14. Gray
Chapter fourteen
Gray
Beep-Beep-Beep.
Whatever that is, it's annoying. Repetitive. Relentless.
It pries at the edges of my mind, dragging me toward consciousness against my will.
I don’t know where I am, but everything feels... wrong. Like my body isn’t quite mine, like someone’s stuffed me full of cement and then set it on fire just to be sure I wouldn’t move.
A voice cuts through the haze. Soft. Familiar. “Gray, you’re okay. I’m here.”
Avery.
I don’t open my eyes, but I know she’s close. I feel the warmth of her hand, her fingers curling around mine.
I try to speak, but my throat is dry as hell; like I’ve swallowed sandpaper and chased it down with the hottest chili. The effort alone sends pain ricocheting through my skull.
Someone else speaks—deeper, firmer. A man. “Let’s get this dressing changed. He’s still heavily sedated, but he might be more aware now.”
More aware? I barely know where the hell I am.
Movement. A shift of fabric. The cool touch of gloves against my skin. Something tugs at my face, and I realize—oxygen mask. The nurse is removing it.
I try to breathe deeper, but the air is sharp, cutting through my raw throat. A cough claws its way up, but it’s weak, pathetic, barely more than a strained rasp.
Avery’s grip on my hand tightens. “Hey, hey, take it easy.”
Easy? Easy? I feel like I’ve been through a damn war and she wants me to take it easy?
The beeping speeds up. Someone mutters something about vitals. Then hands—several of them—start working on me.
Bandages are peeled away. The sensation is distant, dulled by whatever they’ve pumped me full of, but it still makes my stomach roll. The sharp sting of antiseptic follows, then more pressure as what feels like a new dressing is applied.
I try again to open my eyes, but the effort feels monumental - like I’m fighting against an anchor dragging me under.
But then—warmth. Fingers threading through mine again. Avery.
Her voice is quieter this time, like she’s speaking just to me. “... they're both looking after her, and Jake is bringing her in later.”
My throat burns, my face feels like an open sore, and my head is foggy as hell.
I have no idea if it’s day, night, or if I’ve been here for hours or weeks. Everything blurs together, fragments of consciousness slipping through my fingers like sand.
Avery’s voice filters through the haze sometimes. She talks to me and holds my hand. I catch glimpses of her, but it’s like looking through water—distorted, distant.
Other times, it’s nurses, doctors, beeping machines. The feel of hands adjusting tubes, checking wires, pressing cool fingers against my skin. Voices, speaking over me, to me, around me. I try to grab hold of them, but my brain is slow and useless.
Then, at some point, I blink, and the world sharpens just a little.
The hospital room is dim, with a soft glow from the nightlight near the monitors. The air smells of antiseptic and something stale like it's been sitting too long. A nurse stands beside my bed, checking my IV line.
Avery is curled up in a chair next to me, her head resting on one arm, her breathing slow and steady. She looks exhausted. Her hair is a mess, and her clothes are rumpled like she’s been here for days.
I close my eyes again, and when I open them next, it’s daylight.
Curtains filter the sunlight, washing the room in pale gold. The sounds of the hospital are louder now—footsteps in the hallway, muffled voices, the distant clang of metal trays.
There’s movement near my bed, and the curtain is drawn around me, but I can only make out shapes. A nurse is removing my oxygen mask, her touch impersonal but careful. A man’s voice—firm, professional.
“So, Mr. Hayes, you’ll be pleased to learn that there is no permanent damage to your lungs, and we’ve gradually been weaning you off the morphine.”
My cheek itches. I lift a hand, fingertips brushing over a bandage. My skin feels tight, and raw.
“How long have I been...?” My voice is hoarse, barely more than a rasp, but at least it works.
“Five days.”
Five days. I try to process it, but it’s like trying to hold onto smoke.
I touch the bandage again. “What?”
The curtain pulls back, and the full scope of the room comes into view.
The doctor lifts a hand like he can sense the questions coming.
“You have a second-degree burn on your cheek. This type of burn affects both the outer layer of the skin and the underlying layer. While it’s more severe than a first-degree burn, it’s not as deep as a third-degree burn.
The good news is that it’s healing well, and we’ve been taking steps to ensure it heals properly. ”
Avery walks in, sinking into the chair beside me.
The doctor continues, “There may be some scarring, but with proper care and treatment, we can minimize the appearance of the scar over time.”
I press my fingers against the bandage again. The pain is dull under the layers of medication.
The doctor watches me. “Now, I want you to describe the pain on a scale from one to ten and tell me if it’s sharp, stabbing, aching, throbbing, or tingling?”
I glance at Avery. She’s sitting forward, listening.
