1
ASPEN
For a while, there is nothing but pain. So much pain, I can’t even pinpoint where it’s coming from. Where am I hurt? My head, my leg, or my stomach? Everything?
I must have been hit by a bus. Any minute now, I’ll wake up in some hospital, my parents standing beside my bed, worrying and waiting for me to open my eyes.
The smell of rubbing alcohol is thick in the air, adding to my hospital theory. The only thing missing is the sound of a heart-rate monitor beeping in the background.
I strain my ears, trying to make out any other sound, but there is nothing for a long time. When I finally do hear the creaking of a door, I try to pry my eyes open, but they feel like someone glued them shut.
“She looks like she’s in pain,” a deep raspy voice says. The man’s voice sounds somewhat familiar, but I can’t match it to a face at the moment.
“I haven’t given her any pain medicine yet. I just got the toxicology report back. I had to know what kind of drug she was on first,” another man explains. I don’t think I know this guy at all. At least his voice sounds completely foreign to me.
Someone touches my arm, and my body jolts, sending ripples of pain across my skin.
“Give her the pain meds already. I don’t want her like this when my son gets back.” The voice is closer now as if he is standing right next to me. I’m certain I know this man, but I can’t figure out who it is.
I give opening my eyes another try, forcing my heavy eyelids to open just a tiny bit. It takes a lot of energy, but I am finally able to get my eyelids to move.
At first, I can’t see anything but bright light. After I blink a few times, my blurry vision slowly adjusting, I’m able to make out two men. Both stand beside my bed, and just like I thought, I don’t know one of them. The other, however, I know very well. Xander Rossi.
My first instinct is to be scared, to scramble off the bed and get away from him, but one look at his face has me pausing to reevaluate the whole situation.
Every interaction I’ve had so far with Xander has been hostile. Even when he wasn’t openly threatening me, he always had a grim, I-will-kill-you glint in his eyes. Not today. Today, his eyes are soft, creases of concern are edged into his forehead, and his lips are pulled into a frown. Today, he looks… tired.
“Don’t try to get up. Just relax and let the medicine work,” the unknown man says. “This should take care of the pain. You will be much more comfortable soon.”
I watch him attach something to the IV drip standing next to my bed. It takes me another moment to realize that IV is attached to my arm. My gaze wanders from the clear tube sticking out of my arm to the bruised skin around my wrist.
What happened? Why am I here, and where even is here?
The man, who I think is a doctor, steps away, but Xander remains by my side. “I normally don’t let people I do not trust enter my home. This is my sanctuary, Aspen, the one place I can let my guard down and be with my family in peace. I don’t like you being here at all, but given the special circumstances, I’m allowing you to stay. This will be your sanctuary, too, while you recover. No one will harm you while you are inside these walls. Do not make me regret this kindness.”
I open my mouth to ask him why I’m here, but my throat is so dry it only makes me cough. The sudden movement has pain exploding through my chest and abdomen. My eyes squeeze shut as tears roll down my cheeks. I try to curl up, wanting to hold my torso as if that could fix me, but my arms are so heavy.
As if this day couldn’t get any weirder, when I open my eyes again, Xander is holding out a glass of water in front of my lips. Sliding his hand under my neck, he lifts my head carefully so I can drink. I take a greedy sip, letting the cold liquid soothe my burning throat.
With the same gentle touch, he lays my head back and sets the glass on the nightstand. Just as I let myself sink back into the soft pillow, I can feel the medicine spreading through my veins. Slowly, the pain fades away, and a warm and fuzzy feeling takes its place.
“Get some rest,” Xander instructs before turning around to leave.
Suddenly, I’m scared. Scared to be alone, and I don’t know why. “Wait,” I croak, making him stop to look at me over his shoulder. “I-I don’t… I mean, I—” I stumble over the words. How do I tell him that I don’t want to be alone?