Page 66 of Spyder
Bellamy
My vision is blurred, and my head is throbbing. The light in the room is intense, making that throb even worse. But as I take stock of myself, I realize there is nothing on or in me that doesn’t hurt. Even blinking is painful. I lean my head back against the pillow, trying to recall what happened and how I got here. Like my vision, my memory is a complete blur.
And slowly, as my eyes clear, my memory starts to return. I was driving when somebody hit me from behind. It was intentional. Whoever it was, they forced me off the road. With my eyes fixed on the ceiling, I rack my brain and try to recall everything that happened before that.
Of course. I remember the confrontation with Jacob—no, Peter—in the parking lot. He grabbed me. Shook me. Slammed me up against my car and scared the hell out of me. I have no idea what else he would have done if Mr. Kettering hadn’t come out and put a stop to things. And then, after that, out on the road, the car with its high beams on came roaring up behind mine, blaring its horn… and then it rammed me. Then, it forced me off the road. Turning over and over. The sound of crunching metal and shattering glass echoing in my ears.
The sound of somebody snoring startles me and when I jump, the pain radiates through every corner of my body. I groan miserably and give myself a moment to let it fade before I turn my head. Derek is slumped over in a chair next to the bed, his arms folded over his chest, head down, sleeping deeply. It makes me think he’s been there in that chair all night.
Despite the pain that’s racking my entire body, I smile. Seeing Derek here, by my side, gives me some sense of comfort and relief. I’d rather not be here at all, but the fact that he’s here, sitting by my bed, proves his devotion to me. Not that I needed proof of it but it’s still kind of nice to see.
Derek shifts in his seat and raises his head as if me thinking about him somehow woke him up. He looks at me and I see the relief crossing his face. He leans forward and takes my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“You’re back,” he says.
“I am. I think,” I reply.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like I was run over by an eighteen-wheeler,” I tell him. “Then had it back over me then run over me again.”
“I guess given the condition of your car, they say you’re lucky to be alive and that you weren’t more seriously injured.”
It’s then I realize there is a big cast on my left arm. I look at it and frown then turn back to Derek. He shrugs.
“A busted wing, plenty of cuts and bruises, but no internal damage,” he says. “I’d call that pretty damn lucky.”
“Yeah. When you put things that way, I guess I am.”
He looks at me for a long moment in silence. I can see the maelstrom of emotions scrolling across his face, and it makes my heart swell.
“I was so worried. When Ruby called… I feared the worst,” he says softly.
I give him a weak smile. “I’m made of some tough stuff.”
“That you are. The toughest stuff.”
I grimace in pain as I struggle to reach the control for the bed. Derek smiles and grabs hold of it and hands it to me. I thank him and then use the control to raise the bed to a sitting position, even the gentle movement of the bed making me wince.
“Want me to call the nurse? See about getting you some pain meds?”
I shake my head, not wanting to float through a chemically induced haze for the rest of the day when a sudden thought hits me and sends a bolt of adrenaline straight through me.
“My mom. I need—”
“Ruby’s already taken care of it,” I tell her. “She called the agency and told them what happened. The nurses have been with her. She’s all right.”
“Good,” I say, letting out a breath of relief. “Remind me to thank Ruby when I get out of here.”
“Will do.”
“Speaking of which, when am I getting out of here?”
“When the doctors say you can get out of here and not a minute before.”
I laugh then wince at the pain it causes me. Gritting my teeth, I give it a moment to subside. Then, I turn my eyes to him, giving him a smile that I hope doesn’t look as weak as it feels. Although I appreciate how much he worries about me, I really don’t want him to.
“Since when did you become a stickler about the rules and following orders, mister?” I say with a small laugh.
