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“Oh, it’s okay, sweetie.” She flashes me a genuine smile. “Mr. King will have a full recovery in a few weeks. He’s pretty drugged up on painkillers right now, but I’ll let him know you were here.”

All I can do is nod and reach for the door.

I really hope this isn’t game over.

CHAPTER THREE

TRAVIS

The constant beep pulls me back to a harsh reality with whitewashed walls and numbing pain that coats my body from head to toe. I force my eyes open, and it’s hard to pinpoint what hurts the most. My throat is painfully dry, and the thick head fog I’m swimming in makes it hard to focus in the bland room. I glance down at the countless tubes attached to my arm and broken memories cut through the confusion like shards of glass I can’t piece together.

The rhythmic tone of the machine I’m attached to, and the low sound of the television, pulls my limited attention to the corner of the room. I can’t make out the words, and it takes everything I have just to turn my head toward the noise. Once I’m able to focus, I hear rustling and watch as Drew sits up from the chair. He rubs a hand over his face and flashes a small grin. He’s wearing his blues and badge, and it somewhat confuses me.

“The King lives.”

It hurts when I try to laugh and end up coughing instead. “Barely.”

“You look rough.”

He does too, but I don’t tell him that. He must’ve been sitting here a while.

He looks me over, concern written on his face. “How do you feel?”

“Like shit,” I admit. “What happened? What day is it?”

A bandage is wrapped around my head, and I realize I’ve got one wrapped around my leg too. Nausea overtakes me for a second, and I try to reposition my body, but it’s a lost cause. The bed is raised up so high; I’m basically sitting up straight, which is uncomfortable as hell. My neck is tight, and the loud pounding in my head continues on the beat, making it harder to focus on anything but the intense pain. I try reaching for the plastic cup of water that’s on a silver tray next to my bed, but it’s out of reach.

“I’ll get it,” Drew says, grabbing it and handing it to me. “It’s Tuesday morning.”

I take it, hating that I need his help. I end up drinking it so fast, I gasp for air afterward, and even that hurts. His words finally register with me. Tuesday? I know I’ve been in and out of it, but four days of my life has evaporated into what seemed like hours.

Drew takes a deep breath before he starts explaining the technicality of the accident in cop lingo. I give him a look, letting him know I have no fucking idea what he’s talking about, so he begins again, explaining it more slowly and without as much detail so I can comprehend it all.

“You were rear-ended at a high rate of speed and pushed into oncoming traffic. A few fractured ribs, a concussion, bruises, cuts, and lots of pain meds, from what I’ve been told. The airbag went off and caused a lot of damage. But they said you’d live, and that your thick skull will be okay.” He forces out a laugh. “I was worried, though, man. They said you both could’ve died, and you were really lucky. I thought the worst. I’ve seen way too many accidents like this where people aren’t as fortunate.” He inhales a deep breath, his eyes glassing over. “And Mia…”

Shit. I’d almost forgotten she was with me. Bits and pieces of that night start to flash by, but when I try to remember the accident, my mind goes blank. I can’t remember a damn thing after leaving the gas station.

The selfish part of me is grateful Viola wasn’t in the car with me. I could never forgive myself if anything happened to her on my watch.

“How’s Mia?” My heart thumps hard in my chest at the realization I was responsible for another person in the car.

“She’s doing okay. She got lucky; you both did. She could’ve easily been ejected from the car because she wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. She smacked her head and has a lot of bruises,” Drew explains.

The pain on his face is evident as he talks about her. Their relationship has been toxic since day one, but for some reason, he loves her unconditionally. I’ve never second-guessed that, but he deserves someone a lot better than her. Even after everything, I know he still cares about her well-being.

“I’m sorry, man,” I begin, relieved she’s not hurt worse. “I wish I could remember what happened, but I can explain why she was with me.” He hadn’t asked why, but even being high as a kite on pain meds, I know I owe him that much. “Mia and I—,” I start to explain, but he’s quick to cut me off.