32. Matt

Ishove open the door and tear down the hallway to the nurses' station. They look up from their papers, jaws dropping when they see me.

"You need to get a doctor now. Patient is Zak Kacey."

For a long second, they don't move. They just gawk at me.

I slam my hand on the counter to get them to snap out of whatever fog they're in. "This is the emergency wing, yeah?"

Fuck charm.

Zak needs help.

"Y-yes, Mr. Harrison. We'll get a doctor in there right away."

I run back down the crowded hallway and slide back into the room. A nurse is already next to his bed checking his vitals, his mom standing by his other side.

"Tell me what you're feeling right now," the nurse says as she wraps a blood pressure cuff around his arm and pumps.

"It started out as pins and needles, like everything just woke up. Then a rush of pain from my lower back shot into my legs." Zak winces. "It hurts. Fuck, can you give me something?"

"The doctor is on his way here with your scan results. Before I give you anything, I need to make sure it's the correct treatment."

I crack my knuckles behind my back, hovering near the door. I want to be close to him, to hold his hand.

My heart lodges in my throat.

He can move. He's not paralyzed.

Relief washes over me, almost immediately drowned out by apprehension.

If I go any closer, I run the risk of him telling me to leave. It's safer here.

Maybe.

Then again, he pretty much hates me right now. I'm not safe from his wrath anywhere.

"You don't need to stay," he says flatly, not even looking at me. "I'm sure you have better things to do."

"I want to make sure you're okay." I clear my throat, but the sides rub against each other like sandpaper, making my mouth dry as hell. "I'm staying, unless you want me to go."

He turns his pained gaze at me, his mother's dark eyes following. His spit hate and fury, but hers tell a different story. They don't accuse. They're softer, hopeful.

I don't want to leave. Fuck, I don't want to lose him, either.

His hard glare tells me that ship has sailed.

His mom's expression tells me I might have a chance.

Maybe it's wishful thinking on my part, but I cling to that hope like it's a lifeline keeping me from drowning in the abyss of darkness my life would become without him.

A tall guy in a white coat pushes past me. I catch a look at his profile. He's lean with dark glasses, kind of like Clark Kent. The heart in my throat clenches when I see him look at Zak, a wide smile on his face.

Of course, he's got a fucking dimple to boot.

"Mr. Kacey, good news. Your scans don't show any sign of spinal damage, although we did confirm you have a concussion, so we'll need to monitor you here for the next six hours or so."

"But I couldn't feel my legs since the accident, only regained some feeling a few minutes ago… is that related to the concussion?"

"No." The doctor furrows his brows and moves the bed sheet aside. "What do you feel now?"

"I told the nurse I have a lot of pain. Lower back, shooting into my legs. It was pins and needles to start. Then, it came on full blast."

The doctor massages Zak's legs, then uses a little hammer thing to test his reflexes.

I crack another knuckle.

The doc's hot. And he looks interested in Zak. Too interested.

"Your reflexes look good." He marks something on his iPad and smiles at Zak. "You know, a lot of times situations are so traumatizing that a person's body doesn't respond to external sensations. It can absolutely be the case with car accidents. But when it happens, it just means the pain is more psychological than physiological."

"So, feeling can just come back without warning? All of a sudden?" I blurt.

Shit. I didn't mean to say that out loud.

Zak glares at me but doesn't say anything.

The doctor looks over at me and then back at Zak. "What usually happens is when the psychological circumstance is addressed, the patient begins to feel sensations again."

My brows furrow.

We didn't address anything about the accident.

Then, like a kick to the stomach, I realize we didn't resolve anything.

Or at least, I didn't.

But Zak did. He made it clear that what he wants isn't me, that he wants me out of his life.

Did I fucking cause him to be temporarily paralyzed? I caused him to get into that accident. Am I the one responsible for all of this?

Sweat beads on the back of my neck. My gut wrenches.

I've hurt him so many times, I've lost count.

I need to get out of here. I have to let him go, just like he said before I dragged him back into my fucking fucked-up life.

Zak's fine. Got his mom, the nurse who's getting him pain meds, the doctor who's still ogling him.

Jesus Christ, he's just been in a fucking car accident but whatever.

He doesn't need me. He doesn't want me.

I study the tiled floor, the chip in the corner nearest my toe. I think it hurts more being ignored than being yelled at.

"I'm so sorry," I mumble to the air. Without moving my gaze from the floor, I stagger out of the room and away from Zak.

Forever, just like he wants.