Chapter 37 Fractured
Fractured
Lily-Anne
The smell of disinfectant and starch wakes me.
Light scampers against my eyelids, an intrusive pressure that pulls me from sleep. Everything hurts. My throat. My chest. My leg most of all.
There’s a low, steady beeping nearby. I open my eyes. White walls. Medical equipment. Bright windows framing the top of a tree—we’re up high.
I try to move, but an involuntary groan escapes me.
“Lily?”
“Mum?” I ask, hopeful, needy.
“No, sweetie. It’s me, Elle.”
Ellenor’s face comes into focus on my left, tired and worried, her unstraightened hair a mass of blonde knotted on top of her head.
“Oh, thank God you’re awake,” she whispers, dragging her chair closer and brushing loose strands from my forehead.
I try to speak, but my mouth is dry, my throat raw. She follows my gaze to a jug of water and pours it into a paper cup. I take a few slow sips from the straw.
“Where are we, exactly?” I rasp, the syllables catching.
“Canterbury,” she says. “Kent and Canterbury Hospital. There was no emergency department in Whitstable.”
“You…brought me to a Muggle Hospital?”
“The very best.” A grim smile. “Do you need some time, or are you ready for the status report?”
“Ready,” I whisper, bracing myself.
As Ellenor fires off the bad news, I’m grateful she isn’t sugarcoating it. I’d rather take the hit all at once.
“Your foot is pretty swollen. They’ll take X-rays soon to check if it’s a break. It’s in an emergency splint for now.” She pulls back the sheet, revealing my leg encased in bright orange padding with thick blue straps. “It has to stay elevated as much as possible.”
I eye the foam wedge propping up my leg. “Great.”
She tucks the sheet back over it, her voice softening.
“You were really cold when we found you. Mild hypothermia. Then you got a fever overnight, so they put you on fluids and something to help you sleep. It’s two o’clock now.
You’ve been out for most of the day.” A tight, shaky smile.
“They said rest was the best thing for you, but they don’t want to delay the X-ray much longer. ”
I nod feebly as she presses the buzzer and tells the nurse I’m ready for radiology.
No one comes immediately, and Ellenor covers her mouth to stifle a yawn. For a moment, she just looks…spent.
I shift slightly, feel the tug of the cannula taped to the back of my hand. Carefully, with slow, clumsy fingers, I lift my hand and rub the sleep from my eyes.
She squeezes my other hand. “You scared me, you know.”
“I’m sorry. For everything,” I add, remembering our fight.
“Don’t be sorry. I pushed your buttons too. Although we missed the studio tour.”
It takes a moment for her words to land. To remember what day it is.
“Today’s your birthday.”
“Yep. We could be sipping real butterbeer and flying broomsticks through movie sets right now.”
“Oh no. I’m so sorry—”
She holds up a hand. “Lily. You’re in the freaking hospital. There’s no need to apologise. Just focus on getting better, okay?”
“Yes, but…”
“There’ll be time for grovelling later, I promise. Besides, the studio will keep,” she adds sagely. “Hogwarts will always be there to welcome us home.”
I give a tiny nod and close my eyes. Everything feels distant. Like I’m underwater, trying to piece together what happened, but it’s all in the wrong order.
Then it comes rushing back: the slipway, the water, the fall, the pain.
“Brandon?” I ask suddenly.
Ellenor nods to my right. “He’s there, of course—hasn’t left your side. He’s basically a golden retriever crossed with a German shepherd.”
I follow her gaze, slowly turning my head. He’s slumped in a hospital chair in the corner, coat folded under his head, long legs awkwardly bent. His mouth is slack in sleep, his face pale. Exhausted, jaw shadowed with stubble.
“He found you,” she says quietly. “Carried you off the beach. I called the police at first, but then Brandon told me where you were. Sean picked me up and we drove over. We put you in his van to keep you out of the rain.”
“My phone?” I whisper, unable to take my eyes off Brandon’s sleeping form.
Her face tightens. “Sean and I went back at dawn to search for it, but no luck. Don’t worry—I called Mum for you.”
A pang echoes through me. “How is she?”
“She’s worried out of her mind, of course. She kept asking if you were warm enough, if you were awake, if you needed anything. Typical Mum—she’s already planning to fly over and smother you.”
“Is she?” I ask, my voice full of hope.
Her face falls. “No, sorry. That was a bad joke. I shouldn’t have said it like that.” She smooths a hand over the blanket. “But she’s asking for updates nonstop. You’d think we were about to amputate or something.”
She takes one look at my face and winces. “Yeah…my bedside manner is trash.”
“Little bit,” I agree.
Everything is still washed-out from the fever. A sharp ache twinges behind my eyes. My face feels puffy, my whole body heavy, and exhaustion is stitched into my bones. I want to cry, but even that takes more energy than I have.
“Want us to call Mum now?” Ellenor offers.
I hesitate. The thought of hearing her voice makes my chest ache. God, I miss her. I wish she were here, sitting beside me, brushing my hair back, holding my hand.
But then I think of the stream of questions she’ll inevitably ask. Words feel like too much. I just want her near.
“Later,” I say, sinking deeper into the pillows. Worriedly, I add, “Can you tell her I’m doing well? Please?”
That I’m doing better than I am?
Ellenor nods, squeezing my hand. “Of course. I’ll tell her you’re happy as Larry—three meals a day, extra pillows and blankets, not to mention an amazing view.”
