“Lucy…it’s me, Sam. Can you hear me?” I’m thankful that yes, I can, but the urgency of his tone has me wetting my suddenly dry lips.

  “Yes. I can hear you. What’s wrong?”

  Silence once again.

  Nostalgia wraps me in a tight bubble, and I don’t understand why. That is, until the world stops spinning, and I relive the worst day of my life. But this time…this is so much worse.

  “There’s been an accident.”

  It’s unimaginable how one simple, ordinary word can change a person’s life forever.

  “Lucy? Lucy, can you hear me?” asks my ex-fiancé, Sam. The trepidation laces his tone, but I can’t speak. I can’t verbalize that yes, I can hear him, because the moment I do, I’ll have to accept this horrible nightmare as being real.

  I don’t fail to see the resemblances to the past and now.

  Pulling it together, I refuse to believe. Fate wouldn’t be that cruel. “I-I can hear you. What accident?”

  It’s funny the things you remember and the things you don’t. But sometimes, those forgotten memories are brought back to life by a simple word, a certain smell, or sometimes, a single moment. Sadly, for me, this is a memory, a moment I will never be able to forget.

  “It’s Saxon…”

  And alas, it seems that fate will always find a way.

  So my story seems to have come full circle. I find myself in the same position, just a different time. There is no way fate could be this cruel, but I’m living proof that it is.

  I don’t know how many days it’s been since I last spoke to Sam. Three, maybe four. Everything from the moment he told me Saxon was involved in an accident forward has been a blur.

  The details were vague. He’s in St. Mary’s Hospital in Portland, and I was to come quick.

  As much as I hated to leave, the moment the line went dead, I was on the way to the airport, booking a ticket back home. Thanks to the airstrikes, I had to wait a couple of days.

  Having no communication with the outside world, the not knowing, is far worse than the truth, and by the time I boarded the plane, I was beyond exhausted. But every time I closed my eyes, my mind conjured up scenarios that prohibited sleep. In the end, I simply sat motionless, counting down the seconds until I landed.

  The moment I stepped off the plane, the severity of what I was facing hit me, and I ran faster than I’ve ever run before. It was light out, but I had no idea of the time. That didn’t stop me from hailing a cab and asking him to take me to the hospital and not to be shy about breaking the law.

  We arrived thirty minutes later, which is now.

  I stand in front of the tall white building, which houses the fate of my future. Saxon is inside, but what exactly am I walking into. A sense of peace surrounds me, but the manicured gardens and well-tended blooms are an illusion, there to soften the blow.

  Gripping the straps of my backpack, I walk up the stairs, proud of myself for not dashing into the foyer like a madwoman. I will not overreact. I will think positive and brush negativity from my mind.

  However, when the marbled counter comes into view, memories crash into me, and I suppress a whimper. The young nurse with earrings that look like pink glitter baubles smiles. I focus on the shimmer and not on the sharp, medicinal stench which stings my nose. “Hello, Miss. Can I help you?”

  “Hi. I was wondering what room Saxon Stone is in?” I could have called Sam the moment I landed, but my cell had died, and I didn’t have time to spare.

  “Sure. Let me just check for you.” She tinkers away at the computer while I dig my fingernails into my palms. “He’s in room 317. Go up this hallway, take the third left…” As she’s giving directions, all I can think is thank god, he’s not in intensive care. Or worse. It can’t be that bad, right?

  Once she’s done, I thank her, before following her instructions. Natural light fills the long hallways, brightening the stark white paint. A sense of stillness walks in my footsteps as I hold hands with positivity, but it’s in vain when I take the third left. The farther I venture, the darker and more suffocating things become.

  A dull beige replaces the white, and the light has been throttled, giving way to darkness. The tone is quiet, nurses whispering, visitors dabbing at their red-rimmed eyes. When I pass a chapel, a gut-curdling wail fills my gut with dread. Nevertheless, I refuse to give into the doom and gloom, but my steps become a brisk walk.

  Please let me turn the corner and return to the light, I chant over and over again.

