“Hold on. I’ll tell you, I promise just—”
“Where. Is. She?” I growled.
“Stubborn one, aren’t you. Fine then, it’s your funeral.” She gestured to the door across the hall, and I strode to it without another word.
I knocked three times just in case—oh, like it fucking mattered. I was going in no matter what.
“Come in,” she said, and I ripped past the curtain and immediately stilled.
She was in a hospital gown, with a white bandage that went from wrist to her upper bicep. Her face was bruised in places and scratched up in others. She was pale as hell but alive.
“Sawyer?” She stared at me like I was the one banged up.
“Are you okay?” I walked to her bedside but didn’t know if I could touch her safely or if she’d even give me permission to do so.
“I’m a little shaky, but so far, I’m okay. How did you know I was here?” She tilted her head and glared at something—someone behind me.
“I called Scythe, and JoAnna gave me his number,” Annabelle answered from the doorway.
“JoAnna?” Echo challenged.
“Yep. She said you gave it to her just in case she needed you, and you weren’t picking up your phone?” Annabelle’s voice was sugar sweet, contrasting Echo’s narrowed eyes.
“Don’t you think I would have called him if I wanted him to see me like this?” she snapped, then winced and lightly touched her forehead.
“Sure, if your phone hadn’t been pulverized by that truck,” Annabelle answered.
“Your phone was pulverized? Jesus, what happened?” I braced my hands on the rail of her bed to keep from reaching for her.
Echo sighed. “You can leave us now, oh meddling friend.”
“Pleased to be of service!” Annabelle shut the door on her way out.
“She’s listed as my emergency contact,” Echo grumbled in explanation as she plucked at the hospital gown with her good hand.
“I’m kind of losing my mind here, and I know that’s selfish seeing as you’re the one in the hospital bed, but could you please put me out of my misery and tell me what happened to you?” If I gripped the rail any harder, I’d bend the damn thing.
“Guy in an F-350 ran a red light and plowed right into my passenger side. Good thing it wasn’t the driver’s side, right?” She brought her gaze slowly to mine with a shaky smile.
My knees went weak, and I grabbed the nearest chair, then scraped it across the floor until I sat as close to her as possible. “That was the sound.”
“Sound?” she asked.
“When you called me, there was a sound, and then the line went dead.”
She blinked rapidly but finally nodded. “Yeah, I guess so.”
Why had she called me? The question was pressing against the roof of my mouth, but I bit it back. None of that mattered if she was hurt.
“How hurt are you?” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees.
“I’m okay,” she promised. “You didn’t have to come.”
“For fuck’s sake, of course I came. I’m in love with you!” I snapped.
Her eyes softened.
So did my tone.
“How hurt are you, Echo? Broken bones? Internal?” My mind spun with the awful possibilities.
“Laceration up my right arm.” She pointed to the bandage with her left hand. “Cut goes from my wrist to my shoulder, and I lost count of the stitches after seventy.”
“Oh, baby,” I whispered before I could stop myself. “What else?”
“Bumps, bruises, minor concussion. Nothing you need to worry about.” She leaned her head back against the pillow but didn’t look away.
“Of course, I’m worried. If it were nothing, you’d be out of here already.” My phone rang, and I silenced it without looking to see who it was.
Worry shadowed those turquoise eyes, but she shook her head. “There’s nothing. They put me in a CT scan, and I’m just here waiting for the results. I’m fine. It’s my passenger seat you should check up on.”
I laughed despite the situation. I both loved and hated how she could always do that. “You called me,” I said softly, now that I knew she wasn’t in any mortal danger.
“I called you.”
Two breaths passed. Three.
“Why? You have to tell me.”
She bit her lip, then winced when she aggravated a little cut at the corner of her mouth. “Because I missed you. Because I like your house.”
“I miss you too—wait, what?” I leaned forward until we were only a foot or so apart.
“I like your house,” she repeated quietly. “I hate the whole suburban vibe. You know that. But I like your neighborhood—that it’s full of your friends. Our friends, I guess. And I like all the light from the windows, and I love that landing when you first walk in. You should get a piano for that space, but paint it pink or something.”
“You can paint the entire house pink if you want to.” My eyes searched hers as my heart thudded to life.