Chapter Twenty #2
“Hey.” I rush to rest a firm hand on her shoulder, preventing her from moving around. “You fell, but you’re safe. I’m gonna call 911.”
“Holy shit.”
“Stay calm.”
“I just fell off a horse, Max, nothing about me is calm!”
“I know.” I ditch the phone to grab her head in both my hands, steadying her skull and forcing her to focus solely on me. “But I need you to listen to me, okay?”
She blinks a few times in rapid succession, finally whispering an “Okay” in response.
An anxious pit forms in my stomach seeing her less stubborn than her usual self.
“Do you remember what happened?” I ask.
“I f-fell.”
Her pupils look normal for the amount of sunlight right now. I give her my sunglasses anyway, since she’s wincing from the sun overhead.
“You passed out,” I say.
“How long?”
“Ten seconds, maybe.” It may as well have been an eternity.
“That’s not bad.”
“It was ten seconds too long.” I rest a palm on her cheek and stroke it with my thumb. The sooner I get her to a doctor, the better. “Do you know where you are?” I ask.
“The ranch. It’s like,” she says, waving her hand to our left, “literally right over there.”
I’m about to make the phone call, but I look in the direction she pointed.
We’re close enough to the stables that a corner of a building appears down the path.
If I want Daisy to be seen by a medical professional as soon as possible, I’m better off driving her myself, if she’s okay to move.
An ambulance might take a while, half an hour even, and I’d rather not have her cooking in the sunlight with a concussion when she could be getting help in the emergency room.
“How’s your neck?”
“Fine, I think.” She tilts her head from side to side in slow motion. “Yeah, fine.”
“No pain, discomfort?”
She takes some time to consider my question. “My head hurts a little.”
“But your neck and your back feel okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good.”
Cautiously, I guide Daisy’s arms over my shoulders and hoist her up, her back supported by one arm, her legs hooked over the other.
“I can walk,” she says, half laughing.
“Not chancing it. Your balance is probably shit right now, anyway.”
“Rude.”
One horse snorts behind us, and I catch the concern in Daisy’s furrowed brows.
“I’ll let him know where they are, Daze.”
I make the short trek back to the barn, powering through the muscle burn.
It must be the adrenaline turning me into some kind of trail-accident triathlete.
A screen door slams, and the owner zips out, worry in every corner of his face.
Daisy’s grip on me tightens, and her head bobs into my arm as I tell the rancher where his horses are and ask him to open the passenger side of my car.
When I set her in the seat, Daisy looks out of it—it’s probably the shock setting in. I want to teleport to the hospital, because I need her lying down, with a doctor checking her vitals. When I buckle her in, I catch her wary eyes tracking me.
“You okay?” I ask, checking in.
“Mhmm.”
It takes ages to get to the ER, even going at least fifteen over the speed limit. Daisy shakes her head when we pull into the lot, muttering, “I can’t go in.”
“You need a doctor, Daze.”
“No, please. I hate it in there.”
This is different from her usual defiance, and my heart sinks when I realize why.
The hesitation in her body, the fear on her face…
I don’t know what it was like when her mom died.
Daisy told me about the wreck—her mom swerved to avoid a coyote, lost control, and collided with another car—but she didn’t tell me about the immediate aftermath.
How long did Daisy pace those cold hospital halls?
Did she arrive and get the bad news instantly, or did Amy hang in there for a few hours before the end?
My gaze locks on Daisy, regretting what she went through and that she went through it alone. Not alone—but without me.
Grabbing one of her hands, I say, “I’m with you. We’re together, okay?”
Her eyes are glassy as she looks between me and the doors. Eventually, she nods, her arms encircling my neck as I carry her inside.
We get checked into a room right away, much to the dismay of a few people in the waiting area.
Other than a form I fill out with Daisy, the nurse gets most of the information verbally and enters it into the system.
The doctor orders a few tests, and when they escort Daze to get a cautionary CT scan, I take my first breath since that horse reared and she tumbled off the saddle.
My adrenaline has sucked up my last drop of energy, but I’m too wired to relax.
