Page 31 of Avalanche (Endless Winter #3)

Liam

It’s a surreal feeling, sitting here. The last time I was in this hospital, I was laying where Seth was. Not the same room, maybe. But it could have been.

“You sure I can’t get you anything?” the nurse asks.

She’s a Filipina woman with sharp eyes and energy that seems to extend beyond her short stature. Probably my mum’s age, or a little older. Which explains why I feel like her question is an attack more than a request.

I straighten and pocket my phone.

“I’m…”

I’m about to say ‘ I’m fine, I don’t need anything ’. But the way she is looking at me, it reminds me of when I’d come home from months away training overseas and my mom would lift up the hem of my shirt and poke at my ribs and ask me whether I was incapable of feeding myself.

“A coffee would be great.” I give her a forced smile, but it feels like the corners of my lips are a mask. “Thanks.”

She gives me a deadpan look. “I’ll bring you some breakfast.”

I huff as Seth’s door swings shut behind her, then shake my head, but all traces of amusement fall away when I look back at Seth.

He’s in the exact same place he was an hour ago—eyes swollen shut, dry lips parted, his chest rising and falling.

Those godforsaken tubes everywhere—in his nostrils, in his arm.

I force myself to stare at it all, to see it all, to take it all in.

To be here for him, even if I don’t want to.

Even if I’m hating every moment of this.

Because that’s what someone did for me once. And I owe my life to them for it.

Tentatively, I drag my chair across the linoleum floor, feeling suddenly self-conscious at the scraping sound it makes, loud in a silence only punctuated by faint beeps and Seth’s raspy breathing.

I grit my teeth, forcing myself to move past the discomfort, reaching out until my fingertips are brushing his.

“I’m here, mate.”

My hand slips under his, squeezing it gently, conscious of the IV line stuck in the back of his hand.

I don’t think I’ve ever held his hand. Don’t think we’ve ever touched, except for casual touches—passing each other in the hall, maybe a clap on the shoulder?

I clear my throat. “I know you’d probably rather have Lily or Antoine here instead of me. But they’re just in the waiting room down the hall. The other guys are too.”

I’m rambling, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not like he’s listening, after all. But I’ve heard somewhere that even if an unconscious person can’t really understand you, they can hear you. That if you speak to them, they’ll know they’re not alone.

“They offered to come in here instead of me,” I tell him, my gaze trailing from the back of his hand to the brace around his neck.

“But the truth is, I’m the best person for this job.

Lily would be in tears right now. Antoine wouldn’t be much better.

They love you, both of them. You know that, right?

I’ve seen the way they look at you, when the three of you are all curled up reading those smutty books in French. ”

I chuckle to myself, unexpected warmth spreading across my chest at the memory. I’ve never felt jealous of Seth. Not exactly. Not like with Matty. But I’d be lying if I said I haven’t felt left out sometimes.

Now, I’d give anything to see the three of them like that again. To see Seth awake and smiling again.

“Eddie’s fucking useless at this sort of thing,” I continue. “He’d get distracted, would probably piss off all the doctors and nurses. And Matty…”

I swallow, thinking of Matty’s face when he picked Seth up from the snow. The way he cradled him against his chest. How he looked so strong and so fragile all at once, like a stone statue set to crack.

“I couldn’t ask this of Matty.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, rub my thumb absently over Seth’s knuckles. These same knuckles were swollen for weeks after he punched Tom. They’re healed now, of course, but I can’t look at them without remembering that. The violence that lives inside of him.

I think that was the first time I really felt like I saw him. Like maybe the core of him wasn’t really that different to the rest of us, after all.

He’s just better at hiding it.

“You’re going to get through this,” I tell him. Maybe it’s a lie, but someone told it to me once and I’d believed it. “You’re going to wake up. You’re going to heal. You’re going to-”

I almost say ‘you’re going to walk again’ but that brace around his neck glares white in the florescent lights, an unwelcome reminder, and I frown at the memory of the surgeon’s words.

We’ll have a better idea of outcomes once he wakes up .

Whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean. A fancy way of saying they’re just hoping for the best and pissing into the wind like the rest of us.

“You’re a fighter,” I say instead. “You act like a softy, and maybe you are, but you’re a fighter too. I’ve seen you. You would have tore the world down for Lily that day. You would have taken Matty down too, if it had come to it.”

I’d never been so grateful for Seth as I had that night, when I’d thought Matty was about to lay into Antoine.

I would have tried to step in, sure. What kind of boyfriend would I be otherwise?

Even if Antoine had completely thrown me off balance with his announcement, which was basically a proposal to Lily.

But then Seth had stepped up. Literally. Put himself between Matty and Antoine. Stared at Matty—at his friend—like he would tear him to shreds if he took a step closer.

I’d never realized what a big unit Seth was until then.