I focus on the sensation, sorting through the numbness, the lingering sting. “I’d say a two, and it’s more of a tingling.”
The doctor nods. “Good, that means the skin is knitting together and it’s healing nicely. From tomorrow, your pain relief can be administered orally.”
Avery finally speaks. “Doctor, how much longer do you think he’ll be in here?”
“Maybe another five, six, days.” The doctor gives me a look. “And I must tell you, Mr. Hayes, this one here—Avery—has been by your side from nearly the moment you came in, up until now.”
My gaze flicks to her. She doesn’t react, just shrugs slightly.
The doctor studies me. “Now, are you hungry?”
The moment he mentions it, my stomach twists in on itself. “Yeah,” I admit, my voice quiet. “Very.”
The doctor seems pleased. “Great. Nurse, can you please get Mr. Hayes a meal? Let’s make sure it’s something easy to digest and high in nutrients. Perhaps some chicken broth, mashed potatoes, and steamed vegetables. Also, plenty of fluids to keep him hydrated.”
The nurse nods, and they both leave.
Avery exhales, relaxing a little in her seat. “It’s good to finally have you back in the land of the living.”
I have a million questions. I start with the most obvious. “You’ve really been here the whole time?”
She leans forward, takes my hand, and squeezes. “Yup. Except for when I had to go back to my dad’s to freshen up and bring Maddie here.”
Maddie.
I stiffen. “Is she… is she…?”
Avery shakes her head. “Don’t worry. Dad has been looking after her, and they’ve been getting on really quite well. She and Jake were here last night during visiting hours to see you, but you were asleep.”
I exhale, tension easing slightly. “Thanks.” Then, something else clicks into place—something before the fire. “Avery, I am so sorry for reading your manuscript. I had no right. Please forgive me.”
She looks at me for a long moment. “No, you didn’t have any right. But I’ve already forgiven you. It’s not important. What’s important is you getting better.”
I hesitate. “And what about the estate?”
“I don’t know all the ins and outs, but Beth and Seymore have been handling everything—the insurance, and the paperwork. She can explain everything to you herself when she comes in tomorrow. Oh, and the builders and decorators are already fixing the place back up.”
I squeeze her hand.
She hesitates. Something flickers across her face—nervousness?
“Gray, there’s one thing I need to tell you. I… I found out the morning after the fire.”
I adjust myself, getting more comfortable. “What’s that?”
Before she can answer, the nurse returns with the nutritionist, wheeling in a tray.
The nutritionist, a middle-aged woman with a no-nonsense air, stops at the foot of my bed.
“Mr. Hayes, we’ve prepared a light meal for you—chicken broth, mashed potatoes, and steamed vegetables.
These are gentle on your stomach and will help you regain your strength.
We’ll monitor your intake and adjust accordingly. ”
“Thanks. Sounds lovely.”
She places the tray on the table, and the nurse wheels it over, adjusting it so I can sit up properly.
I pick up the spoon and start eating. Avery sits there, watching me, her expression unreadable.
Then, she takes a deep breath. “So… I’m… I’m pregnant.”
I nearly choke on my food.
No, scratch that—I do choke. The mashed potatoes lodge in my throat, and for a second, I’m convinced this is how I go. Not the fire, not smoke inhalation—potatoes. Avery’s hands fly toward me, but I manage to clear my throat, coughing hard enough that my ribs protest.
I open my mouth, ready to ask, Are you sure? —but before I can even get my head around it, the door bursts open.
“Uncle Gray! Uncle Gray!”
Maddie barrels into the room at full speed, her blonde curls bouncing. Jake follows at a far more reasonable pace.
Avery is already up from her chair, making space as Jake grins. “Okay, kiddo, be gentle with him. He’s only a weakling.”
Maddie launches herself at me, hugging me as best she can with the food tray in the way. It’s awkward as hell, but I lift my arm enough to return it, my chest tightening at the feeling of her tiny arms around me.
She immediately claims Avery’s chair, planting herself down like she owns the place, her wide eyes fixed on me.
Jake claps a hand on my shoulder. “So, how are you, buddy?”
I start to answer, but Maddie is staring. Not at me—at the bandage on my face. Her little brow furrows. I can see the questions forming before she even opens her mouth.
I look back at Jake instead. “I’m okay, but I wouldn’t want my worst enemy to go through what I just did.”
Jake snorts, stepping closer to shake my hand. “Well, next time, don’t be such a hero.” His voice drops slightly as he glances at Maddie. “But seriously, Gray—you did good. You did real good.”
I glance at Maddie again. She’s kneeling on the chair now, her small fingers dangerously close to the emergency call button on my bed.