41. Sawyer
Sawyer
I woke to dim light.
The air smelled faintly like antiseptic and plastic tubing. Somewhere to my left, a machine beeped steadily, rhythmic and irritating enough to drag me out of sleep whether I wanted it to or not.
For a few seconds everything was fuzzy.
Then pieces came back.
Addison beside me. Her fingers wrapped around mine. Her eyes red and terrified as she leaned close enough that I could feel her breath against my skin.
I love you.
The memory was soft around the edges, mixed with nurses moving around the bed and medication burning cold through my IV. Someone had said they were taking me to a room. Addison had promised she would be there when I woke up.
Then everything had gone dark again.
It felt like a dream.
My brain was still slow and thick, like it was trying to wade through fog. My body didn’t feel like mine. Something about the position of my arm felt wrong, stiff and heavy, and a dull ache threaded through my ribs and back like someone had rearranged the pieces while I wasn’t looking.
Then I tried to move.
Pain exploded through my right shoulder.
It was sharp and immediate, hot enough to steal the air from my lungs before I could brace for it. A rough sound slipped out of me, low and involuntary, and the room tilted as the pain spread down my arm.
“Hey. Hey, it’s okay,” Addison said softly.
Her voice cut through everything.
I turned my head slowly, careful this time not to jolt whatever fragile arrangement my body was currently operating under. The room came into focus in pieces. The IV pole beside the bed. The pale curtain pulled halfway around the room. The dull blue blanket covering my legs.
And Addison.
She sat in the chair beside the bed, leaning forward like she had been that way for hours. Her hair was pulled back messily, strands slipping loose around her face. Dark circles shadowed her eyes in a way that definitely hadn’t been there yesterday.
She looked wrecked.
The second she saw my eyes open, relief washed over her face. Her shoulders dropped like she had finally let go of a breath she had been holding for hours.
“You’re awake,” she said quietly, her voice wobbling on the last word.
I swallowed, my throat dry and thick.
“How long… was I out?”
“Almost six hours. It’s a little after three.” She reached for my hand, carefully avoiding my injured arm. “They got you settled in here, gave you more medication, and you went right back to sleep.”
Her fingers felt warm around mine.
Steady.
I studied her face, trying to separate what had happened from whatever my brain had invented.
“You said you loved me, right?”
Addison went completely still.
Then her eyes softened. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I did.”
“So that wasn’t a dream?”
“No.” Her thumb moved gently over my hand. “It wasn’t a dream.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
“Good.”
A shaky laugh escaped her, though tears immediately filled her eyes. “You scared the shit out of me,” she said.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Just don’t ever do that again.”
“I’ll try.” I tried to shrug, and pain immediately shot through my shoulder. “Shit—”
Addison was already moving. She pressed the call button beside the bed with one hand while her eyes flicked over my face like she was trying to memorize it.
“Don’t move,” she said quickly. “Please don’t move.”
“I’m fine,” I said automatically.She gave me a look. “You are absolutely not fine.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but before I could get a word out, a nurse stepped into the room. She moved with the calm efficiency of someone who had done this a thousand times before, adjusting something on my IV line while asking me to rate my pain.
I lied.
“Six.”
It was closer to eight and a half.
Addison didn’t contradict me out loud, but I felt her hand tighten slightly around mine like she knew.
The nurse explained everything again while checking the monitors. Shoulder injury. Dislocation. A torn ligament and additional damage they repaired during surgery. Stitches near my eye from meeting the pavement a little too personally.
I nodded along, still only half following the details through the fog in my head.
“When can I go home?”
“Possibly later today. The doctor may keep you one more night depending on your pain.”
“What?” I asked, sharper than I meant to.
Before I could argue further, Addison answered.
“Okay,” she said calmly. “Whatever the doctor thinks is best.”
I turned my head toward her. “No, that’s…”
“Do you need blankets or anything?” She asked Addison. “I assume you’re staying with her the rest of the night?”
“I am, and no I’m fine, thank you,” Addison said, impossibly polite.
The nurse gave a small, approving nod. “If you need anything…” She looked at me. “Actually, I’m talking to her because I have a feeling, you’re the grin-and-bear-it type.”
She rolled her eyes with a smile before looking back at Addison.
“Just press the call button.”
“I will. Thank you.”
Addison tapped my side hard enough for me to get the message.
“Yes, thank you,” I said.
“You’re welcome. Again, my name is Leann if either of you needs anything.”
