Page 1 of BillionHeir

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Maxwell

Pain.

Pain starting at the top of my head, extending all the way to the tip of my toes. Everything hurts.

It is the only thought in my head as I struggle to pry open my eyes. Through herculean effort, I get them open a crack but immediately close them against the blinding light in the room.

Shit.

It is way too bright.

Did I forget to close the curtains last night?

I reach for the remote that closes them, but my arm won’t move. Someone clears their throat on the other side of the room, but the intensity of the light prevents me from opening my eyes again. It doesn’t, however, stop me from wondering who is strange enough to be watching me sleep.

But then, I am far too tired to worry about it for long.

Something beeps loudly behind me.

That is odd.

I don’t remember ever hearing that sound in my bedroom before, but it is curiously familiar.

I try to shift my weight enough to roll over and go back to sleep, but searing pain consumes me.

I wince and groan at the unexpected feeling, trying but failing to bring my hand up to investigate the source of the pain.

Chair legs screech on the floor as I try to open my mouth, but before I can complain, a wave of exhaustion rolls over me and my consciousness fades away.

* * *

“When is he going to wake up?”

“That is really up to him. We have taken him off of the sedation medication, so now we just have to wait and see what his body is going to do. It could be today, tomorrow, or several days from now.”

What the hell is going on ?

I struggle to open my eyes, but they don’t cooperate. I cannot figure out who is talking or what they are talking about, but for some reason, it feels like it has something to do with me.

I want to order these strangers to get the hell out of my room, but instead, the steady beeping catches my attention and lulls me back to sleep.

* * *

“It is taking too long. He is an important man with important decisions to make. I know you have the technology to bring him around. Do it now,” a familiar voice says forcefully.

“What is your relationship to the patient?”

“I am his assistant, Ethan Wilson,” he says from somewhere to my left. I manage to make my head turn slightly in his direction, but my eyes still won’t budge.

“Well, Mr. Wilson, I am afraid we can’t do that. Mr. Banks needs his rest. He sustained several life-threatening injuries during the accident. He is lucky to even be alive. His body needs this time to recover. Now, if you can’t be quiet, I am going to have to ask you to leave.”

Accident? What accident?

“I understand that, but—”

“But nothing. He will wake up when he is ready. Until then, we are going to monitor him and let him heal. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ethan says unhappily .

If I could control my facial expressions, I would smile. I would like to get a look at this woman who is bossing my assistant around so successfully. But the effort of following their conversation has left my mind fatigued, and I slip back under.

* * *

The next time I feel the strings of consciousness rousing me, I am determined not to take no for an answer. I try to force my eyes open, and to my surprise, it works! But I am overwhelmed by the brightness of my surroundings and immediately shut my eyes back tightly.

“Did you see that, Tristan?”

“What?”

“Max. His eyes opened for a second.”

“For the fifth time, Liam, no, he did not—”

I push my eyes open again to see my two oldest and best friends sitting to the left of me. One of them looks vindicated as hell. The other looks completely stunned.

“It is about damn time you woke up, you lazy asshole,” Liam says with a huge grin on his face.

“Give the guy a break, will you? He just woke up, for God’s sake,” Tristan says, having my back as always.

I blink a few times to let my eyes adjust, then scan the hospital room for a hint about what might have landed me here.

When I shift my weight to sit up, a sharp pain shoots through my arm and shoulder.

I blurt out a few choice words as I look down to see a cast that runs from my left hand all the way up to my shoulder.

“Easy there, buddy,” Tristan says, leaning forward as though he wants to touch me before ultimately holding himself back.

“What happened?” I ask as I mentally take stock of my body.

My two best friends exchange a look before their eyes come back to mine.

“What?” I ask as panic starts to set in.

One of the monitors begins beeping more quickly, obviously in response to my anxiety.

I watch as Liam taps his phone a few times before showing me the screen.

It is hard for me to figure out what I am seeing at first, but eventually I start to make sense of the picture in front of me.

In what would otherwise be a picturesque grassy field, mangled metal and unidentifiable wreckage litter the ground.

“Your helicopter crashed when you were leaving Wyoming. The pilot didn’t make it, but somehow you survived.

You slipped into a coma from the swelling on your brain, but they had to transfer you here to Seattle for emergency surgery on your arm.

They had to do some serious work to avoid amputation.

You also ended up with several fractured ribs, a sprained ankle, and an assortment of cuts and bruises, but overall, you came away from it fairly unscathed,” Tristan explains.

“How long was I out? ”

“Two weeks,” Liam answers. “But the doctors are confident that you will make a full recovery.”

They are both quiet as I try to absorb everything I just heard.

I struggle to bring up the last memory I have before the accident.

I remember going to Wyoming to celebrate the completion of the mining project with the Holloways.

And I vaguely remember being at the party. But beyond that, everything is blank.

I don’t know if that is a blessing or a curse.

“What caused the accident?” I ask, unable to meet my two best friend’s eyes.

Am I responsible for the pilot’s death?

“Weather,” Liam says.

“Weather,” I echo quietly.

I know Steve. There is no way he would have gone out in bad weather unless it was a direct order from me. He was one of the most cautious pilots I know. Annoyingly so, sometimes. The weight of the truth hits me like a ton of bricks. He died because of me.

