Chapter 5

Matt

Five days later…

Floatiness is the first thing I'm aware of. Drifting, drifting… Then the sound of distant voices. Someone calling my name, but they're so far away, and I'm so comfortable here in the floaty place?—

"Matt, time to wake up," the polite but firm voice insists, and suddenly it's not so distant. I'm not floating—not exactly—and the world is noisy and?—

"Owwwwww," I moan. The sound that comes from my throat is more like a croak, but it yanks me all the way back to consciousness, and I pry my eyes open.

Then squint them shut again. Too bright.

"Let's turn off the light directly overhead," the polite voice orders, and then a second later, she says, "Okay, Matt, could you open your eyes again?"

I'm more cautious this time, slitting the right one open first, then, when I'm not immediately blinded, opening them both… but only halfway. The face above me isn't one I recognize, but the white coat is. So is the steady beeping noise beside me.

I'm in a goddamn hospital.

"Welcome back," the woman says with a smile. "I'm Dr. Howard. Can you tell me your name?"

I mean, yeah . Even if I did have amnesia, she just freaking said it . I'm not stupid. "Matt," I croak. My mouth feels like an ocean dried up in there, leaving all the inhabitants to slowly die and decompose in an arid wasteland.

Her smile doesn't falter as she takes a cup from someone outside my field of vision and holds the straw to my lips. "Just a tiny sip," she cautions, and since I've been in this position before and don't want to hurl, I obey. The water is lukewarm and is the best thing I ever tasted. "Great. Now… what about the rest of your name? Can you tell me that?"

"Coates. Matthias Simon Coates." Fuck, just moving my mouth is exhausting, but if I want her to answer questions for me, I need to get this over with. "My birthday is May 16, and the year is 2015."

The hush that falls over the room—not to mention the way the doctor's face drops—is worth the scolding I'm going to get. "Just kidding."

"Fuck you," a familiar voice curses, and I crane my neck—ow—trying to see around the doctor.

"Ian?"

"I hate you."

"You two can hate each other in a minute," Dr. Howard says dryly. "Matt, that was very funny." Her deadpan tone indicates otherwise. "Your mental faculties seem intact, but I need to ask a few more questions. And we are going to run some tests later."

Of fucking course. Though, given the fact that my whole body hurts, I probably want all those tests. "Okay. More water?"

She holds the straw to my lips again, then says something about getting me ice chips. I guess she doesn't trust me not to guzzle the water the second she's gone. "Do you know where you are?"

"The hospital," I answer, then, as she narrows her eyes, I add, "The last place I remember being is Reno on November 9. I travel a lot for work." If I'm still in Reno and Ian's here, that means I've been unconscious for a while. Long enough for my family and the Collective to find me and get here.

Panic surges. "Ian," I call urgently, trying to sit up and then subsiding with a cry when pain tears through me.

"Please lie still, Matt," the doctor urges, reaching to hold me down—gently, but it still fucking hurts. I don't care, though, because when she moves, my family comes into view—and Dylan is with them.

Thank fuck. He knows. He's not sitting at home wondering if I'm dead.

He's just watching me with a pale face and bruise-like shadows under his eyes.

It hurts too much to muster a reassuring smile like I want to, but I meet his gaze and hope he can see how glad I am that he's here.

"What is it?" Ian asks, moving half a step forward.

Uh. "My car," I croak. It's the first halfway decent lie I can think of. "They'll tow it."

"The police have your car," he tells me. "They found it when they found you."

My gut freezes. My kit . Did the police?—

Ian shakes his head the tiniest bit. Okay. If the police did find my kit, they haven't mentioned it to my family. And Dyl's here, which means he would have hacked in and checked. So my kit wasn't in the car.

Or with me.

That's… weird. What was I doing without my kit?

The doctor seems satisfied that I'm not going to move again, because she lets go of me and steps back. "You're at Renown Regional Medical Center in Reno," she confirms. "Do you remember what happened?"

I cast around in my head, but there's nothing. I got to Reno, checked into my shitty motel, then… "No."

"Okay. That's not unusual—you've been unconscious for a long time, and that can interfere with memory. If you do remember any details as time progresses, let us know. The police will want to interview you at some stage, also."

I want to know what happened to me, but her comment about me being unconscious for a long time scares me. "How long?"

"Sorry?"

"How long was I unconscious?" My gaze goes back to my family. They all look exhausted—except that asshole, Marc. I can't believe Ian brought him here… or that he loves him. I swear, my bestie's got a whole bucket's worth of loose screws in his head. "What day is it?"

