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“The hell it wasn’t.” Landon glares at me. “If she hadn’t been with you, this never would have happened.”
I can’t argue with that. Can’t defend myself.
Because he’s right.
If she hadn’t been with me, she’d be safe.
If I’d stayed away from her, like I should have, she wouldn’t be fighting for her life.
But I was selfish. I wanted her too much to let her go.
And now, I might lose her forever.
“Keeping her in a bubble wouldn’t have helped either. It was only a matter of time for her to find out,” my mother says.
“What exactly are you talking about?” Landon asks. “What did my sister find out?”
My mother sighs. “Landon, Lil knows that Sebastian killed her father.” She pauses, her gaze flicking to me. “At least, if she’s able to remember after the accident.”
Landon’s fists clench at his sides, his knuckles turning white, and Levi stares at the floor, his jaw tight.
“It had to happen one day.” My mother’s tone is weary. “We couldn’t keep it from her forever.”
“But not like this,” Levi mutters. “Not fucking like this.”
“If we had all told her the truth about her parents earlier, including myself, we could have prevented this,” my mother says.
Landon and Levi exchange a glance before moving to sit on the other side of the waiting room. I can feel their anger, their resentment, radiating off them in waves.
I want to defend myself, to explain, but the words stick in my throat. How can I justify what I’ve done?
I killed her father. And now, because of me, she might never wake up. Might never know the truth.
The thought tears at me, ripping me apart from the inside out. I can’t lose her. Not like this. Not when we were just starting to find our way back to each other.
I bury my face in my hands, my fingers digging into my scalp. The pain grounds me, keeps me from spiraling into the abyss of despair that threatens to swallow me whole.
The minutes or hours drag by, each one an eternity of helplessness and regret. I can’t sit still, can’t breathe. I need to see her. Need to know she’s okay.
“Sebastian.” My mother’s voice breaks through the haze of my thoughts. “The doctor’s here.”
I’m on my feet in an instant. “How is she?”
“She’s stable,” the doctor says.
The relief is so strong, my knees nearly buckle. “Can I see her?”
“She’s in recovery now. You can see her when she’s moved to a room.” The doctor turns to my mother. “She’s going to be okay. We were able to stop the bleeding and repair the damage. She’s very lucky.”
Lucky. The word feels like a slap in the face. She wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me.
“Thank you, doctor,” my mother says.
She’s okay. She’s going to be okay.
But will she ever forgive me?
Will she ever look at me the same way again?