three source of comfort whose tenderness surprised me last night. But the bed is empty on the other side, the comforter pulled up and tucked underneath the pillow. I reach a handout to find it cold.

Turning back to the other side of the room, I eye the large metal door that opens into the parking lot, as if it might clue me in on where he is. Thankfully I don’t have to wonder long, because just as I’m peeling myself out of bed, that metal door pushes open, and Wells walks in with a bakery bag and a carrier of coffees. “Hey,” he says when he spots me, his mouth curving into a soft smile.

“Hey,” I say.

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