Of course, she came.
“Sorry, sir,” a doctor starts, stepping into view. “You can’t have visitors yet. You have a concussion, two cracked ribs, and we need to evaluate?—”
I’m already pushing myself upright.
Pain explodes across my side.
Sharp.
Hot.
Doesn’t matter.
“Sir—”
“I don’t give a shit.”
“It’s relatives only,” the doctor insists.
“She’s my fiancée. If you won’t get her, I will,” I rasp, forcing myself to swing my legs over the side of the bed.
The floor tilts.
The world sways.
Someone grabs my arm.
“Lay back down, please. You lost consciousness. We need imaging. Your oxygen levels were unstable.”
“Get,” I snarl, voice raw and wrecked, “her here. Now.”
There’s something in my tone.
Something that makes even the doctor pause.
One of the nurses hesitates.
“I will. Lay down and I will. She’s been here for hours, you know,” she says quietly.
Hours.
Jesus.
What did she think?
What did they tell her?
Did she think—the thought punches the air from my lungs harder than the crash did.
“I need her,” I grind out.
The doctor sighs sharply.
“Fine. Get her, nurse. And you lie back down or I will sedate you myself.”
I don’t answer.
I’m still trying to stand.