  As I watch the numbers above the doors, though, my optimism soon makes way for realism because I come to a stop in front of room 317. The curtain is drawn, so I can’t see who’s inside. A small part of me hopes there’s been some mistake, but I must let go of the dreamer and embrace the realist Lucy because I’ll need her when I walk over that threshold and into this room.

  Hushed voices are coming from inside—a man and a woman. “No change. Any signs of life?”

  “None.”

  Unable to stomach this a second longer, I charge inside, my squeaking sneakers on the linoleum making my presence known. “Hello?”

  A doctor in a white coat peeks his head out from around the curtain. “Hello? May I help you?”

  “I’m Saxon’s…friend. How is he?” I hate to refer to myself this way, but if I were of importance, the hospital would have contacted me by now.

  The furrow lines around the young doctor’s face have me feeling faint. “He’s stable for the moment. Have you spoken to his family?”

  “Just his brother, Sam. I’ve been in Syria for work.” Sweeping my hands downward, I hope to explain my ratty appearance as I haven’t had a chance to shower or change my clothes. “Can you please tell me what happened?”

  This is possibly against all hospital protocol, but the doctor must sense the desperation in my tone. He emerges fully, closing the curtain behind him. His actions have me wondering what state Saxon is in. “Mr. Stone had a motorcycle accident. He was struck by a truck and fell down a twenty-foot embankment. He’s sustained a very serious head injury. At the moment, he’s in an induced coma to give his brain time to heal.”

  “All I really remember is looking over that embankment and seeing my best friend’s broken body.” It appears fate has a sick, twisted sense of humor, after all.

  “How long has he been in a, a…coma?” That word fills me with dread.

  “He was brought in four days ago. We’ve taken him out of the ICU because…”

  “Because why?”

  “Because his condition has not changed. It’s not worsened. Or improved.” In other words, Saxon is a lost cause. They’d rather give that bed to someone who has a hope of surviving.

  “Is that a good or a bad thing?” I know what the answer is, but I need confirmation.

  He reaches for his chart off the wall. Looking it over, he sighs. “We’d hoped to see some response by now. There is very little brain stimuli.”

  Oh god. I hug my middle, disbelieving that I’m here once again. “May I see him?” I whisper, my need to be close to him leaving me breathless.

  “Of course. The nurse is just cleaning him up. She won’t be a minute.” With nothing left to say, he replaces the chart and goes to leave. However, he stops and touches my shoulder. “Don’t be alarmed when you see him.” His assurance has the opposite effect, but I’m thankful nonetheless.

  The respirator and other beeping machines sound loudly, which gives me an insight into what I’m walking into. Yes, I have lived through this before, but this is so much worse. “You can come in. I’m almost done,” says a soft voice from behind the curtain.

  Wiping my sweaty palms onto the legs of my jeans, I know winding myself up will never prepare me for this, so I step forward and gently pull back the curtain. It takes me a moment to process what I’m seeing because the sight before me is beyond words.

  I blink once, dumbfounded, and unsure if I’ll ever be the same again.

  “It’s okay, you can come closer.” But that’s the thing, I can’t. If I move a muscle, I’m afraid of crumpling into a heap.

  “That’s…that can’t be him,” I whisper in a faraway tenor, refusing to believe that the broken and bruised man lying in that bed is Saxon.

  “We had to shave his head. There was extensive fluid on his brain, which we had to drain.” That would explain the bandages wrapped tightly around his head. “He broke five ribs and fractured his neck. This machine is helping him breathe.” I know there are far more injuries, but she’s sparing me the details. “All we can do now is hope and pray.”

  “What?” I ask, almost awaking from a slumber. “There isn’t anything more you can do?” She pulls up the starchy blanket, tucking him in tight.

  “Until he wakes, there isn’t much we can do. But he’s in the best hands. We’ve got the best head trauma unit in the country. You can sit with him.” I haven’t moved an inch, still rooted to the spot, utterly numb.

  When she passes me, I recognize the look she wears—pity.

