“I don’t know why I never suspected she was wearing a wig.” Bran laced his words with a light-hearted tone. “I’m usually so observant. Maybe I need some new glasses...”
His joke almost brought a smile to Liam’s face, but he couldn’t let himself be happy until he knew Carly was safe.
“You know that’s not what I meant.” Liam stroked the soft skin on her arm. “I just wondered if she’d told you. Fordham didn’t know, either. He looked about as shocked as I did.”
“The only thing she told me was that she didn’t blame you for her brother’s death, and only because I asked her, point blank.”
Carly’s fingers tightened on his, then loosened and pulled away. Her eyelids fluttered open. Her brows bent, a vertical line etching between them.
“She’s waking up!” Liam pumped his chair until he was standing again. He bent over her. “Carly? Can you hear me?”
Bran moved next to Liam. “Are her eyes open?”
“Where am I?” Carly rasped, breaking into a weak cough.
“At the hospital,” Liam said. “Does your stomach hurt?”
She blinked at him a few times and then whispered, “My head hurts,” so softly that he’d barely heard her.
“What did she say?” Bran asked.
“She said her head hurts. I asked about her stomach because the doctor said nausea is a sign that her brain is bleeding.”
“I guess her head is supposed to hurt after she cracked it on the driveway, right?” Bran twisted his mouth. “She sounds like her throat is dry.”
Liam pounded his forehead with the palm of his hand. No wonder he’d had to bend over to understand her. “You want a drink?” He grabbed the cup from the bedside table and put the straw to her mouth. She sucked some down, but choked, coughing.
“Let me sit her up.” Bran’s hands followed a thick cord to the bed control and pushed the button to elevate the head of the bed. “Good thing they mark these in braille.”
Liam fluffed the pillows behind her, taking care not to bump her head. In a sitting position, she took a few sips of water and swallowed, relief on her face.
“Do you know my name?” Liam asked her.
She looked at him like he was a little off. “You’re Liam. And that’s Bran.”
“Do you remember what happened?” Liam would never forget, though he wished he could. Over and over, it had played in his mind—the car moving toward her, his hand pressing the brake... too late!
The line between her brows returned. “I remember we went sledding. And then we ate lunch...”
“Do you remember going on the snowmobile?” Liam grimaced, wishing he could press redo on the entire afternoon. It had been going so well until he’d gone ballistic. At one point early on, her hands had gotten cold despite her gloves, and he’d tucked them up under his coat. And when they’d stopped for a break, he’d even thought he might try to kiss her again. That was before his pride had turned him into an idiot.
“Kind of.... What happened to my head?” Her hands lifted to her head. Then her eyes flew open wide as she probed frantically at the bandages. “My hair!” she cried as she turned her head away and sandwiched her face between her arms. “Go away! I don’t want you to see me like this.”
“You look exactly the same to me,” Bran said, with a smile she couldn’t see.
“And I don’t care about your hair, Carly,” Liam declared. Then his mouth started babbling faster than his brain was working. “I just want you to be alive and healthy. You don’t have to do this alone, okay? Whatever this is, I’ll fight it with you. No strings attached. And you don’t have to decide now. No pressure.”
“Uhm... should I leave?” Bran asked.
“Yes,” Liam said, simultaneously with Carly’s, “No.”
“You can stay, Bran,” she said. “You’re a good reminder that worrying about my looks is nothing but vanity.”
She brought her arms down, the defeat in her expression tearing at Liam’s heart.
“The doctors need to know about your cancer and treatment and medicines and such.” Though Liam wanted her to tell him about her cancer, he thought it might be located in some personal area she wouldn’t feel comfortable discussing with him. “They need you to sign a release form.”
“My cancer?” She looked confused. Had she already forgotten they had discovered the wig replacing her hair?
“The chemotherapy,” Liam said, gently. “Whatever made your hair... you know...”
“Oh! Because I’m bald.” She nodded her comprehension, then grimaced, her hand flying to the back of her head. “That really smarts!”
“And we were trying to locate your next of kin,” Bran said. “But now that you’re awake, you can just tell us who you want us to call.”
“Why do you need my next of kin?” Fear filled her eyes. “Am I dying?”
“You just have a concussion.” Liam reached for her hand, but she yanked it away, folding it under her other arm.
“Did I fall off the snowmobile?”
“Oh boy,” Bran murmured as he turned to exit the room. “I’m going to tell Dr. Kemp she’s awake. I’ll let you tell her what happened.”
“It was after we went snowmobiling.” Liam stalled as he watched Bran make his way out the door, hoping he wouldn’t have to spell it out. “Do you remember when I was trying to drive away, and you were banging on my window, trying to stop me?”
She gasped, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth, and tears flooded her eyes. It must’ve come back to her. “You were drinking!”
Drinking? Did she think the kombucha was alcoholic?