I look up from my internal revelation to see my two best friends exchanging a worried look.

“What?” I snap, before instantly regretting it. They don’t deserve my anger.

The door to my room opens, and an older woman wearing scrubs comes bustling into the room. My head starts to pound, and I close my eyes, wincing in pain .

“Boys, do I need to tell you two to leave? You are stressing my patient out.” She is sassy, with a strong Southern accent.

I am pretty sure she is also old enough to be my grandmother.

I instantly like her. “Good morning, Mr. Banks. I am Katrina, your nurse,” she says to me with a big smile on her face, her voice noticeably sweeter when she is talking to me.

“So glad you finally decided to join us.”

“Me too,” I answer flatly. “At least, I think.”

“Oh, now, that is enough of that,” she says, fussing around the room as she records my vitals and types something into the bedside computer station. “You just focus on getting back on your feet. You need to get as much rest as you can.”

I look over at Tristan and Liam. “How is my company?” I have never been away from work for more than a night since I inherited Banks International when my parents passed away nearly 20 years ago. I don’t trust anyone else enough.

“It is running smoothly as usual. You have built a well-oiled machine, Max. It is quite impressive,” Tristan says with a tone of respect in his voice I haven’t heard before.

“Ethan has been managing most of the day-to-day work and calling me when he needs advice. He is back in Boston now, otherwise he would still be here with you.”

“Here, as in, Seattle?” I ask, still trying to make sense of everything .

“Correct,” Katrina says from her chair at the computer. I had almost forgotten she was there.

“When can I go home?”

She looks me over with a slight look of doubt before answering.

“You are not going to be able to go straight home. You will probably need a couple of months in a rehab facility after all these injuries. But we will see what the doctor says when they come around in the morning, okay?” she asks, her voice syrupy sweet.

We are both aware there was no real question there.

I take a deep breath and slowly let it out, trying not to get overwhelmed. This is so much to take in. I look over at my friends, glad they were here when I woke up in this strange place.

“Thank you, guys, for being here,” I finally say.

“Of course. We came as soon as we heard,” Liam says.

“So, what now?” I ask, trying to pull myself together.

“You need to rest,” Katrina says pointedly for what feels like the hundredth time, cutting her eyes to my friends and making her feelings about them known without saying a word.

Tristan puts his hands up defensively.

“Point taken,” he says to her with a friendly smile, tapping Liam on the back. “Come on, then. We will leave you and be back in the morning to hear what the doctors have to say. Get some rest, mate. ”

I nod my head and immediately regret it. My forehead starts pounding, and I can feel any energy I thought I had quickly waning.

Liam stands from his seat, watching me carefully as though he wants to say something.

“What?” I ask him, knowing he needs to get it out.

“I am just glad you are alive, man.”

His eyes shine with unshed tears, and it is only then that I take notice of how haggard and disheveled my two friends look.

I don’t think I have ever seen either of them look quite so terrible, and we have been through hell together.

They have obviously been worried about me.

I hate that I caused them so much turmoil.

“I am sorry,” I respond, unable to find the words to say anything else.

“Don’t apologize. You can’t control the weather. What you need to worry about is getting back on your feet,” Tristan says.

He is right. I know he is. But that is going to be hard to do when the guilt I feel is already sitting on my chest like an elephant, pinning me to the hospital bed instead of the grave I should be in.

“You got it,” I respond without conviction.

Tristan gives Liam a look of concern.

“Would you two quit hovering over me like two worried grannies? It is suffocating! ”

“There he is,” Liam says with a laugh. “Let’s go, Tris.”

“We will see you in the morning,” he says as they leave.

Once they are gone, I take a deep breath, but I don’t feel any better.

Katrina clears her throat from her seat at the computer. Of course she is still here. I roll my eyes but say nothing. This woman doesn’t deserve my frustration or anger. Neither do my friends, really, but I know they can take it.

“Now, you need to get some more sleep, Mr. Banks. Stress is not good for your recovery.”

“What if worrying is all that I know how to do?”

“You seem like a competent man,” she says, looking me up and down as she pushes her chair away from the computer and stands, coming to the side of my bed to mess with a bag of fluid that is slowly dripping into my IV. “All you have to do is let go and accept that you are not in control.”

“Katrina, no offense, but I am the owner and CEO of an international conglomerate. I don’t have the luxury of ‘letting go’.”

“What I am hearing is that you are very rich. Are you telling me that with all that money you have, you can’t pay someone else to worry for you?”

My thoughts grind to a halt as I think about what she just said. Could it really be that easy? Pay someone else to do all the work I am missing ?

But no. No one else can hold it together the way I can.

Katrina chuckles as she walks toward the door, somehow fully aware of how deeply her question cuts to the core of my insecurities. “I will be back to check on you in a couple of hours. Good night, Mr. Banks.”

She dims the lights and closes my door quietly on her way out.

I give myself some space to process everything that I just learned in the last twenty minutes. The news flashes through my brain.

Helicopter crash.

Pilot died.

Surgery.

Two-week coma.

It is all so heavy and grim.

And one thought rings true in my head.

I do not deserve to be alive.