CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Bee stood outside Wes's hospital room with one hand wrapped around the strap of her bag. His mother had come to tell her he was awake and asking for her. Now that only a few feet separated them, Bee could not make herself walk through the door.
She had imagined this moment through every hour Wes remained unconscious. In every version, she hurried to his bed and grabbed his hand before the tears began. She had never imagined standing frozen in the hallway while she wondered whether he had heard her confession.
Wes's mother appeared in the doorway and noticed her hesitation. The exhaustion remained in her face. The fear had loosened its hold. She offered Bee a reassuring smile before stepping aside.
“He's awake,” Wes's mother said softly. “He's been asking for you.”
Bee nodded and looked past her. Wes was propped against the pillows with his injured shoulder secured against his body. His eyes were already on Bee.
“Hey,” Wes said.
“Hey,” Bee replied.
Seeing his eyes open struck something deep inside her. The bruises and cuts were still there. So were the sling and machines. Wes was looking back at her now. The relief made her knees feel weak.
His mother glanced between them before lifting her purse from the chair. “I'm going to get something to eat. You two can talk.”
“Mom, you don't have to leave,” Wes said.
“Yes, I do,” his mother replied. “You've been asking for Bee since you woke up.”
“Mom,” Wes protested.
“I'm going,” she said with a small smile.
Bee moved aside to let her pass. Wes's mother gave Bee's arm a gentle squeeze before walking into the hallway. Her footsteps faded until the steady rhythm of Wes's monitor became the loudest sound in the room.
Bee approached the chair beside his bed and lowered herself into it. She was close enough to touch him. Both of her hands remained in her lap because she no longer knew whether reaching for him would feel natural or reveal too much.
Wes noticed the distance. His eyes dropped toward her hands before returning to her face. The concern in his expression made Bee grip the strap of her bag tighter.
“How are you feeling?” Bee asked.
“Like I got hit by a truck,” Wes replied before giving her a faint smile. “That isn't technically what happened. It feels close enough.”
Bee tried to laugh. The sound caught behind the tightness in her throat. “You're already making jokes?”
“I'm trying,” Wes said.
“You look terrible,” Bee told him.
“Thanks,” Wes replied.
Bee managed a small smile. “You look better than you did yesterday.”
“That didn't help,” he said.
“It wasn't supposed to,” she replied.
Her eyes moved over the bruising along his face. The memory of seeing him unconscious returned so sharply that the smile vanished from her lips. She could still feel his loose fingers resting against her cheek while she told him she loved him.
Wes watched her expression change. He did not know everything that had happened in this room while he slept. Somehow, he still seemed to understand where her thoughts had gone.
“My mom said you were here earlier,” Wes said.
Bee looked at him. “She told you?”
“She said you sat with me,” he replied.
Bee shifted in the chair. “Did she tell you anything else?”
“She said you talked to me,” Wes answered.
Bee's stomach tightened. “Did she tell you what I said?”
“No,” he replied. “She said that was between you and me.”
Bee let out a small, involuntary sigh. Wes raised his eyebrows when he noticed. The curiosity in his face made heat rise beneath her skin.
“That reaction makes me want to know even more,” Wes said.
“It shouldn't,” Bee replied.
“It does,” he said.
“You were unconscious,” she pointed out.
“I know,” Wes replied.
“Then whatever I said doesn't count,” Bee insisted.
Wes smiled faintly. “I don't think conversations work like that.”
“Conversations require two people,” Bee said. “You contributed absolutely nothing.”
“I was busy,” he replied.
“You were extremely rude,” she told him.
“I was unconscious,” Wes reminded her.
“Exactly,” Bee replied. “Very rude.”
Wes smiled again. For a few seconds, the hospital room disappeared beneath something familiar. Bee reached toward him without thinking and slipped her fingers carefully into his uninjured hand.
Wes closed his fingers around hers. The small movement nearly broke her. She had held this same hand while it rested motionless inside hers. Now he was holding her back. The proof of him hit harder than all the reassurances she had been given.
Bee lowered her face before he saw how quickly her eyes filled. She pressed her thumb against the side of his hand and tried to steady her breathing. Wes's attention moved to the bruises along her arm.
His fingers loosened around hers. “I'm sorry, Bee.”
Bee lifted her head. “For what?”
“The accident,” Wes replied.
Her relief gave way to confusion. “Why are you apologizing for that?”
“Because you got hurt,” he said.
“So did you,” Bee replied.
“I was driving,” Wes said.
