Page 122 of The Publicity Stunt
I pull back and take her face in my hands. “The doctor gave you some pain medication.”
Her frown deepens. She looks as overwhelmed as I feel. “I can’t remember what … I was driving and then … I don’t …” she pauses. Her eyes flick up to my forehead. “Wait, are you okay?” She lifts her hand to touch my stitches. “Why are you … did I do that?” Her face almost breaks. “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry.”
I shake my head. “Don’t say that. I’m fine, Chere. I’m more than fine. And you’re okay too.”
The groove between her eyebrows deepens. I run my thumb over her cheek, careful not to touch her wounds. “Do you need something? Water? Should I call the nurse?”
She’s still not saying anything. Her lips are quivering.
“Wh-what’s wrong, Chere?”
“Are you hurt? I don’t remember what happened.” She bursts out crying.
“No, no, no.” I pull her back into a hug. “Please don’t cry.”
Her hands fist into the back of my T-shirt.
“What did I do?” she asks.
“You did nothing, Chere. I love you.”
“Where’s Logan?”
My throat starts to close up, but I power through. “We’re going to be fine,” I tell her.
“He was in the passenger seat,” April says.
I nod into her hair. “You’re okay.”
“Where is he?” This time it’s barely a murmur. “Is he here? In the hospital? Is he hurt too? I want to see him. I need to apologize.” She tries pulling back but I don’t let her. “Why won’t you tell me?” I can hear the panic in her voice.
I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say.
She pushes me back and tugs on the tubes stuck on the top of her hand. “I-I need to see him.”
I clasp her wrist. “April, stop. Don’t fucking do that.”
“I need to see him,” she repeats.
“You can’t.”
A pause.
She looks up, her eyes teeming with tears. “Wh-what are you saying? What do you mean, I can’t?”
The monitor next to her bed beeps, the steady pace turning into something more urgent.
“April.”
“What do … where is he?”
Beepbeepbeepbeep.
My hands slide up her arms and I pull her into my chest. At first she tries pushing me away again. She’s shaking her head. Sobbing. Crying. “Please … where is he?”
“They couldn’t …” The lump in my throat grows bigger.
She shakes her head repeatedly. She’s not fighting me anymore. She’s crying. We both are. “The doctor said there was too much internal bleeding.”
