Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Delaney
I wake up to the steady beep of monitors and the sharp antiseptic smell that clings to everything in hospitals.
My head throbs with each heartbeat, a relentless pounding that makes my temples feel like they're being squeezed in a vise.
When I try to shift my position, fire shoots up my left leg, dragging a whimper from my throat before I can stop it.
"Easy there." Mac's voice cuts through the fog of pain, rough and gravelly like he's been chain-smoking for hours. I turn my head slowly—everything spins sickeningly when I move too fast—and find him hunched in the uncomfortable plastic chair beside my hospital bed.
He looks terrible. His usually pristine button-down shirt is torn at the shoulder, revealing a glimpse of the white t-shirt underneath.
A nasty scrape runs along his left cheek and his dark hair sticks up at odd angles, like he's been running his hands through it compulsively.
But he's here. He's breathing, talking, alive.
"The truck–" I start, but my voice comes out as barely a whisper.
"Ran the red light and hit us on your side," he finishes grimly, his jaw clenching so hard I can see the muscle jumping. He reaches for my hand carefully, his fingers automatically threading through mine like we've done this a thousand times. "You've been unconscious for about six hours."
Six hours. The number hits me like a physical blow. "My presentation at the conference–"
"Fuck the presentation." The vehemence in his voice startles me, sharp and angry, but his thumb strokes gently across my knuckles in direct contrast to his harsh tone.
"You have a concussion, twelve stitches in your forehead, cuts all over both arms from the glass, and your left fibula is broken in two places.
The presentation doesn't matter. Nothing else matters. "
I blink slowly, trying to process the information through the haze of whatever pain medication they've given me. "You're not hurt?"
"Couple of bruises, some scratches. Nothing serious.
" He leans forward in the chair, bringing our joined hands to his lips and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my palm.
His lips are warm and slightly chapped, familiar in a way that makes my chest ache.
"Delaney, I'm so fucking sorry. I should have seen the truck coming sooner.
I should have swerved faster, pulled into the other lane, something. I should have–"
"Mac, stop." I squeeze his fingers with what little strength I can muster, feeling how his hands are ice cold despite the warm hospital room. "It wasn't your fault."
"Wasn't it?" His steel-blue eyes are haunted, carrying the same devastated look he always gets.
"I was distracted. You were flirting and I got distracted.
.." He runs his free hand through his already disheveled hair, making it stick up even worse.
"I let my guard down completely, and you got hurt because of it. "
The raw pain in his voice cuts deeper than any physical injury could. "That's not—no, that's not how–"
"I watched them pull you out of that car," he continues, his voice breaking completely now.
He presses his forehead against our joined hands, and I can feel him trembling.
"You weren't moving, weren't breathing right, and there was so much blood.
All I could think was 'not again.' I can't lose someone else because I failed to protect them. "
"Hey." I use my other hand to cup his face despite the way the movement makes my ribs scream in protest, forcing him to look up at me. His stubble scratches against my palm, rough and real, and I can feel the tension radiating through his entire body. "Look at me."
Reluctantly, he meets my eyes, and I see the absolute terror he's been hiding behind his practical caretaking.
"This wasn't July. This wasn't Lily. This was a random accident that could have happened to anyone, anywhere, at any time."
"But it happened to you. While you were with me.
" He pulls back abruptly, standing and beginning to pace the small room like a caged animal, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
"How many times can something be random before it becomes a pattern?
Maybe Maya's right about me. Maybe I'm poison for anyone who gets close. "
"Maya said that?" I ask, feeling a flare of protective anger on his behalf.
"She didn't have to say it outright," he says bitterly, stopping at the window to stare out at the hospital parking lot. "I see it in her eyes, in everyone's faces when they look at us together. They're all wondering what the hell you're doing with the guy who couldn't save his own sister."
"Stop it." Anger gives me strength, burning through the fog of pain medication and making my voice stronger. "Don't you dare put words in my mouth or anyone else's. And don't you dare dishonor Lily's memory by using her death as an excuse to push me away when things get scary."