The doctor hesitates, and the beeping beside me picks up speed. I know why—I can feel my heart beating faster.

"Matt, please stay calm. We'd rather not have to sedate you again. Just try to breathe steadily," the doctor says in a soothing kind of voice that has the opposite impact.

Then, suddenly, my heart rate settles. I don't know why, because my brain is still freaking the fuck out, but my body is weirdly calm. Did they give me something after all?

"That's better." Dr. Howard's smile is approving, but past her, Connor turns his head to glare at Marc, and it hits me suddenly that he's doing it. He slowed my heart back to normal.

The rage that rips through me has no effect on my body, and it's so strange. No adrenaline. No desire to clench my fists or teeth. Just the concept of being angry.

This is so fucked-up. When I get out of here, I'm going to cut up some of Marc's suits in retribution.

"You were found late on November 9 and brought here by ambulance. You'd been beaten badly—very badly—and we rushed you into emergency surgery to deal with the worst of your internal injuries. You had to be resuscitated three times during the surgery, and we kept you in a medically induced coma afterward while we waited for you to stabilize enough for further surgeries."

Holy. Fuck.

Suddenly, I'm glad for Marc's interference. Because the way my mind feels right now, if I was in full control of my body, I think I might be having a panic attack.

Instead, I swallow. It hurts because my throat's still dry, but everything else hurts anyway, so who cares?

"We were… honestly, Matt, we were surprised that you stabilized. You're a very lucky man. When you were well enough, we took you back into surgery to pin and set your broken bones. You got through those surgeries like a champion, and we have every belief that you'll fully recover… pending a few tests we need to run now that you're conscious."

I don't know what to say. "Thank you."

She meets my gaze. "Unfortunately, in order to save your life, we were forced to remove your spleen and your right kidney. We'll talk more during the rest of your recovery about what that will mean for you going forward. The orthopedic surgeon will come to talk to you also—there's a lot of rehab ahead of you, but the tendon and nerve damage we were concerned about turned out not to be as bad as we initially thought."

Uhhh… "Good?" My gaze goes to my family. Dylan's face is still, but Ian gives me a thumbs-up. Fuck knows what that means.

The doctor's smiling at me, so I guess she thinks everything's hunky-dory. "Now that you're awake and aware, we can move you out of the ICU and into a regular room. I know your family will like that—they won't have to take turns to sit with you anymore."

I still can't manage to make myself smile. "H-How long?" I whisper, and I'm not sure what I'm asking about. How long I was in a coma? How long I'm going to be in the hospital? How long it will take me to recover?

She seems to understand the question, though. "Today's November 16. Let's take things as they come, but if your recovery continues at this rate, you'll be out of here in no time at all."

November 16… a week ? I've been unconscious for a week? And I still hurt this much?

"We'll transfer you to a ward soon, but in the meantime, get some rest. You'll find yourself sleeping a lot—your body needs that to heal. And we've got you on some pretty good painkillers. Don't be a hero—if the pain gets bad, press this button." She holds up a cylinder with a button on top and a cord running from the other end. "Debilitating pain will slow the healing process, so don't let it get to that point."

What. The. Fuck . Happened to me?

"Doctor, how soon do you think we can have him transferred closer to home?" Gabe asks, moving forward. I blink, surprised. I know he and Connor will have to get back to Illinois—they run the compound there, and it's not good for them both to be away for long stretches of time—but surely Ian can arrange to stay here with me? A lot of his archives work is digitalized now anyway. And Dylan's work is completely online, so he can definitely stay.

I need him to.

So why do they want to transfer me to another hospital while I feel this shitty?

The doctor seems just as surprised as I am. "I understand it's difficult to be this far from home, but at this stage, I'd strongly advise against moving Matt. Maybe in a few days we'll have a better idea of what that timeline could look like. For now, until we run some cognitive tests and definitively rule out any kind of brain injury or impairment, there's no point even discussing it."

Gabe smiles politely. I recognize that smile—it's his "you're wrong but don't know it yet" one. There's definitely something going on. "Of course. Our priority is Matt's health. Is it okay for us to stay in here while you arrange to move him to a ward?"

She hesitates, glancing at… another doctor? A nurse? I have no idea. "I suppose so. Please keep your voices down for the benefit of the other patients, and if Matt starts to tire, let him rest. He really does need sleep more than anything else right now."

"We'll be good," Ian promises, and the doctor gives him a wry smile before she leaves, taking the other medical staff with her.

I watch through the glass wall until they're far enough that I don't think they'll hear us, and then demand, "What the fuck is going on?"