Another grunt as I tried to sip down some water. I wasn’t sure how to tell this doctor that I wasn’t throwing up because of head trauma but because I was a goddamn murderer. I glanced down at my hands and noticed they were clean, not a speck of blood in sight.
“That’s to be expected. Migraines and vomiting are common symptoms of a concussion. We’ll be keeping you overnight for observation, and we’ll assess you tomorrow to make sure you’re safe to go home.”
I nodded, still sipping down the ice-cold water. It didn’t matter where I spent the night. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep. The sight of Mr. Moretti’s lifeless body sat at the back of my mind.
The pocket-sized doc looked down at his clipboard and nodded. “It looks like besides your head and face taking a bit of a beating and that wicked bruise on your chest from the seatbelt—you came out of the accident relatively unscathed. You’re a lucky one, Ms. Mitchell.” Looking at his watch, he grimaced. “Alright, I’ll be back to check on you. If you need anything, just buzz the nurses.”
He bounced out of the room. Dad came and sat down next to my mom, his eyes still on the door. “I don’t know that I believe he’s old enough to be a doctor.”
My mom slapped his arm. “Stop it. He’s been very professional.” Shaking her head, she looked back at me. “Oh honey, we’re glad you’re okay.”
I squeezed her hand. “Me too.” I finally took a good look at my parents and realized they were all dressed up. “What were you guys up to tonight?”
Mom blushed. “The Fire Department banquet was tonight.”
“I interrupted date night? Damn it! I’m sorry, guys.”
Dad smiled at mom. “No worries, kid. I got to dance with my girl before we got the call.”
My mom’s blush deepened outrageously. These two drove me crazy, but damn if I didn’t want what they had with each other.
“As long as you got to dance.” I laughed and rested back on the pillows behind me. “Now that I’m awake and you know I’m fine, why don’t you two head home and finish date night?”
All humor drained from my parent’s faces, and dad added his hands to mom’s and mine. “We have to tell you something, Sasha.”
I chuckled to ease some of the tension out of my body. “You guys aren’t getting a divorce, are you?”
They both shook their heads, but neither cracked a smile.
“Unfortunately.” Dad paused, shifting on his feet. “Luca’s dad didn’t make it.”
A bark of laughter left my mouth before I could measure my response. Thank god my parents misunderstood, thinking I was in disbelief. Mom moved closer and rubbed my arm. “Sweetie, I’m so sorry. I know this must be a shock to you.”
Nodding, I forced my face into a frown. “I can’t believe he’s gone.” I tried to cry, but it wasn’t happening. Mourning for the evil dead wasn’t in the cards.
Tears glistened in my mom’s eyes. “I know. We saw Luca in the waiting room. The poor boy looked devastated.”
A shiver went down my spine. I felt the tug of that invisible tether. “Is he still here?” Hope wiggled in my chest.What if he came for me? What if he realized he was being a dumbass?
“He’s right out there. He wanted to check on you before he went home.” Frowning, my dad shifted in his seat. “I told him we’d have to see what you said because, well, you know.” He pursed his lips.
There was no question, of course, I was going to see him. I would just have to deal with the fallout after, something I’d gotten pretty good at doing.“Right. Yeah, you can bring him in.”
Sighing, dad stood up and left the room. Mom ran her fingers through my hair, a last-minute primp. If it wouldn’t have hurt too much, I would’ve smiled, but my cheeks were throbbing. “Let’s prop you up.” She shoved another pillow behind me. The movement aggravated sore muscles.
Batting away her hands, I pursed my lips to hold back the groan. “That’s good. Thanks, Mom.”
Just then, Luca and my dad walked into the room. Dad rejoined us while Luca stood at the door. He was no longer wearing a tux. Instead, he was dressed in joggers and a hoodie. Memories of Sunday mornings spent lazing about while Luca cooked me breakfast in bed ran through my head.
God, I love him.
Coughing, Luca pulled a colorful bouquet from behind his back. “Uh, I brought you these.” He placed them on the table below the TV and then came to stand at the bottom of the bed. “How are you feeling, Sash?”
Luca’s dark eyes traced over me, taking inventory of every scratch and bruise. They stopped on my cheek that was being held together by stitches. His brow furrowed, and he raised a hand toward me, even though there was no way he could reach me.
“We’re going to go grab a coffee from the cafeteria. Be back in a minute.” My parents shuffled out of the room as Luca and I stared at one another.
Finally, Luca looked toward the door. “I see Maggie Mitchell is as subtle as ever.” Shaking his head, he drifted toward the chair and sat. I watched as he raised and lowered his hands a few times until he ultimately clasped them around my free hand.