“Room four with her, please,” a female voice said to Jacob, who was pushing me in the direction of the room.
“This is where I take my leave, Lane,” Jacob said when he leaned back over me. “You hang in there, love, okay?”
“I will,” I said. “Thank you.”
Jacob left to go outside to talk to the nurse he was leaving in charge of me, so Drew came to my side.
“Drew?” I heard my mother shout, her voice clearly distressed.
Drew exhaled a huge breath of relief and rushed outside into the hallway. I closed my eyes as she said, “She’s okay. She’s awake and talking.”
“Lane,” I heard my mother cry, closer this time, and then a shadow came over me. “Oh, my baby.”
I felt her hands on me, and it upset her even more that I winced in pain when she pressed too hard.
“Oh, Christ.” Lochlan’s voice was strangled. “Lane.”
“Lochlan,” my father’s voice shouted. “What room do they have her – Lane!”
“No,” Lochlan shouted. “You don’t want to see her like this.”
“Get the hell out of my way!” my father bellowed, and I heard some grunting, then a male cry.
“Baby,” my father whimpered. “Oh, my girl.”
Wake up!
I forced my left eye open, and when my vision adjusted, my parents’ distraught faces came into view.
“I’m . . . okay,” I rasped.
This caused both of them to cry with what I think was relief.
“I’m okay,” I repeated, louder.
My mother leaned down and kissed every part of my face that she could, and I let her, even though it hurt like hell.
“My eye,” I said to her. “I can’t open it.”
Tears were streaming down her cheeks.
“It’s swollen shut,” she cried.
It is?
“Better than losing it,” I chuckled, trying to stop her tears, but I winced in pain when laughing made my chest hurt. “It hurts,” I said to my mother, tears welling in my eyes.
She called for a doctor, or anyone, to come in and help me then. I closed my eyes because the room I was in was bright, and my eyelids were very heavy.
“Lane,” a new male voice called out. “Lane, can you hear me?”
I was really tired, and I groaned in response to the voice.
“Lane, can you open your eyes for me?” the man asked.
I opened my left eye, but only for a second before it fell shut again.
“Is she okay?” my father’s voice asked. “Why can’t she stay awake?”
“I’ve only got partials on what happened – we’re still gathering information – but she has quite clearly received a lot of brute blunt-force trauma to her head. I’m hoping it is mostly cosmetic and her brain wasn’t affected. We will run an MRI and other tests after she is cleaned up and her wounds are stitched closed.”
I need stitches? I wanted to ask the question on my mind, but I could only groan instead.
“I know you’re hurting, Lane,” the man, who I guessed to be my doctor, said. “A nurse will set up an IV line and administer morphine to help get you somewhat comfortable.”
That sounded brilliant.
I heard the different voices of my family as they spoke to me and asked the doctor questions, but one voice stuck out, one pretty loud voice.
“Lochlan?” I heard Kale call.
“She’s down here,” Lochlan shouted.
“Quiet, please,” a voice chastised.
“I got here as fast as I could – oh, my God,” Kale breathed. “Lane. Oh, sweetheart.”
I’m here, I thought.
“I’m going to fucking kill the prick,” he growled.
“Drew,” my father said. “What happened?”
My brain chose that moment to fade into darkness, and I was thankful for it because listening to Drew explain what she saw wasn’t something I wanted to hear. Experiencing it was more than enough.
Four days later, I was still in hospital, but I was awake and fully alert to my surroundings. The first three days after I was brought to hospital, I was in the ICU because I didn’t regain consciousness after I conked out in the emergency room. My doctor assured my family it was due to some very minor swelling on my brain and that the rest would only do my body good as it began the process of healing. The MRI scan and other tests the doctors ran came back clear, which was good news. All of my injuries were simple flesh wounds and a couple of bruised ribs – which I thought was the sorest thing I had ever experienced. It hurt to breathe.
My right eye was still swollen shut, and I had a pretty nasty cut through my right eyebrow that took six stitches to close, and one on my left cheekbone that needed three stitches. All in all, I was expected to make a full recovery, with only a small scar or two to show for it. So the doctor said anyway. But he was wrong. What Jensen had done ran deeper than physical scars. What he’d done would stay with me for life.