31. Rory
Rory
“Rory.”
This time the voice is clear. It’s Nate.
He says my name again, his tone commanding, but there’s an undertone of worry.
I force my eyes open all the way, ignoring the bite of pain that goes through my head.
“Rory,” he says again, like it’s the only word he knows. “Thank God. You’re awake.”
“Nate.” My voice is scratchy. I lick my lips, but even my tongue is dry. “What… What happened?”
He holds a straw to my lips, and I take a grateful sip of ice water and try again.
“What happened? Where are we?”
He sets the cup down out of sight and leans over me again. “You were in a car accident, Rory. You’re in the hospital.”
The memories come back, sharper now. The warning light on the dash. The approaching headlights. The sickening crunch of metal, the pain slicing through my forehead.
“I…think I remember. There was a car.” A jolt of panic rocks through me. “Is the other driver okay? I hit his car.”
Nate nods and runs a finger down my cheek. “He’s fine. His car is a mess, but he’s okay. They brought him to the ER to get checked out. You hit your head, though.” His voice softens. “I was worried about you.”
I blink again, taking in everything. The sterile white walls, stark fluorescent lighting. The pinch of terror on Nate’s face.
Guilt roils in my stomach.
“I’m sorry, Nate,” I say, my voice cracking. “It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry.”
A tear escapes from my eye.
He shakes his head, fingers still tracing my face. “It’s okay, babe. You’re going to be fine. The other driver is okay, too. It was his fault, not yours.”
I know he’s telling the truth from the sincerity in his eyes, not to mention the fact that Nate has never lied to me. But it’s hard not to feel guilty.
Nate’s hand leaves my face and covers my fingers. “You need to relax, Rory. We’ll talk about everything. But you can’t sit up or move yet. The doctor has to make sure you’re okay.”
Right on cue, there’s the swish of a curtain.
“Hi, there. She’s awake,” an unfamiliar voice says.
Nate nods, his hand still gripping mine. “She is. Can you check her out to make sure she’s okay?”
A man in scrubs leans into my field of view. “Morning, Rory. I’m Dr. Bowman. Let’s get you checked out so I can get you off this backboard, okay?”
He pulls something off my neck and has me turn my head in different directions before he nods. “Your spine is okay, Rory. I’m going to clear you to sit up and move around, but you have a pretty nasty bump to the head. We’ll keep an eye on you for a little bit.”
Nate thanks the doctor as he leaves, then he does something to the bed to prop me into a sitting position.
I can see him better now, and I can see the room we’re in.
It’s less of a room than a sectioned-off area, with curtains on two sides.
The third side has a countertop that holds a jar of cotton balls, one of tongue depressors, and a container that’s labeled SHARPS.
Yep, there’s no doubt we’re in a hospital.
I squirm on the bed. I’ve always been uncomfortable in hospitals.
“Are you feeling okay?” Nate asks. “I can see if the nurse can give you some more pain medicine. They had to put stitches in the cut on your forehead.”
My hand goes involuntarily to my face, where a bandage is secured in place. Even a light touch makes me wince with pain, but I’m finally awake and somewhat lucid.
I shake my head. “I don’t want to fall asleep again. I need to talk to you.”
Nate opens his mouth to speak, but I shake my head. I need to get this out, to make him understand why I’ve held back, why it took me so long to give in to my own feelings.
“Every relationship I’ve had in the last ten years has ended.
I figured it was karma or something, that after I hurt you, happiness just wasn’t mine to take.
And I didn’t want you to end up as another casualty of this curse.
To start a relationship and then have it end once we’re both fully invested. ”
His eyes soften. “Rory, I’ve been invested since the minute you came back.
Before then, even. I’ve waited ten years to have another chance with you.
There’s nothing you could do that would make me regret trying.
” He takes a deep breath. “I love you. And you’re worth the risk.
No matter what happens in the future, I’m all in with you right now. ”
A swell of hope rises in my chest. He loves me.