  Long after she’s gone, I finally find my feet and stagger toward Saxon’s bedside. The closer I get, the more apparent his extensive injuries become. His face is battered and bruised, appearing swollen due to the breathing tube providing him life. His chest rises and falls steadily, but I know that’s thanks to the respirator.

  He barely looks like the man I love with every inch of my heart, but when I reach his bedside, his colorful tattoos catch my eye. The gravity of what I’m seeing hits home, and I crumple into the chair, sobbing. I’m responsible for this. If only I’d fought harder…insisted he stay. Or if only I’d stayed.

  This is what nightmares are made of, but I’ll never wake from this dream because this is real. Reaching for his hand, his cold, lifeless hand, I stroke my thumb over his grazed knuckles. Bringing his fingers to my lips, I kiss each one, remembering the way they loved me, caressing me any chance they got.

  “Oh god. This is all my fault,” I cry quietly, his passivity cementing that he’s lost in a world I will never be able to save him from. “But I’m here now…and I promise, I’ll never leave your side again.” With tearful eyes, I examine the machines keeping him alive, hoping to see any signs of life. But all I see is Saxon slipping away from me. A hole is ripped through my heart, and I feel nothing but emptiness.

  Shuffling forward, I gently place my ear to his chest, needing the fervent rhythm to block out this pain. His smell is long gone. A sharp medical tang replaces his familiar muskiness. “No,” I sob, crawling onto the bed and burying myself into the crook of his neck. I wrap my arms around his neck and inhale him into me, wishing I could breathe my life into him.

  Underneath the bitterness, I can smell him. My love. My life. “I’m so…s-s-sorry,” I weep, holding on tighter with no intention of ever letting go. “Fight…please. Don’t let this be it. I never—” my chest trembles uncontrollably as I attempt to speak without breaking “—I never got a chance to tell you that I love you. That you’re it for me. You always have been. You have to wake up. I can’t do this without you. My heart isn’t just breaking…my entire body is. Please…come back to me.” I’m sobbing uncontrollably, holding Saxon as we lie side by side. “You’ve always protected me. So now, it’s my turn to protect you.”

  “Will you take care of me?”

  “Yes,” he replies after a drawn-out silence.

  “You promise?” I know this can’t last forever, and I’m afraid.

  He counters with so much emotion, his sincerity brings tears to my eyes. “Yes, I promise.”

  “For how long?”

  Pause… “For as long as you want me to.”

  As I fall into a deep sleep, the word, “Forever,” replaces good night.

  I remember those words as if they were only spoken yesterday.

  “You promised me forever,” I whisper, rubbing my nose against the length of his neck. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to end.”

  “Lucy?” For a split second, I allow myself to believe that my name slipped through the lips of my beloved, but I can’t pretend, it hurts too much.

  “Hi, Sam.” I clutch Saxon, shuffling closer so we’re pressed together snugly. I don’t care that I resemble a madwoman. Touching Saxon to ensure he’s real is all that matters.

  “When did you arrive?” he asks. I can hear him entering the room.

  “Just a few minutes ago.”

  The bed dips, indicating Sam has taken a seat. “Did you see his doctor?”

  “Yes.” I close my eyes.

  The silence is drawn, Sam most likely figuring out what to say. But there isn’t anything he can say. Even when he was in the same position Saxon is, I had hope. Now, all I’m left with is this insufferable pain siphoning off my air supply.

  “Any change?”

  “No. He’s still unresponsive. Do you know any other details? I know he was run off the road.” The similarities to Sam are uncanny, but why does this feel far more gruesome?

  “Not really. His workmates have been in and out. They said he left without a word…but wherever he was going, he was in a rush to get there.” This small shred of information only stirs more questions than answers. What was he doing? Where was he going?

  “He’ll be okay, Lucy.” Sam gently rubs my leg, offering me hollow words of comfort. The urge to throw up suddenly overcomes me, and I shoot up, giving Sam a near heart attack as I run to the bathroom.

  Once I’m done being sick, I cradle the toilet bowl, my tears bouncing off the porcelain. Before this tragedy occurred, I was faced with a prospect which now seems like the most important thing in the world. Splashing my face with cold water, I peer at my reflection, giving myself a scare at how worn-out I look. There is no animation behind my eyes because my life is lying in that hospital bed, comatose.

