Chapter 9 The Cost of Fear #2
That last line is Archer’s doing. He insists it makes people more comfortable with communicating with me.
When the couple in front of me moves away, the staff member at the front desk looks up with a professional smile that flickers into curiosity for just a second too long.
That curiosity will die soon. It always does. Good looks only buy you interest until silence enters the room.
“Hi, how can I help you?” she asks.
I manage a smile, then slide my phone across the counter.
Confusion crosses her face as she reads, her brows pulling together before understanding settles in.
When she looks up again, her eyes are wide, and the faint blush that had crept into her cheeks disappears completely, replaced by that look I know too well. Pity. The kind that means no harm but still burns like acid.
She stares at me expectantly until I dip my head toward the phone still in her hands.
“Oh… sorry,” she says quickly, handing it back.
I type with slow, heavy hands and then slide my phone back to her.
I’m looking for Violet Harper. She was in an accident.
“You mean the woman from the highway accident?” she asks after reading my note.
I nod.
“Oh, I can’t believe it.” She shakes her head. “It’s so rare to see something that serious around here. People in Spring Falls are usually very responsible, you know.”
Her words scrape against my nerves, which are already worn thin. I’ve been fighting to keep my mind from going to that highway, from painting images I won’t be able to unsee.
I reach for my phone and type again.
Where is she? Can you tell me how serious her injuries are? Was she conscious when she arrived?
She bites her lip, hesitation flickering across her face before her gaze lifts back to mine.
“Um… are you family?” she asks carefully. “Brother? Husband?”
My pulse slams into my ribs. I don’t reach for my phone this time.
“I’m sorry,” she continues. “I can only share details with family. Otherwise, you’ll have to wait for someone from her family to arrive.”
Helpless anger surges through me. Violet doesn’t have family.
Does this mean she will be here alone, unconscious, hurting, with no one to speak for her, no one to sit beside her bed and hold her hand?
“Maybe you could call… um, I mean text… someone from her family,” the receptionist offers gently.
I don’t move. I can’t.
Standing here feels useless, but leaving feels worse.
“I’m really sorry,” she says again, sliding my phone back across the counter as a small line forms behind me. “But there’s nothing more I can do.”
With no other choice, I step away on reluctant feet, wanting nothing more than to rewrite the last hour of my life. My mind replays the what-could-have-been scenarios over and over like a punishment.
I could have walked into that restaurant.
I could have seen her sitting there in that black dress.
There would have been shock, disbelief, and maybe later we’d have talked about fate and coincidence.
If I hadn’t been a coward, she wouldn’t be lying in a hospital bed right now.
She would be safe. Right this minute, we’d probably be ordering takeout without garlic, the way Violet always does, something I did notice about her without ever meaning to. Truth settles over me in with brutal clarity.
Purple was never unfamiliar. I just refused to see her.
I close my eyes. The purple roses are still waiting in my hotel room, wilting slowly as their petals curl inward, hope quietly shriveling into nothing.
Regret hits first. Then guilt, for every moment I hesitated, every step I didn’t take. And finally feral and wordless worry swells until it feels like a cyclone, determined to pull me under if I stop moving even for a second.
I don’t remember walking into the waiting room. I don’t remember sitting down or standing up or pacing the same stretch of tiled floor like a caged animal. Time loses its edges here, blurring—until I hear Violet’s name spoken aloud in Elodie’s familiar voice.
My head snaps up.
I’m back at the reception desk, and they’re here. Daisy, Willow, and Elodie clustered together. Charles’s driver, Dave, stands behind them. He must have driven them here.
“We’re here for Violet Harper.” Elodie’s voice trembles.
The staff member looks at her, then her gaze slides past, landing on me. “Are you all together?” Her eyes bounce between me and the girls.
They all turn and notice me at the same time.
“Rowan?” Daisy blinks, once… twice, like she’s trying to make sense of my presence here. “What are you doing here?” For once she isn’t wearing one of her statement hair clips, and the absence feels wrong.
Before I can even begin to shape an answer, before my hands can decide how much truth I’m ready to offer, the receptionist cuts in. “Did you call them? Um, I mean… text them?”
Her quick correction hangs in the air, heavy and undeniable. A reminder of what I can’t do. Of what everyone already knows.