“I love you, too,” I whisper. “I thought setting you free was the right decision. But I talked to my parents about what they said that night. About why I did what I did. They told me that everything happens exactly like it’s supposed to.
And…I’m starting to believe them. That maybe this was always supposed to be our path. ”
The curtain flings open, interrupting our moment.
“Is this yours?” A heavyset woman in cartoon-print scrubs holds out a quivering body.
“Spam!” I hold my arms out. “How did he get here?”
“Shoot.” Nate looks at the floor around his chair, and I realize his police jacket is there, crumpled on the ground like something was resting on it. “He was right here. How did he get away from me?”
The nurse dumps the dog unceremoniously on my chest. “Keep an eye on him, please. We don’t usually allow dogs around here. We’re making an exception for Officer Patterson here, but if he winds up in the nurse’s station again, I’m kicking you both out. He tried to eat my purse.”
I squeeze Spam to my chest and kiss his little head. “Oh, Spam, I’m glad you’re okay. You must have been so scared.” I look up, something occurring to me. “How did he get here with me? Did someone find him?”
Nate clears his throat. “I got him out of the truck. He’s fine, just a little shaken up.”
That clinches it right there. I’m one hundred percent in love with this man. The man who rescued my annoying dog and made him a bed out of his work jacket to make sure he was comfortable. My heart melts.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Nate finally cracks a smile. “I figured Ollie would be lonely without him. The two of them have bonded. And I kind of like the little runt, too.”
That makes me snort with laughter. I’ve seen Ollie’s expression when Spam is up to his antics, like stealing all of the dog toys. Ollie is patient, but I’m not sure he’s bonded with the smaller dog.
“Anyway, I think Ollie will be happy to see both of you and know you’re okay. I had someone take him back to the station so I could stay with you.”
Suddenly, none of those things that seemed so important only a few days or hours ago are even on my radar. All that matters is Nate. Me and Nate, together, with our little family of dogs.
I swallow against the lump in my throat and nod.
A smile spreads over his face. There’s a layer of scruff on his chin that tells me he didn’t shave this morning, and I love that I know him well enough to know this.
“Good,” he says simply.
The pull of sleep grows stronger. But with Nate here, I’m okay. I close my eyes with a smile and drift off.
I wake as the curtain pushes back, and Dr. Bowman walks back in. Nate is still in the same seat next to the bed, and Spam has somehow ended up in his arms.
“How are you feeling, Rory?” he asks, shining a light in each of my eyes as I squint.
“Okay.” My head throbs, and it’s being made worse by the light he’s shining in my eyes, but otherwise I’m fine. “Can I go home soon?”
He clicks the light off and slides it into a pocket. “Despite that nasty hit you took to your head, I think you’re good to go, Rory. But you still could have a concussion, and you’ll need someone to check on you for the next day or so.”
I open my mouth, but before I can say anything, Nate jumps in.
“She’s staying with me.”
Dr. Bowman gives Nate a short nod as he pushes the curtain aside. “Okay, then. I’ll be back with your papers in a few.”
A few minutes later, he hands Nate a stack of papers with instructions on them, a prescription for pain pills, and a pair of disposable scrubs that look insanely uncomfortable.
“Here, put these on,” Nate says, holding them out. “You can’t exactly go home in a hospital gown.”
I look down at the ugly fabric I’m wearing. “What happened to my clothes?”
He shrugs. “They were covered in blood, and they cut them off you when they brought you in. Haven’t you ever seen any of those ER shows? Or like, Grey’s Anatomy?”
I snatch the scrubs from his hands. “I guess.” I hope Nate didn’t like that sweatshirt I borrowed this morning. “Give me a second.”
I pull on the flimsy outfit. It’s not at all flattering and not at all comfortable, but I suppose beggars can’t be choosers.
I turn on the bed and dangle my feet over the edge.
Nate holds out a hand to me. “Ready to go home, babe?”