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Elena

I had been in the hospital for over three weeks. Twenty-one days of white walls, quiet voices, incessant beeping, and way too much damn time to think.

I was awake. My body was weak, but I was here, And I wished I wasn’t.

Steve had been in and out, always gentle, careful, never pushing too hard. I knew what he wanted to say. I knew what everyone wanted to say.

Troy and Adrian want to see you.

The nurses kept telling me how charming and sweet they were and how I was lucky to have two big brothers to protect me. I smiled politely each time and said nothing except that I didn’t want any visitors except for Steve. I’d get a confused look, but I didn’t care if they were confused as long as they listened.

Troy and Adrian had been released the day before. They were in a hotel room next to Steve’s, waiting for me to get out.

I knew this. Steve told me they were driving him up the wall with constant questions.

And yet… I couldn’t see them.

Not yet. Maybe not ever. My mind wasn’t in a good place. Confusion ran rampant through me. Having eaten… Dean, being lied to about it. Had I known, I would have chosen starvation over doing that.

Even now, my stomach twisted, and I kept throwing up. It was one of the reasons they continued to keep me. Whenever I’d eat, I’d throw up. I couldn’t get Dean out of my head. I’d told the doctor. He’d given me a sympathetic look while the nurse looked heartbroken before looking away. Or maybe it was horror. She’d turned quickly.

But they’d sent in a psychiatrist to meet with me. I’d told her how I felt; she’d been kind and told me how to focus. I’d managed to keep my last four meals down, so I was making progress, but it took all I had to do it.

Steve sat by my bedside, his expression kind but firm.

He talked to me about my relationship with them, about how these types of changes could be confusing, about how the crash, the trauma, the emotions wrapped up in everything could make things feel more intense than they were basically, that it might not have been real.

I knew what he was saying. It was the same thing as the psychiatrist had said.

I didn’t disagree.

But none of it changed what had happened. None of it changed what I felt. None of it made the nightmare disappear. The mental health professionals had been in and out, talking me through coping mechanisms, trauma responses, PTSD symptoms, and a whole host of things about how perception during traumatic events can form bonds we share with other victims. Trauma bonds.

They wanted me to face everything. To talk to Troy and Adrian. Steve wanted it sooner rather than later, while the psychiatrist said when I felt more ready and had enough time to sort through my feelings.

I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t sure I ever would be. At least I had one person on my side.

The one thing I was sure of was I couldn’t face them. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

I had asked Steve to keep them away from me while I tried to sort through the mess inside my head.

He had reluctantly agreed. I nodded when he hugged me, whispering that he loved me, and so did they.

And then I cried.

A week later, I managed to hold down more food and had only had a few vomiting episodes. It seemed good enough for the doctors. The doctors were saying I could be released. My body was healing. My mind? That was another story. I kept having nightmares. Horrible, blood-curdling nightmares where Dean was begging me not to eat him. Telling me he wanted to go home too.

I hated sleeping just as much as I hated eating.

But my ankle… That was another blow to an already shattered life.

It had been broken in the crash and reset in surgery when they deemed me strong enough to survive going under. They told me it was a clean enough break and that I would need physical therapy. They said maybe I would dance again. But maybe not. It depended on how it felt when I got back on it.

That uncertainty was all it took to finish breaking something deep inside me.

I remembered Adrian’s words in the plane, the promise he had made so easily, so confidently, as if the world bent to his will.

“If I have to carry you onstage, Elena, you will dance.”

I wanted to believe him.

I wanted to hold onto that hope.

But now?

Now, I wasn’t sure I even wanted to try.

The doctor came in the following day.

”You’re ready to be discharged," he said with a smile.

I nodded, my heart pounding .

Steve was beside me, his hand warm over mine, steadying me.

“Troy and Adrian are at the hotel,” he said softly. “They want to see you.”

I stared at the blanket over my lap, fingers curling into the fabric.

I was quiet for a long time before I whispered, “I’m not ready.”

Steve didn’t argue.

Didn’t push.

He just sighed and nodded.

“What do you want, sweetheart?”

I looked at him, swallowing back the emotion clogging my throat.

“I want to go home,” I whispered.

Not just anywhere.

Not a hotel nearby.

Not a house full of memories.

I wanted as much distance between me and that mountain as humanly possible.

Steve studied me for a long moment.

Then, finally, he nodded.

“I’ll set it up.”

Steve rented a motorhome, knowing I wouldn’t step foot on a plane again.

He had arranged for two drivers to switch out as needed and a nurse to travel with me.

I wouldn’t be alone.

But I wouldn’t be with them, either.

When I was finally dressed in the clothes Steve had brought, I was wheeled to the back exit, away from the reporters swarming the hospital and the cameras flashing in the night.

Away from everything.

Steve hugged me tightly, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead.

“I packed everything you’ll need in the RV,” he murmured. “The nurse is named Amy. The drivers are Ryan and Jake. They’ll take care of you, OK?”

I nodded, my eyes burning.

“Troy and Adrian are going to stay with me for a while,” he added. “They… they’ll want to know where you are.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, inhaling shakily.

“Just tell them I need time,” I whispered.

Steve’s grip on me tightened.

“I love you, kid,” he murmured. “And they do, too.”

I forced a smile, even though it hurt.

“I love you, too, Steve.”

"I know you didn't want it, but I got you a car for when you get home." He pressed a set of keys into my hand. "I had it delivered to the parking garage this morning. It'll be waiting for you. I think it'll be a good bit of freedom for you."

"Steve..." I swallowed hard. "You didn't have to."

"I know I didn't. I wanted to. You be good, OK? You call me for anything. Understand?"

I nodded, my eyes burning with tears. "I will."

Then, I was wheeled away.

And just like that?—

I was gone.

Amy, my nurse, was gentle and soft-spoken, helping me get settled in the back bedroom of the RV.

Ryan and Jake, the two drivers, were friendly but professional. They kept their voices low, were respectful, and gave me space.

The second I was alone, the tears came.

I curled up on the bed, my arms wrapping around myself, the pain in my chest so much worse than the physical aches in my body.

I thought of Troy’s eyes, fierce and protective.

I thought of Adrian’s voice, soft and coaxing .

I thought of the way they had held me in the dark, whispered promises and apologies into my skin, fought for me, lived for me, and loved me.

And I wept.

Because I missed them.

Because I loved them.

Because I was too broken to face them.

Because I didn’t know if I ever would be ready.

I let my tears soak into the pillow, my body shaking, my heart splintering.

Then, finally, I squeezed my eyes shut and whispered a single prayer into the dark.

“Please, let tomorrow be better.”