I nodded.
"He's fine. He's being looked at by another doctor as we speak."
A little bit of the stiffness in my body lessened. I could handle this place if I knew he was okay.
"I'm just going to take a look at those stitches," the doctor said, snapping on a pair of white gloves.
His fingers probed through my hair and I gritted my teeth. His touch wasn't the touch I was used to. It wasn't familiar; it didn't feel good. I didn't really want a stranger to touch me, but I tilted my head down and let the doctor do what he needed to do.
"That's a nasty gash," he said. "You're lucky you're friend was able to close it up. He even saved your hair."
I glanced up. "My hair?"
The doctor pulled his hands away and reached for a tray filled with instruments (instruments = torture). "Yes, if you would have come here with that head wound, we would have shaved the hair around it before we stitched it."
My eyes widened. "Are you going to do that now?"
He laughed. "No need. It's already healed. I am going to take the stitches out and make sure there are no signs of infection."
When I didn't say anything, he picked up a pair of scissors. "You might feel a slight tugging sensation."
He removed my stitches and then examined the wound. Then he assessed the rest of me, asking me a hundred questions. By the time he was done, I was annoyed and exhausted.
The doctor promised to get my discharge papers and then left the room. I was only too happy to see him go.
Before the door swung closed, Nash slipped inside.
"How's the head?" he asked, coming up to the table I was sitting on.
"Good as new," I replied. Suddenly, the noise and the chaos of the hospital didn't seem so bad.
Gently, he turned my head so he could see the area he stitched. These were the hands I was used too. When he was done looking, he dropped a kiss to the top of my head. "Looks good."
"Did they say you could go too?"
He nodded.
"Thank goodness. This place is loud."
He chuckled. "It's going to get louder," he warned.
"What do you mean?"
The door opened and my mother and father burst into the room. "Ava! Oh my God, we thought you were dead," my mother cried.
I sat there in shock. They'd flown all the way from Miami to this hospital in Bermuda?
Nash stepped out of the way just in time to avoid her arms as she crushed me in a bear hug. "Hi, Mom," I squeaked, returning her hug while struggling to breathe.
"We were so worried for you! What you must have gone through! All alone on that island."
"I wasn't completely alone," I said, pulling away and glancing at Nash.
That earned him a crushing hug. "Oh, are you the one who saved my Ava?"
Dad gave me an apologetic look and then offered me a hug of his own. "Glad to have you back, pumpkin," he whispered in my ear.
Tears pricked my eyes. "Glad to be back." I breathed in the familiar scent of him.
"Young man," my father said to Nash, holding out his hand. Nash took it and they shook.
"Dad, this is Nash. Nash, this is my dad."
"You the pilot?" my dad asked, eyeing him.
"Yes, sir."
He made a harrumphing sound and I rolled my eyes. "Dad, Nash kept me alive. He stitched up my head," I explained, poking at the scar I now sported.
"Stitches!" my mother wailed.
She was dramatic.
She should be on soap operas.
"Yes, Mom. But the doctor says I'm fine." I gave Nash a look, trying to tell him that I wasn't about to tell them what else happened on that island.
My mother could do a one-woman show with all that drama.
He seemed to understand and nodded perceptively.
"How did you know we were here?" I asked my father.
"We've been in contact with the search and rescue and the Coast Guard from the beginning. When they first saw the smoke flare, they contacted us and we flew out immediately."
"How did you know it was us?"
"We didn't."
But he had hoped. I gave him a watery smile.
The door opened yet again and more people filed into the room. This time it was the woman from the picture with my grandmother, Nash's abuela. She was followed by a woman with long, dark curly hair and green eyes. Behind her was a tall man with lighter brown hair. I knew right away it was his parents. He looked a lot like his mother.
"Nash!" his abuela cried and then broke into rapid-fire Spanish that made my head spin. I watched him, wondering if he understood what the heck she was saying.
He smiled and nodded. Then he returned her monologue with one of his own-matching her speed.
Wow. He really talked slow to me on that island. And I still hadn't understood.
Before I could ponder that further, he finished talking, and all eyes swung to me. His mother and grandmother both converged, wrapping me in a hug at the same time. They started talking and exclaiming in Spanish once more, and I sat there in the center of them, feeling like I was starring in some sitcom on TV.
"Mom," Nash said with a laugh. "Ava doesn't speak Spanish."
His mother pulled back and looked at me with tears in her eyes. She stroked the side of my cheek with her hand and I actually saw affection in her eyes. "Bella," she murmured.
"Si," Nash replied. "She's very beautiful."
His grandmother kissed me. "You look like your abuela."
That was the first time anyone ever told me that. I started to cry.
Everyone started talking at once. People were patting my back. My mother was going on about some movie about people who talked to coconuts when they were stranded.
"Everybody out!" Nash yelled over the chaos.
Everyone stopped talking and looked at him. "We love you all. We can't wait to spend time with you. But we need a minute."
To my surprise, they left. My father was the last to go, pressing a kiss to my head. Then he gave Nash an approving look and shut the door behind him.
I collapsed against the table. "It's like a circus."
He chuckled. "Your mother seemed nice."
I burst out laughing. "Tell her that she should have been an actress and she will love you forever."
"So what now?" he said, his voice taking on a serious tone.
It was the question I'd been dreading since we first crashed onto that island. Probably because I knew what I had to do, what this would come to if we ever made it out alive.
Part of me actually wished we had been able to stay there. Even with everything that happened, things on that island seemed simpler.
"Hey," he said softly, coming up and wrapping his arms around my chilled frame. "Why don't we go to the hotel? Shower, get some food. Then we'll talk."
I snuggled into him a little closer, taking a deep breath. He still smelled like the ocean.
"Okay," I replied, my answer muffled against his shirt.
I wasn't used to him wearing a shirt.
"Where'd you get the shirt?" I asked.
He grinned. "One of the nurses gave it to me."
Damn nurses were probably checking him out.
"Come on," he said, lifting me down off the table. I was so incredibly tired all of the sudden.
"The doctor didn't bring my paperwork back."
"We'll sic your mother on him."
I laughed.
He reached for the knob on the door and then stopped. He spun, grabbing me by the shoulders, and looked so far into my eyes I wondered if he saw my soul.
"We're going to be okay," he whispered. "Even if it takes a while."
He kissed me.
It was our first kiss that wasn't on a beach. Our first kiss in the "real world." It was everything it always was: hot, consuming, and deep. I curled my hands into his T-shirt, gripping the cotton fabric tightly. He turned his head one way and then the other, covering every angle he could. His mouth was an onslaught to my already overwhelmed senses. Kissing him was something I would never ever get enough of.
Yet …
Yet this felt like the last time.
It was like we were saying good-bye.
Like when he gazed into my eyes, into my soul, he saw exactly what I tried to hide, exactly what I refused to admit.
And it was like he was telling me it was okay.
The kiss ended too soon. We stood there, bodies pressed together, my hands still tangled in his shirt. He kissed my nose. He kissed my forehead.
"You ready?" he asked, hoarse.
No. "Yes."
He opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. I didn't move. My feet were glued to the floor. I knew the minute we walked out of this room, everything would change.
When I didn't follow, he turned back. He gazed at me so tenderly I literally felt my heart crack.
"Bella," he murmured, stoking my hair. "I know what you're thinking."
"You do?" My voice trembled.
"Yes. You think we need to go our separate ways."
The crack deepened a little bit more. "What if what we feel … ?" I gestured between us. "What if it was all just a product of our environment? Two people trying to survive?"