My foot is tapping a staccato rhythm against the floor now, a beat in time with the thundering of my own heart, in counter-beat to the clock ticking on the wall. I stare up at it, narrow my eyes at those hands that seem to have leapt around too soon.

It’s not morning anymore. Seth’s been out of surgery for two hours now. Two hours. Surely, he should wake up soon.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it, ignore the twinge of guilt I feel each time I don’t reply. But what else is there to say to them? And how can I stare at my screen when Seth needs me?

“Look...”

I heave out a sigh and lean forward in my seat.

Close enough that I can smell the antiseptic Seth’s practically bathed in, alongside the lingering scent of stale blood.

It’s a familiar smell that has something sharp and angry rising up in me, like some long-dormant serpent snaking its way from the darkness.

“You can’t just sleep your way through this,” I hiss at him.

“That isn’t an option for you. This is the fighting time, the living time.

Yes, everything probably hurts like a bitch.

And you know what? It’s going to hurt. It’s going to hurt for a while.

You’re going to want to sleep, because at least when you’re asleep you can’t feel the pain.

And I’m not just talking about the pain of broken bones.

I’m talking about the pain of not knowing whether you’ll ever walk again.

Whether you’ll ride again. Whether you’ll only ever see the mountain from the fucking car park or in front of the TV. ”

My fingers tighten around his until I can feel the pulse of him beneath my hand. The proof that he’s alive.

“But right now, you need to wake up. You can get all the drugs you want after, but you need to wake the fuck up, mate. Lily is out there scared out of her fucking mind about you. Your parents are on their way. Did I mention that? They’re probably getting on a plane as we speak.

And here you are, lazy as, not even fucking trying to come back to us. Just lying there.”

I’m bending over him now, my face close enough to his that I can feel his raspy exhale against my skin. It should be reassuring, but for some reason it just pisses me off more. It’s like he’s there, just behind a wall, out of reach.

“You wouldn’t have laid down like this if you were fighting for Lily,” I whisper.

“If this was her life you were fighting for instead of your own, you’d already be awake and walking by now.

Not just walking, tearing down the fucking walls.

Activating hulk mode. Well, imagine that’s what’s at stake, then.

Imagine Tom is here, with his slimy fucking face and his shit-eating grin and the only thing between him and her is you waking the fuck up and-”

Seth’s eyes fly open, swollen and bloodshot and hazy, but burning with unmistakable rage. He draws in a sharp breath. The hand that’s been clasped in my own curls around my fingers, squeezing back with so much force I swear I can feel my bones crunching.

“Tom.” The word is a growl, almost unintelligible. “Tom.”

“That’s quite enough.”

There’s a clatter and footsteps, a door swinging shut, and then the nurse from earlier is there, settling a tray of food on a table and rushing to Seth’s side.

She shoots me a look that has me nearly stumbling back to my chair, feeling like a scolded child, then turns to Seth with all the calming softness of a mother.

“You’re alright,” she tells him, her voice a gentle cadence. “You’ve just woken up from surgery. You’re at the hospital in Salt Lake City. It’s Monday, twelve thirty in the afternoon. And your brother Liam is here with you.”

Seth draws in a few rapid breaths, his broad chest rising and falling beneath the hospital gown, his eyes widening, darting around the room. When they settle on me, he lets out a shaky breath, his fingers trembling as he relaxes his grip on my hand but doesn’t release it.

“Liam,” he breathes. A bruised cheekbone twitches as he attempts to smile. “Is that really you?”

“Yeah, mate.” I clear my throat, face suddenly feeling hot.

“Your brother hasn’t left your side since you got here,” the nurse assures Seth. “He’s quite the stubborn one, isn’t he?”

Seth makes a raw, rasping sound that must be laughter, then winces.

“I’ll get the doctor in here,” the nurse continues. “She’ll want to ask you a few questions now that you’re awake.” The nurse shoots me a meaningful glance, then adds: “In the meantime, just rest, okay?”

My eyes drop to the brace around Seth’s neck, then to the hand clasped in mine.

The door swings shut, leaving us alone. I give his hand a light squeeze.

He squeezes back. Some of the pressure that’s been tightening around my ribs loosens, my breath coming easier, hope a fluttering thing rising up in my stomach.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, not daring to ask the question I really want an answer to. Can you move your legs? But what would I do if he said no?

“Like committing murder.”

I choke back a surprised laugh, then shake my head. “I forgot you’d still be coming off the drugs. Sorry.”

Seth lifts his free hand to give a dismissive wave, then lets it settle on his stomach. I watch each movement with hopeful excitement.

“I’m serious.” Those swollen eyes fix on me and I feel my smile falter. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

Ice runs up my limbs, settling against my bones. The tick, tick, ticking of the clock on the wall seems to falter, slow down. “Who do you mean?”

But somehow, I know the answer before he even says it. Somehow, I know.

“Tom.” Seth’s throat bobs beneath the neck brace, his tongue darting out to wet dry, cracked lips. “Fucking Tom.”