He spins around, eyes flashing dangerously. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me perfectly." I struggle to sit up straighter, ignoring the way the room tilts and spins around me.
"Lily believed in love with her whole heart.
She believed in taking chances and living fully and grabbing happiness with both hands.
You think she'd want you to spend the rest of your life alone because you're scared something bad might happen to the people you care about? "
His face goes pale beneath the scrape on his cheek. "Something bad did happen, Delaney. Look at you. Look at what being with me costs you."
"Yes, it did happen. And I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry we lost her, and I'm sorry you carry that guilt around like a stone in your chest every single day. But I'm not her, Mac. This isn't that night in July. This is us, right here, right now, and we're both still breathing."
We stare at each other across the sterile hospital room, my heart monitor beeping faster as tension crackles between us like electricity. His hands are shaking now, and I can see him wrestling with something huge and terrifying.
Finally, his shoulders slump in defeat, and he sinks back into the plastic chair.
"I was terrified," he whispers, not meeting my eyes. "When I saw you lying there in all that twisted metal, not moving, not responding when I called your name... I thought I'd lost you. Really lost you this time, and it would be my fault just like before."
My heart clenches painfully at the broken sound of his voice. "Mac–"
"No, let me say this." He sits heavily, elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped so tightly together his knuckles are white.
"I know we agreed to take things day by day.
I know neither of us made any promises about what happens when hockey calls me back to Boston.
But damn, Delaney, almost losing you showed me how much I want this.
Somewhere along the way..." He shakes his head, letting out a bitter laugh.
"Somewhere along the way, you stopped being temporary for me. "
The confession hangs in the air between us, vulnerable and raw and more honest than anything he's ever said to me. I'm still trying to figure out how to respond when my mom bustles through the door like a whirlwind, completely oblivious to the emotional storm she's interrupting.
"Oh, sweetheart, you're awake!" She gasps, rushing to my bedside in a frenzy.
"How do you feel? Are you dizzy? Nauseous?
They said the concussion might cause some disorientation when you first woke up.
" She looks over at Mac, who's watching this maternal invasion with something between amusement and panic.
"Have you called the nurse yet? They should do another neurological check now that she's conscious. "
Mac opens his mouth to answer, but she's already stabbing the call button.
"I'm so relieved you're okay," she continues, taking my free hand and squeezing it like she wants to make absolutely sure I'm real and solid.
"Your father was here for a few hours, but you know how he gets in hospitals, all fidgety and nervous, so I sent him to find some decent food.
Lord knows hospital cafeteria coffee isn't fit for human consumption, and we had no idea how long we'd be waiting for you to wake up. "
"Mom," I interrupt gently, though part of me is grateful for her familiar chatter after the intensity of my conversation with Mac. "I'm okay. Really."
"You were hit by a truck, Delaney Rose," she says, using my full name. "We were terrified when Mac called us. I couldn't even speak. Just started crying right there in the grocery store checkout line. Your poor father had to take the phone and get all the details."
She wraps both her hands around mine, squeezing like she wants to absorb some of my pain through sheer maternal will. Behind her, Mac shifts uncomfortably on his feet, and I can practically see him taking her words as a personal attack, more evidence that he's dangerous to be around.
As if she senses his discomfort—and knowing my mother, she absolutely does—she turns to face him, her expression softening with genuine concern.
"Now that she's awake and talking, would you please let one of the doctors look you over properly?
" She says, her voice carrying the kind of gentle authority that brooks no argument.
"I've been worried sick about you, too. Internal bleeding can be silent but deadly, and you've been so focused on Delaney that I doubt you've even mentioned any pain you might be having. "
Mac's eyebrows practically hit his hairline, surprise clear on his face at her concern for his well-being. "I'm fine, Mrs. Caldwell. Really."
She rolls her eyes in a gesture so similar to one of mine that Mac actually cracks a small smile.