“A car park?” I venture blandly, unable to tell from my vantage point.
“I meant Brandon,” Ellenor smirks, waggling a suggestive eyebrow.
I try to smile as my gaze drifts back to him. He shouldn’t have had to save me, but he always shows up when it matters. Something tightens in my chest—part gratitude, part something I’m only just beginning to understand.
Following my gaze, Ellenor snaps her fingers twice in his direction. “Oi, Brando!”
I’m too fatigued to reprimand her.
He stirs, his head lifting groggily as he blinks himself awake. When his eyes land on me, he bolts up.
“You’re awake,” he says, his voice ragged with fatigue and relief. “How long…?”
“You haven’t missed anything—she just woke,” Ellenor informs him, rising to her feet. “I’ll go get us some coffee. Give you two a moment to debrief.”
She leaves.
Brandon crosses to my bedside. His eyes are bloodshot, deep shadows lurking underneath.
“How do you feel?” he asks.
“Honestly?”
“Please.”
“Like I got hit by a car.”
He gives a thin smile. “Thankfully not.”
He hovers uncertainly by the bed.
I want him to sit. To stay with me.
I don’t want him to see how much I need him, but I can’t hide it, either.
Deep brown eyes search mine, and a familiar jolt of awareness shoots through me.
Gosh. I want his touch—more than I should. But I feel so small, so fragile, my head thick and fuzzy like it’s stuffed with cotton wool.
Is it so wrong to want this one small comfort?
He holds my gaze, tension rippling through me in delicate waves.
I reach for his hand without thinking. His fingers meet mine halfway, steady and strong. The touch is cautious, like we’re both waiting to see if the other will pull away.
I’m not ready for anything more, but this… This I can handle.
His thumb brushes lightly across my knuckles, and something in my chest unravels, my breaths growing shallow.
Without releasing my hand, he settles into Ellenor’s chair. It feels natural, and I’m absurdly grateful he doesn’t let go. We’ve been orbiting this moment for weeks.
The butterflies almost make up for how battered I feel.
“Thank you for rescuing me,” I murmur.
“You don’t need to thank me. I’m just glad you’re safe. You gave me quite a scare. When I found you, you weren’t responsive.”
“I don’t remember much. There was the beach…and I heard you talking to me, trying to keep me awake.” A blur of memories surges back. The wail of a siren. Lightning. Black. “There was an ambulance.”
“Yes. They arrived shortly after we moved you off the beach.” His gaze flickers away. “I wasn’t sure whether I was doing the right thing by moving you. Or by waiting for the ambulance instead of driving you ourselves. I keep replaying it.”
“I’m here because of you.” I squeeze his hand, my thumb tracing slow circles, mirroring his earlier touch. He watches the movement.
“Thank you,” I say again, my chest tightening as another thought bubbles up. “My guitar…?”
His gaze drops. “I asked Sean to take it back to our cottage.”
“Is it…is it okay?”
His mouth tightens. “A little worse for wear.”
“How little?” I ask quietly. “Did the water get it?”
“Surprisingly, no. Not enough to cause water damage.”
When he doesn’t elaborate, I prompt, “Please, just tell me.”
He takes out his phone. With a few swipes, he finds the photo and shows it to me. “It landed on the raised stones.”
My heart twists. My Cole Clark lies on a table in the picture, the sound hole splintered, the delicate wood cracked around it. Unplayable.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I know how special it was.”
“Yeah. It was.” My voice wobbles. “I should’ve taken better care of it.”
Even as I say it, I let the guilt slip away. I’m too worn down to start punishing myself, and it won’t fix anything.
I see the worry in Brandon’s eyes and force a small, wavering smile. “Dad would understand.”
He nods. “He would simply be glad you’re alright. As am I.”
Slowly, he lifts the back of my hand, his gaze intent. My breath halts, the tension building before he bends his head and kisses it lightly, with measured intent, like a knight pledging fealty.
Goose bumps race across my skin at the brush of his lips, my heart thudding.
Then, astonishingly, he bows his head and presses his forehead to my hand—a gesture so intimate it locks every muscle in my body. It’s deeper.
When he looks up, his gaze burns with resolve.
And though my heart beats for him, sadness sits heavily in my chest as I think of my guitar. My connection to Dad is fractured beyond repair. I’ll never get it back.
What does that mean for my music?
“You’ll play again,” Brandon murmurs, as if sensing my thoughts. “We’ll find you another guitar. When you’re ready.”
I shake my head sadly. “I appreciate you saying that. But…” I trail off.
There’ll be other guitars, but never one from Dad.
I blink and look away as my eyes start to burn, fighting off the tears.
“If he were here,” Brandon says with a faint smile tugging his lips, “he’d buy you a thousand guitars.”
I manage a weak scoff. “A thousand? He wasn’t that well-off.”
Softly, he brushes his lips over my knuckles. “A hundred, then. All waiting for you to play Sweet Caroline.”
I almost laugh. The warmth of his palm seeps into mine, the touch of his lips lingering like a promise. Like he’s not going anywhere.
My eyelids grow heavy. “Do that again,” I whisper.
He does—another kiss, soft and sensual—and the rest of the world seems faraway.
“Get some rest,” he whispers, leaning over me to adjust the covers, his voice a low warmth against my cheek. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
And when I wake again, he is.