Silence settled in again, broken only by the steady beeping of the monitor.
I stared up at the ceiling.
I hated hospitals. I had ever since my sister died. The smell, the stiff sheets, the way everything looked too clean and every sound echoed too loudly. Most of all, I hated being stuck in a bed while other people decided what happened to my body.
“I don’t need to stay,” I muttered after a moment. “I feel fine. I could go home.”
Addison shifted her chair closer to the bed. “Sawyer…“
I glanced at her.
“You were hit by a car,” she said softly. “You just had surgery. You don’t get to walk this off.”
“I’ve walked off worse,” I replied.
Her eyes flashed with something sharp.
“You do not get to be tough right now,” she told me.
There was no anger in her voice. Just fear. And care so thick between us it felt almost physical.
I closed my eyes for a moment. When I opened them again, my voice came out quieter. “I don’t like this.”
“I know,” she said immediately. “But I’m here.”
That helped more than I wanted to admit.
After a while, though I wasn’t sure how long, I shifted slightly in the bed. Time felt strange in hospitals, stretching and folding in ways that made it impossible to measure.
Comfort apparently wasn’t an option.
My shoulder ached constantly, like someone had packed the joint with broken glass. I probably needed more meds, but I was trying my best to ignore it. The mattress was too narrow, too stiff, and every position felt wrong.
“Addie?” I said.
She looked up instantly. “Yes?”
“Will you… come here?”
She hesitated. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she said carefully.
“You won’t.” After a moment, I added quietly, “I don’t want to be alone in this bed.”
Something in her expression softened.
She nodded and carefully climbed onto the narrow hospital mattress beside me, moving slowly like she was handling something fragile. She settled awkwardly at first, half on her side and half propped on one elbow.
“You good?” I asked.
“I’m fine.”
She was lying.
A faint smile tugged at my mouth. “Liar.”
She let out a quiet laugh and shifted until she fit closer against me. The second her body settled against my side, warm and careful, something in my chest loosened.
My breathing slowed. My muscles unclenched like they had been waiting for permission.
“Oh,” she murmured, feeling the change in me.
I nodded and rested my forehead against her collarbone. “Yeah.”
For the first time since the accident, I got comfortable.
Then I drifted off to sleep.
When I woke again, it was almost nine a.m. everything hurt.
My body felt stiff and heavy from the medication. A dull throb pulsed behind my eye and a deeper ache settled into my shoulder every time I breathed too deeply.
Addison was still there.
She had fallen asleep curled around me in the same careful position, her arm draped loosely across my waist. Her neck bent at a strange angle that couldn’t possibly be comfortable, and she clearly hadn’t moved.
I watched her for a while. The slow rise and fall of her chest. The faint crease in her brow even in sleep, like part of her was still worrying.
When she woke, it happened instantly. Her eyes opened and focused on me like she had never fully gone under.
“Hey,” she said softly. “How do you feel?”
“Like I lost a fight with the ground,” I said.
She winced sympathetically.
“The doctor came in at seven thirty while he was doing his rounds. He ordered more pain meds and the nurses gave you more through your IV, so you stayed asleep and comfortable.” She brushed her thumb over my hand. “He’ll be back soon. They’re planning to discharge you this afternoon.”
“Good.” I winced. “I think the pain meds have worn off.”
She gave me a look.
“I’ll call the nurse.” She pressed the button before I could protest
A few hours later, the doctor came back and discharged me.
With instructions. We both knew Addison was the one actually paying attention. And she did.
Every word got filed away in her brain. Ice. Medication schedule. No lifting. No stupid attempts at pretending nothing had happened. She asked questions I wouldn’t have thought to ask and nodded like she was committing everything to memory.
* * *
When we got to my place, Addison took over, going into nurse mode right away.
Pillows appeared. Ice packs. Water bottles. A blanket somehow materialized from who knows where. She made sure I had all my meds, and set alarms in her phone to be sure I took them on time. She moved around the apartment with quiet purpose while I sat on the couch feeling increasingly useless.
“I can get my own water,” I said when she came back from the kitchen carrying a fresh glass.
She stopped and looked at me. “You have one functioning arm right now.”
“I have one functioning arm,” I repeated. “Not zero.”
A smile tugged at her mouth, but she handed me the glass anyway.
I took it with my good hand and immediately fumbled it.
The bottom clipped the edge of the coffee table before I managed to catch it.