Chapter 57
FIFTY-SEVEN
noia
Now...
My eyelids feel like they’re weighed down with lead, but somehow I manage to force them open anyway. When I try to move, pain shoots through my body, making me gasp.
“Noia?”
I turn my head slightly. Fuck. Even that small movement sends daggers of pain through my skull.
Sasha is sitting next to me, and she looks tired.
My throat feels dry and scratchy. “You’re here,” I croak.
Relief flashes over her face. “Of course I’m here.” She reaches for a cup of water on the side table and brings the straw to my lips. “Small sips, ‘kay?”
The cool water soothes my parched throat. “What happened?”
“You were hit by a car.” Her voice breaks slightly. “Some asshole was texting and driving. Didn’t even see you until it was too late.”
I vaguely remember what she’s telling me.
“How bad?”
“Concussion, three broken ribs, and a lot of bruising.” The smile she gives me is sad. “But the doctors say you’re going to be okay. No internal bleeding, which was their biggest concern.”
I try to nod, but the movement makes me wince.
“You’ve been unconscious for three days.” Her voice is tight with emotion. “They had to put you in a medically induced coma because of the swelling in your brain.”
“Three days?” I rasp. “Ryder...”
“He went to grab some lunch.”
“He’s here?”
“Of course. He was there when you got hit. I know you two were taking some time apart to figure shit out, but...”
Suddenly, it all comes rushing back.
My head throbs as two sets of memories compete for space—one where I found Ryder in my kitchen, and another where we met by chance one rainy day.
“Wait, that’s not right.” I struggle, trying to sort through the jumble of memories. “Ryder magically appeared.”
Sasha’s brow furrows with concern. “What do you mean?”
I shake my head, wincing again at the pain. I seriously need to stop doing that. “No, that’s not... we met on the road? In the rain?”
Her eyes light up with recognition when she realizes what I am trying to say.
“Yes. You moved to your cottage permanently after... Eric. You got a flat tire driving back from Portland about three months ago, and Ryder stopped to help you.”
Memories start to realign, forming a clearer picture. My head throbs as I try to force myself to make sense of it all.
“But my manuscript... He’s the MMC in my new book… He came to life...”
Her expression grows more worried before recognition hits again. “Oh! You’ve been working on a romance novel about a book-boyfriend who comes to life, remember? But Ryder is real, Noia. Very real. And more than worried about you.”
Before I can answer, the door opens, and Ryder comes in holding a paper bag and two coffee cups.
“Noia.” Setting everything down haphazardly on the table, he rushes to my side. “Thank god.”
When his hand touches mine, I feel the same electricity I felt that first day we met in the rain—the same warmth, the same connection.
“You’re real,” I whisper.
Ryder’s eyes are bloodshot, jawline shadowed with stubble, and his dark hair is messier than usual, like he’s been running his hands through it.
His brow furrows. “Of course I’m real.”
“I’ll give you two some time,” Sasha says, rising from her chair. “I need to find the doctor anyway and let her know you’re awake.”
Once she’s gone, he sits on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle me. “You scared the hell out of me, kitten.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Hey, don’t. It’s okay.” His grip on my hand tightens. “It’s just... I thought I was going to lose you.”
Fear and exhaustion are etched into every line of his face, raw emotion filling his stormy, gray eyes.
“I could hear you,” I say softly. “When I was unconscious. I heard your voice.”
A tear slips down his cheek. “Other than sleep and bathroom breaks, I haven’t left your side. Not for a second.”
“You told me stories about our adventures and said that you loved me.”
He nods, bringing my hand to his lips. “I do. I love you, Noia. And I’m so sorry it took almost losing you for me to realize that.”
“What about needing space? Figuring things out?”
“I had it figured out the morning of the accident, and when I saw you across the street...” His voice cracks. “I’m so sorry. All I know is that I love you, and I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”
Tears sting my eyes. “I love you too.”
He leans forward, carefully pressing his lips to mine.
“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he murmurs against my mouth.
“I’ll try not to make a habit of getting hit by cars,” I promise, managing a weak smile.
We break apart when a nurse bustles in. “Good to see you’re awake, Ms. Wilde. How are you feeling?”
“Like I got hit by a car,” I reply, wincing as I try to adjust my position.
Ryder fusses, helping me adjust my pillow while she checks my vitals and makes notes. “The doctor will be in shortly to go over everything with you. You’re a very lucky woman.”
“I know.” I look at Ryder, who’s gone back to holding my hand.
After she leaves, he brushes a strand of hair from my face. “Did Sasha tell you? Your mom called. She’s catching the first flight out tomorrow morning.”
I suddenly remember Tish has been away on vacation in Europe.
“Great,” I groan. “Just what I need.”
He narrows his eyes at me with a smirk. “She was worried.”
“You talked to her?”
“I did. She was surprised when I told her who I was. You didn’t tell her about us?”
“She had her suspicions, but I didn’t clarify anything. If I had, she would’ve never stopped hounding me.” I squeeze his hand. “Thanks for being here.”
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” His eyes grow serious as they fill with heat. “Actually, that’s not true. I’d rather be with you at home in bed. I’m moving back in as soon as you’re discharged. If that’s okay with you.”
“More than okay.”
He smiles, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Good.” His thumb traces gentle patterns on the back of my hand. “We’re going to take this one day at a time. You focus on healing, and I’ll be right there, taking care of you. Then you can get back to doing what you do best.”
“And after that?”
“After that...” He leans in, resting his forehead gently against mine. “...we continue to live out our own story.”
It’s another week before they release me from the hospital. My ribs still ache and the bruises have turned a sickly yellow-green, but at least I can move without feeling like someone’s stabbing me with every breath.
After I woke up and the fog lifted, my jumbled memories slowly started to adjust, becoming a more clear, coherent timeline.
While I never actually got knocked on my ass arguing on the phone with my agent, my brain inexplicably wandered down that path. Turns out my brain twisted what really happened with me getting hit by the car and a meeting I had with my agent about a month before I came to Lakeside.
Of course, Ryder never magically appeared in my house that morning. His truck, motorcycle, and clothes didn’t actually materialize out of thin air. There was no book-boyfriend come to life, no fictional character stepping into my reality.
I’d been working on a fantasy novel about a romance writer whose fictional hero comes to life—that’s where all my confusion stemmed from.
The line between fiction and reality blurred when my brain was injured and they induced a coma.
The doctor told me what I experienced is a known side effect of the drugs they use.
What actually happened was even better.
While I was in my coma, Ryder told me stories about our adventures—what happened at the hot spring, the day he took me to the seaside restaurant on his motorcycle and he told me about his past, our sexy trip to the bookstore and what went down after, and the camping trip where I learned even more about him—real memories.
We even acted out some of my ideas so I could make sure they were something that could work in my book—like hide and seek.
And Ryder’s backstory? All his scars, inside and out, those are real, too. Very real.
And yes, Eric is real. Unfortunately. I’m so thankful Ryder showed up when he did.
The way Ryder and I connected was the real magic. How quickly we fell into each other’s lives, how naturally we fit together—a whirlwind romance I couldn’t have written better myself.
How he changed my flat tire in the pouring rain.
How his jacket, smelling of sandalwood and rain, swallowed me whole.
How he asked about what brought me to Lakeside and how he didn’t flinch when I told him I wrote smutty romance.
How my tattoo consultation turned into coffee, which turned into dinner, which turned into. .. us.
The smutty romance writer and the sexy, tattooed man who stopped to help a stranger in the rain.