“You’re here for Violet?” Willow’s brows pull together.
Elodie turns last, and she looks at me like she’s already fitting the pieces together, drawing explanations for my unexpected presence. “How did you know Violet was here?”
“Did Archer tell you?” Willow’s eyes dart between Elodie and me.
I finally give them a nod. It’s the only thing I can manage, a small, inadequate motion that possibly answers everything and nothing all at once.
The receptionist clears her throat. “I wasn’t able to give him any information”—she vaguely gestures in my direction—“since he’s not family.”
All three women turn from me back to her.
“Are you family?” the receptionist asks Elodie.
Elodie reaches into her bag and pulls out the paperwork. “I’m her medical proxy.”
“Okay. Ms. Harper is currently in surgery. Please have a seat in the waiting room. Someone will come speak to you as soon as possible.”
Surgery? What the fuck is she getting surgery for?
My words remain trapped while I hope someone will voice them, but the three women seem to be in equal shock.
This time, when I walk into the waiting room, I’m painfully aware of every step.
The space feels crowded despite the empty seats.
A couple sits in the middle of one row, bodies pressed together, the woman clutching a small, well-loved brown teddy bear with one button eye hanging loose by a thread.
A group of teenage girls in party dresses and poorly clipped-in extensions huddle together nearby.
Their laughter is long gone, replaced by whispered fear.
The air hums with dread.
I can feel Daisy’s, Willow’s, and Elodie’s eyes on my back as they follow me inside.
Instead of turning left toward the quieter corner, where several seats sit empty, I walk straight ahead and take a chair beside the couple, leaving only one seat between us. There isn’t room for all three women to sit beside me now.
I know exactly what I’m doing. Tonight, I’m not avoiding them because I can’t speak. I’m avoiding them because I don’t know how to answer what they’re going to ask.
It feels like an eternity before a man in scrubs steps into the waiting room with exhaustion written into every line of his body. The moment he calls Violet’s name, I’m on my feet.
“Thank you for waiting. I’m Dr. Weiss. Ms. Harper is out of surgery and stable.”
I don’t realize I’ve been holding my breath until it rushes out of me in a shaky exhale. But the relief barely has time to settle before he continues.
“She sustained two significant injuries in the accident. The first is a fracture to her left humerus.” He pauses. “That’s the upper arm bone. The impact caused a displaced mid-shaft break, likely from the seat belt tightening forcefully or from contact with the steering wheel during the collision.”
My hands curl into fists at my sides as my mind betrays me, filling in images I don’t want—metal crushing inward, her body thrown forward, pain ripping through her without warning.
“Because the bone ends weren’t aligned,” he continues, “we performed an open reduction and internal fixation. We made a small incision, realigned the bone, and secured it with a titanium plate and screws. This will stabilize the fracture and allow it to heal properly. She’ll need to wear a cast and undergo physical therapy, but the prognosis for a full recovery is good. ”
Good.
The word should comfort me, yet it doesn’t. His tone shifts into a gentle pace, and real unease tightens low in my stomach.
“She also suffered a mild concussion, likely from her head hitting the window or side panel. There’s no evidence of bleeding or swelling in the brain.
And that’s a relief. We’ll monitor her closely for symptoms like confusion, dizziness, or nausea, but physically, she’s stable.
She hasn’t regained consciousness yet.” His voice drops.
“That isn’t completely unusual after trauma and anesthesia.
The body needs time to recover from the shock.
You’ll be able to see her soon, one at a time. ”
The floor seems to tilt beneath me, reality slipping sideways as his words sink in. Whatever he said should be reassuring, yet it isn’t, not completely.
Daisy’s quiet sob breaks through the stillness as her tears spill freely down her cheeks. Willow presses her lips together, as if holding herself together by sheer force of will. Elodie stands frozen, shock etched into every line of her face.
And me… I feel hollowed out.
Like something vital has been scooped from my chest and left behind as an aching void. Time stretches, seconds bleeding into minutes, none of us moving, none of us speaking, all of us suspended in this fragile, terrifying in-between.
I turn away from the girls as they drift back into the waiting room.
With unsteady steps, I push through the doors and step outside the hospital. The icy air hits my face like a slap and I shiver.
Damn fucking cold.