Page 213 of Keeping Kasey
At first, I feel dizzy. My eyes strain to process anything, and my head pounds with each step I take. Then I realize I’ve stopped walking altogether.
It’s when my knees give out that I understand I failed.
I failed.
I can’t save Kasey—I can’t even save myself.
I collapse into the snow, oblivious to any creatures that may use my corpse for their dinner.
The last thing I see before my vision goes black is a light—far in the distance ahead of me.
Better than the hellfire I’d been expecting.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Logan
The sterile scent of alcohol and the dry burning of my throat are the first two things to process. Quickly following is the dull throb of every single inch of my body.
Wow, that’s annoying.
I pry my eyes open with a groan that makes my lungs and chest ache like I’ve been hit by a car.
WasI hit by a car?
The small room I’m in has stark white walls with tasteless paintings on one of them and a window on the other. I glance over the bulky bed, tubes, wires, and IV rod at my side.
A hospital room.
Maybe I got hit by a car after all.
“About time,” a voice at my side deadpans.
My head snaps—painfully—to face the owner of the voice, and I realize that I’m not in a hospital at all.
“I’m in hell, aren’t I?” I rasp.
Joshua Moreno smiles, lounging in one of the upright hospital chairs to my left. He seems at ease, like my being in a hospital is just another day. While I can’t remember exactly why I’m here, it’s marginally—and I meanvery marginally—comforting that he’s so calm.
“While I’m flattered to be your version of hell—no, you’re not going to die,” he answers, and there’s only a hint of disappointment in that answer.
The door opens so fast it slams into the wall, and I wince at the sound, my entire body throbbing in protest.
“Good morning, sunshine!” Damon announces in a cheery voice that grates on every single one of my nerves.
“Yeah,” I groan, letting my head fall back against the pillow. “I’m definitely in hell.”
Damon takes the seat beside Moreno, who cracks a smile.
“How do you feel?” Damon asks, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.
“Worse now,” I grind out. “Could you tone it down a hundred notches? My head’s killing me.”
“Just your head?” My brother scoffs. “You’ve got nerve damage in your toes and fingers, frostbite on your feet, and have been unconscious for eighteen hours, but yourheadis what’s bothering you?”
For a second, all I can do is stare at him.
When I look over my body, covered by the thin hospital blanket, I don’t notice anything that looks particularly alarming. My body aches, sure, but if what Damon says is true, then…