I lean against the wall and stare at the ceiling, taking deep breaths as I avoid thinking about how much worse this could have been.
“I got here as quick as I could.” Gwen rushes into the room, the fabric of her oversized dress waving behind her. Daisy asked me to reach out to her when we arrived, and ten seconds later, Gwen responded. Something clicks into place, seeing an old friend who’s as frazzled and worried as I am.
Gwen stares at the empty bed, and her expression falls. “Oh, no.”
“She’s okay,” I say, taking a step forward and folding her into a hug without a second thought. “Getting a CT scan, and she’ll be back here soon.”
“Okay. Okay.” She exhales, gripping me tight. “What happened?”
I rehash the events as she nods with every piece of information. When I tell Gwen how Daisy slumped to the ground, I swallow the thick dread of reliving that moment.
“I’m glad you were there.” Gwen lets out a measured exhale. “I’ll also need to have a few choice words with that snake.”
“I can make that happen.”
“Did you call her dad?”
“He’s on his way.” My skin prickles as I recall the heartbreaking sob from Richard’s end of the line.
Gwen slumps in the chair next to the hospital bed and twirls one of her rings. “She told me about your arrangement.”
“I know.”
“Please, just…don’t be stupid, okay?”
“I’m trying.”
“Do more than try,” she says, crossing her arms. “Consider it your life’s purpose. You’re both adults, so have fun, but I really don’t want anyone’s heart destroyed here. Especially Daisy’s.”
“What are you—”
Daisy’s laughter prompts both our heads to whip toward the door.
A nurse wheels her in, and although Daisy looks exhausted, she is the same warm, wonderful woman as always.
Gwen bursts into tears and dotes on Daisy while I replay what she said.
I only ever did what Daisy asked. To claim I have the power to destroy her heart seems extreme, especially when she’s the one who destroyed mine first.
The doctor comes in to let us know the CT scan showed a minor concussion, and a nurse will arrive soon to discuss aftercare. Gwen gets a salty-and-sweet craving, so she pops out to visit the vending machine, leaving me and Daisy alone.
“Relax.” Daisy fiddles with her ID bracelet. “You look like a wreck.”
“Yeah, well…” I can’t attempt to express how grateful I am that nothing truly terrible or irreversible happened. “I was worried.”
“Thank you.”
“Daze, you fucking fell. What’d you think I would do? Leave you on the trail to fend for yourself?”
“No, for being here. I don’t…I don’t love hospitals.”
She looks so small, so helpless, hooked up to all the wires and machines. I long to curl up with her, without getting tangled up or hurting her, just to give her a place to feel safe.
“Of course, Daisy.”
“But also, thank you for the research you did,” she says, her tone shifting. “With the local artists.” Her smile is soft.
“You’re in the hospital. You have a concussion.” I shake my head in disbelief. “And still, work is the top thing on your mind.”
“The hotel is my life, Max.” She shrugs. “My life is the hotel. I can’t separate the two.”
When Daisy is in, she’s in completely. It’s why life with her feels so full—almost too much—she gives all of herself to what she really wants.
That truth sucker-punches my gut, because she’s holding back with me and keeping a careful distance.
I won’t push her, because she has every right to feel that way, but I can’t lie to her, either.
“I understand that, Daze,” I say, sitting in the guest chair by her bed.
“I mean, I think I do. You act like an emotional cruise director with certain things in your life, but I know how much The Mirage means to you. But when you fell, I stopped breathing.” I scoot closer and reach for her forearm, overwhelmed that she’s real and here.
“I hated every moment out there, and I had all these thoughts and concerns going through my head. But nothing—none of it—had to do with the museum or with work. Because I wouldn’t care about anything else if something happened to you. ”
She blinks a couple times, her gaze falling to her hands in her lap. My chest echoes with emptiness, seeing her so visibly uncomfortable with my vulnerability.
Gwen storms back in, shocking us both out of the moment. “Okay, no caffeine, obviously, but I asked the nurses, and they said dark chocolate has magnesium, which is good after a concussion. Want some?”
Daisy pauses, looking at me again for a split second before turning to her friend. “Yeah.” Her voice cracks. “I’d love some.”