  Rubbing a small circle over my belly, I know it’s time to find out once and for all. “Will you sit with him? I just need to go to the pharmacy,” I ask Sam as I exit the bathroom. He sits in the blue plastic chair beside Saxon.

  His broken reflection is a mirror image of mine. His hair is snarled, his stubble is shaggy, and the bags beneath his eyes reveal he’s had as much sleep as I have. “Of course. I haven’t left his side. Neither have your parents.”

  “My parents? They’re here?”

  Sam nods. “Yes. Piper is back home, trying her best to look after the ranch. But your parents and I, we’ve taken turns. He hasn’t been alone.” Those words touch me beyond belief because knowing he’s had someone by his side ebbs away at the grief. “I thought you’d need them here too.”

  A fresh set of tears sting my eyes. “Thank you, Sam.”

  “For what?” He genuinely looks puzzled.

  “For being here for him…when I couldn’t.”

  He lowers his gaze, sighing regretfully. “I owe him.” Nothing but sadness laces his admission, and regardless of the past, of everything said and done, blood is thicker than water. Both Stone brothers have proven this. That in spite of their differences, they will always stick by their kin.

  And this is the reason I fell in love with them both. They’re empathetic, strong, but most of all, they are good.

  “I won’t be a minute.”

  “Take your time.” A sense of peace settles over me knowing Sam is with Saxon.

  Once we ended things, Saxon took off on his Harley without a word to Sam. He could have argued or thrown punches, but what would be the point? It didn’t change the truth. Throughout this entire ordeal, Sam and Saxon were able to reconnect. Even if it was for a small fraction in time, those memories are real. If my naivety, my need to see the world through rose-tinted glasses was able to bring them together, then that’s one thing I did right.

  The pharmacy is downstairs, so I catch the elevator to the ground floor. These walls have seen so much sadness, but as I reach for a pregnancy test on the shelf, I also realize it’s seen some miracles as well. I can only hope I bear witness to one too.

  I pay for the test, asking the cashier to put it inside a paper bag. There is no hiding from the truth, but I can’t do this now. Here. If it proves positive…the thought is too heartbreaking to process.

  My stomach gurgles, and I don’t know if that means I’m hungry or if I need to throw up. At this stage, I’m betting on the latter. I make my way back up to Saxon’s room, relieved the nausea has subsided for now. That relief is short lived however when I hear a voice filled with complete malice address me. “You have some nerve showing your face here… You should be…”

  “Cleo! That’s enough.”

  My head snaps up, unsure if I’m really seeing Cleo and Hogan standing up ahead. But when she comes charging down the hallway, fire behind her eyes, I know they are. Hogan grabs her arm, but she shrugs violently from his hold.

  “This is all your fault!” she yells, disregarding my personal space. But I don’t flinch. “If only you’d stayed away from him, he wouldn’t be in that fucking hospital bed!”

  She’s right. This is my fault. If only I’d begged him to stay. Or if only I’d gone when he asked me to leave, things would be so different. “I’m sorry,” I state, refusing to cry.

  “Save your apologies. They mean nothing to the dead.”

  A gasp leaves me, but that’s soon followed by rage. I am seconds away from slapping her cheek. How dare she. “He is not dead. I know you’re upset, but we all are, and talking that way doesn’t solve anything. It was an accident, and yes, of course I blame myself…”

  “So you should!” she exclaims. Hogan stands at her back, his eyes lowered. His stance is that he agrees with her. He may not like her delivery, but he stands by every word that she says. He knows something, they both do, and I’m about to find out what.

  “Hogan?” He guiltily meets my eyes. “Do you know where Saxon was going?” After a few still seconds, he nods. “Where? And why didn’t you tell Sam?” The pieces of the puzzle are there, but the disorder clouds my vision.

  When more silence greets me, my tether snaps. I’m breathless, clutching onto the paper bag, afraid of the truth. “Hogan? Tell me!”