Chapter Forty-Two Vanya
I wake to chaos.
It’s not just the pain, though it radiates from every part of my body. There’s a shrill, uneven rhythm. Machines? Maybe. Something hisses near my head, and voices rise and fall around me, hurried and urgent, like waves crashing against the shore.
“She’s still hypotensive. Let’s get more fluids in her.”
Another voice cuts in, calmer though no less intense. “BP’s stabilizing, but her oxygen’s borderline. Keep monitoring.”
I try to speak, to move, but nothing obeys me. My body feels wrong. Heavy, like it’s pinned down by something invisible. My mouth is dry. When I attempt a sound, it comes out as a groan.
“She’s waking up.”
I force my eyes open. The world is a blur of fluorescent light and moving shadows. Someone looms over me, their face partially obscured by a mask.
“Ma’am, can you hear me? You are safe. We’re taking you to the hospital. Don’t try to move.”
My head swims as fragmented memories crash into my consciousness. The flash of headlights, the impact, the spinning. The tree.
The tree that crushed half my car.
“She’s tachycardic. Push two of lorazepam if she doesn’t calm down,” someone says, their voice authoritative but distant, like I’m hearing it through a tunnel.
I’m falling, pulled under by a tide I can’t resist. My eyes flutter closed.
***
When I surface again, the beeping has been replaced by a low, persistent hum. I’m being moved. Something clicks loudly near my ear, followed by a mechanical whir.
“She’s got a concussion, possible rib fractures. Get imaging for the chest and extremities,” a voice says. It’s the same one I heard earlier. Steady, professional.
“Her left arm’s swollen—likely a fracture. We need to clean that laceration.”
“Any family?”
“Emergency contact was her employer. No family listed.”
“She’s here alone?”
The words stab deeper than the pain in my ribs.
Alone.
***
The next time I wake up, the room is eerily quiet except for the steady beep of a monitor. The light is blinding and everything hurts. My ribs, my arm, my head. I move slightly, and pain flares hot across my chest, stealing my breath.
“Vanya.”
The sound of my name pulls my focus. Kyle’s voice from somewhere beside me. I turn my head too quickly and groan as dizziness washes over me. Kyle is perched on the edge of a chair, his face pale.
“Hi. Good to see you awake,” he says softly, standing and moving closer. His eyes scan my face, like he’s checking for damage the other doctors might have missed.
“What happened?” My throat is scratchy from the effort of asking.
“You were in a car accident. T-boned at an intersection. The car spun and you hit a tree on the passenger side.” He trails off, his jaw tightening. “You gave us all a scare.”
I try to sit up, but my body protests. I suck in a breath. Kyle’s hand is on my shoulder instantly, gently pressing me back down.
“Don’t move,” he says, his tone firm but not unkind. “You’ve got a broken arm, a couple of cracked ribs, and a concussion. You’re lucky it isn’t worse.”
“Lucky,” I mutter. He’s right, of course. I could have died.
Sabrina appears beside him, worry etched into every line of her face.
“How are you feeling?” she asks, her voice gentler than I’ve ever heard it.
“Like I got hit by a car,” I manage, my attempt at humor falling flat.
She doesn’t laugh, just exchanges a glance with Kyle.
“I’m your emergency contact,” Kyle says after a moment.
“Yup,” I murmur. “No family here. Only my boss.”
Sabrina frowns. “Do you want us to call anyone else? Someone who can help while you recover?”
I close my eyes, swallowing the lump in my throat. Jeremy is the last person I want to see me like this.
“Ashley,” I say finally. “In Boston. Can you call her for me? I can stay with her and her husband while I recover.” My apartment in Boston is under sublease for the year I’m in Columbus.
Sabrina nods, pulling out her phone. “I’ll get in touch with her as soon as I’m out of here.” She clears her throat, her gaze intense. “What about Jeremy?”
My eyes snap open. “No,” I say immediately, my voice creaky.
Sabrina looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Why not? He’s your neighbor. He’d want to know.”
“No,” I repeat, more forcefully this time, though it costs me. My ribs ache with every syllable.
Kyle shifts his weight, his expression hardening. “Sabrina is right. Jeremy will want to know.”
“Jeremy doesn’t listen to me,” I cut him off, anger bubbling to the surface despite my exhaustion. My words are slurred by the drugs. “He won’t listen to you either.”
Sabrina’s brows knit together in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
I shake my head, fighting back tears. “He’s skating when he shouldn’t. His hip is getting worse. I told him, Kyle. I hope you can get it in his head to allow more tests. He doesn’t care. He’s stubborn, and now he’s going to ruin himself because he thinks he’s invincible.”
Getting the words out was like running a marathon. While drunk.
Kyle sighs. “This isn’t the time, Vanya. Let it go.”
The words hit me harder than I expect. I stare at him, stunned. A bitter laugh escapes before I can stop it.
Of course he’s shutting you down, Vanya. These macho men care more about hockey than people.
“He needs to see Dr. Leroi,” I beg one more time, my voice cracking.
“Please focus on your recovery,” Kyle says firmly.
I turn away from him with frustration and shame at my impotence. I can’t stop them. I’m too weak to fight right now, anyway.
Sabrina shifts uncomfortably. “Still, he should know—”
“Don’t,” I cut her off. “Please don’t tell him.”
“Why not?” she presses, her voice softer but insistent.
“Because…” I trail off, unsure how to explain the swirling emotions I can barely contain.
Because he’ll show up and act like he cares, but it won’t change anything. He’ll skate, he’ll get hurt, and I’ll just be another person he pushes away.
“Vanya’s right,” Kyle says, his tone final. “She’ll tell Jeremy herself when she thinks the time is right.”
Sabrina doesn’t look convinced, but she relents. “OK, but when he finds out we didn’t tell him immediately, he’s going to be furious.”
I turn away from them, letting the conversation fade. The effort of speaking drained me. When they both leave somberly, I let my pathetic tears fall, indulging in one last cry.
***
When I next look at the clock, a few hours have passed. I dreamt about our fight. You’re fired replayed over and over again while Jeremy’s face was branded with disdain.
The ache in my chest has nothing to do with cracked ribs. It’s a deeper kind of agony that festers. Jeremy didn’t merely reject my advice as his doctor, he rejected me .
And yet, I miss him.
I miss the way he teases me, the way his face lights up when he laughs. I miss the quiet moments, curled up on the couch, sharing the meal he cooked. I miss the way he gazed at me, like I was precious. I can still feel the ghost of his kiss on my lips, the warmth of his hand holding mine. I let myself believe—stupidly, recklessly—that maybe that meant something to him.
But now? If I saw him, if I heard his voice, I’d fall apart. I’d give in. I’d let him lie to me again, tell me he’s fine when I know he’s not. Or worse, I’d beg. Like some pathetic, lovesick fool who can’t admit she’s in love with a man who doesn’t love her back.
Jeremy is too stubborn to listen to me, too stubborn to admit when he’s wrong. He’d skate until his body gave out, and he’d hate me for trying to stop him.
Maybe this accident is the universe’s way of telling me to stop fighting. To stop chasing after a man who doesn’t want what I have to give. Maybe it’s a sign that I need to go back home, where I belong.
Boston will fix me. My body, my pride, and perhaps even my heart.