She’s okay.
She’s okay.
The mantra thudded in rhythm with my pulse.
Conscious wasn’t dead. It didn’t mean she was doing bloody cartwheels, but at least she was alive.
After a seeming eternity, the lift doors pinged open. I sprinted into the hall, leaving my escort behind. I didn’t need them to tell me which room Scarlett was in; I could see Carina and Brooklyn standing outside, their faces pale with worry.
Carina opened her mouth, but I didn’t wait to hear what she had to say before I barreled into the hospital room.
I didn’t care if that was rude. I needed to see Scarlett with my own eyes, or I would fucking combust.
The door shut behind me. I came to an abrupt halt, my chest heaving as I stared at her.
She lay half propped up in the bed, her body swaddled in a loose white hospital gown that was almost the same shade as her pale, waxen complexion. She was hooked up to several machines, and gauze dressing covered half her forehead.
She blinked in visible shock when she saw me. “Asher?” Her voice was barely audible.
My lungs twisted, cutting off the free flow of oxygen.
“Hi, darling.” I swallowed as I approached her bedside. “Next time you want to get a hold of me, a call would suffice, yeah?”
Scarlett’s smile was a shadow of its usual self.
The vise in my chest constricted further. I’d seen her tired, I’d seen her in pain after a flare-up, but I’d never seen her look this fragile and exhausted. She was always so vibrant and full of life, and the evidence of her mortality instilled a bone-deep terror in me.
“You know me. I like a little drama.” She coughed. “How did you find out I was here?”
“Brooklyn called me. She tried calling your brother too, but his phone was off.”
Did they get through to him? Did he know his sister was in the hospital, or was Coach holding off on telling him until after the match? He should be at the stadium by now, but if he did know what happened, he’d be here. Vincent’s care for Scarlett was one of the things I’d never questioned about him.
“He always turns his phone off before a match. Said it’s too distracting,” Scarlett murmured.
I smoothed her hair back from her forehead, careful not to exert too much pressure lest I aggravate her injury. “What happened?”
“Nothing. I got dizzy and hit my head.”
“That’s not nothing.” My hand lingered over the gauze. “How much does it hurt?” I asked quietly.
Not just the injury, but everything.
Her silence said more than words could.
Jagged shards raked through my insides. My heart felt like cracked glass, its pieces held together only by the sound of Scarlett’s breaths.
I hated this. I hated the asshole whose car rammed into hers, I hated that medical technology wasn’t advanced enough to take away her pain, and most of all, I hated how helpless I was.
Despite all my money and all my fame, I couldn’t do a thing.
“It’s not too bad.” Her voice grew fainter. “I pushed a little too hard during rehearsals, that’s all. I’ll be fine after some rest.”
My shoulders stiffened.
Her feelings toward the showcase ran deeper than the mere act of performance, and I had to tread carefully with what I said next.
“The showcase is in December,” I reminded her gently. “You have two months of rehearsals left.”
Based on the stubborn jut of her chin, I knew it was a lost cause before she even responded. “I’ll be more careful in the future. I can make it to December.”
Frustration swelled. She was already killing herself to prove she could make it through rehearsals like everyone else. I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing her go through two more months of this.
Her collapse wasn’t the result of one bad day; it had to be an accumulation of them. I wasn’t sure what hurt more—the fact that she hid it from me or the fact that I hadn’t been there to notice.
My schedule was always packed during the season, and we’d been prepared to spend more time apart than over the summer, but dammit, I should’ve been there.
“I’ll always take care of you.” I cupped her cheek, my chest aching. “But promise me you’ll also take care of yourself.”
Scarlett’s eyes gleamed with emotion, and she responded with the tiniest of nods.
“I’ll leave so you can get some rest.” I leaned down and brushed her lips with mine. If I had the choice, I’d stay by her side until she was discharged, but that would only distract her. She needed to sleep. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”
I stood and turned to leave.
“Wait. I just saw the time.” Scarlett’s voice gained a modicum of strength along with panic. “Your match. You have to go. It’s starting in—”
“I’m not going.” I’d already instructed Sloane to call Coach and tell him what happened. He would give me absolute hell for it later, but I’d deal with that when the time came.