Bee waited for him to explain why that mattered. He looked down at their joined hands instead. The guilt in his face told her he believed he had failed her.
“The other driver crossed into our lane,” Bee said. “Your mom told me what happened.”
“I know,” Wes replied.
“Then what are you apologizing for?” she asked.
“I should have seen them sooner,” he said.
Bee frowned. “How could you have predicted the accident?”
“I don't know,” Wes admitted.
“Then why are you doing this?” she asked.
Wes looked toward the window. His jaw tightened while his fingers stayed still around hers. He had carried these thoughts before she entered the room.
“I keep thinking there had to be something I could have done differently,” Wes said.
“Like what?” Bee asked.
“I don't know,” he replied.
“Turn the truck into a helicopter?” she asked.
Wes gave her a tired look. “Bee.”
“I'm serious,” she said. “What were you supposed to do?”
His gaze returned to the bruises on her arm. “I was supposed to keep you safe.”
Bee's fingers went still inside his. The words hurt more than she expected. She had spent the night begging him to stay. Now he was awake and measuring his worth by something no person could have prevented.
“I don't like that,” Bee said.
Wes frowned. “What?”
“You're saying you were supposed to keep me safe,” she explained.
“I was,” he replied.
“No, you weren't,” Bee said.
“You were in my truck,” Wes told her.
“I was on a date with you,” she replied. “I wasn't your responsibility.”
Wes looked directly at her. “You were my responsibility because you were with me.”
Bee slowly pulled her hand from his. His fingers tried to follow hers for a second before falling back against the blanket. The loss of his touch left her palm cold.
“I chose to be with you,” Bee said. “You didn't put me in that seat.”
“I asked you to come,” Wes argued.
“I said yes,” she replied. “I made my own choice.”
“I was supposed to get you home,” he said.
“You were taking me home,” Bee replied.
“I didn't get you there,” Wes said.
“Because somebody hit us,” she reminded him.
“I know,” he replied.
“Do you?” Bee asked.
Wes frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“You say the accident wasn't your fault,” she explained. “Then you tell me all the reasons you think it was.”
“That isn't what I'm doing,” he replied.
“Yes, it is,” Bee said.
Wes turned toward the window again. Bee waited for him to look back at her. He stayed quiet while the space between them grew around the hand he was no longer holding.
Frustration rose beneath her fear. She had spent hours wishing for nothing except another chance to hear his voice. Now every word she said seemed to strike a wall built from his guilt.
“I thought you were dead,” Bee said quietly.
Wes turned back to her. “My mom told me.”
“She told you I was scared,” Bee replied. “That isn't the same as hearing what happened.”
His expression softened. Bee looked down at her empty hands and tried to keep her voice steady. The memories returned before she could decide how much of them to give him.
“I woke up alone and asked where you were,” Bee said. “Nobody would tell me anything because I wasn't family. I didn't know if you were alive. I didn't know if you were in surgery or dying somewhere. I didn't know if you were already gone.”
“I'm sorry,” Wes whispered.
Bee closed her eyes. “Stop apologizing.”
Wes looked confused. “What am I supposed to say?”
“You don't have to say anything,” she replied. “You can listen.”
“I am listening,” he insisted.
“No, you're listening for another reason to blame yourself,” Bee said.
Wes's expression tightened. “That isn't fair.”
Bee stared at him. “You think this is fair to me?”
“I didn't say that,” he replied.
“I spent hours wondering if you were going to wake up,” Bee said. “Now you're awake. I'm sitting here trying to convince you that being alive is enough.”
“I never said it wasn't,” Wes replied.
“You keep telling me you failed me,” she said.
“Because that is how I feel,” he replied.
Bee shook her head. “You didn't fail me.”
“You don't get to decide how I feel,” Wes said.
“You don't get to make my injuries proof that you failed,” Bee replied.
The monitor continued its steady rhythm as they stared at each other. Neither of them moved. Bee hated that they were arguing after she had spent the night wishing for the chance to hear him argue with her about anything at all.
“You could have died,” Wes said quietly.
“So could you,” Bee replied.
“That's different,” he said.
Bee's eyebrows lifted. “How is it different?”
Wes hesitated. “Because I was driving.”
“That doesn't make your life worth less than mine,” she said.
“I didn't say it did,” he replied.
“You keep acting like it,” Bee told him. “You keep looking at my bruises as if they matter more than the fact that you almost died.”
Wes shifted against the pillow. Pain tightened his face before he looked away. Bee's first instinct was to stand and fix whatever hurt.