Since?
“What’s going on?”
“Well, son, you hit your head pretty bad when you fell from the explosion. I’m getting you set up to go to the hospital.”
“Oh, okay,” Ridge complied. He didn’t understand what his uncle was talking about. He couldn’t remember any explosion, though he and his cousins did like to set off mortar shells.
The haze that had sucked Ridge in earlier started to return and his body grew heavier and heavier with each passing second. He felt like he was drowning in his own skin.
“Delilah,” he mumbled as he closed his eyes and gave into the fall.
He was choking. Whatever tether was wrapped around his throat, it was suffocating him.
“Ridge?” Hold on, let me get a nurse.” A voice, like the sweet melody of an angel, spoke to him. Something inside him recognized the siren’s call.
A stern voice bellowed from his other side. “Mr. Connelly, I’m going to remove your intubation tube.” A second later, it felt like a wire bristle brush was being pulled out of his throat.
“Water,” he coughed out once the agonizing process was done.
“Small sips,” the angel said from his other side, pressing a tube to his lips. He took three small sips then she pulled the refreshing water from his mouth. “Rest now. I’ll be here when you wake up.” The softest of touches brushed against his forehead and it calmed every ache and pain in his body. “I love you, Ridge. You’re going to be okay.”
“Ugh,” he moaned as the bright lights assaulted his eyes even behind the lids. It burned as he forced them open and the dull pounding of his headache intensified as he took in the monitors beside the hospital bed.
With what little strength he had remaining, Ridge turned his head in the other direction, surprised to find a small woman curled up in a vinyl recliner.
River.
She was here, and she was safe.
The fire.
The break-in.
The explosion.
It all came rushing back to him in waves.
“Delilah,” he croaked, his visitor instantly straightening and rushing toward him.
“She’s safe and sound. I swear to you. She’s staying with your aunt and uncle for the time being.”
“Good. . .that’s good. You?”
“I’m fine. A few bruises, but better than expected.”
“What happened?” he asked her, slowly sliding his hand over to grasp hers. He needed her touch like a lifeline.
“Well. . . that’s a long story,” she began; then a nurse popped her head into the room and enthusiastically exclaimed that he was awake.
“Welcome back, Mr. Connelly. How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been run over by a truck.”
“Or in a fire explosion?” she joked.
“That too. How long have I been in h
ere?”