The Best of Winter Renshaw - An 8 Book Collection - Winter Renshaw Page 0,47

He hasn’t moved. He hasn’t awoken.

His nurse steps lightly across the room when she sees I’m up.

“No change,” she whispers.

I nod and gather my things. I’m going to step out and update my family, and they don’t allow phones in here. Plus, I don’t want to wake Brenda.

I leave his room and find a quiet corner in the waiting area, firing off group texts and posting an update on the Facebook page someone created. There are twenty thousand followers on that damn page. That’s double the population of Rixton Falls. It’s insane how quickly word spreads.

As soon as I publish my post, the little red notification pops up. Two people liked it within seconds. Then six. Then fourteen. Five comments. Then eight. Then eleven. Thirty-six likes. Fifty-four. Twenty comments.

It doesn’t stop.

I close out of the app and slide my phone in my pocket. I can’t possibly respond to all of them.

“Demi?”

I glance across the room to see Afton, the reporter from The Herald, approaching me. She’s dressed down today. Skinny jeans and a white blouse. Her beige coat is unbuttoned, and her blonde hair is pulled into a low bun. Gold and amethyst earrings dangle from her ears.

Afton looking so put-together makes me hyper-aware of the fact that I look like I very much just rolled out of bed.

“Hi, Afton.” I try not to hide my disappointment in her timing. My hair’s a mess and my breath tastes funky, and I’m not exactly in the mood to answer her lame questions.

“Did Brenda tell you I was coming this morning?”

“Yeah. She didn’t say what time.”

Afton toys with the press pass hanging from a black lanyard around her neck. “I was in the area a little earlier than usual today.”

“Not from Rixton Falls?”

“Nope,” she says. “Brooks . . . he didn’t wake up, did he?”

Her eyes soften, and I spot hope in her stare. She doesn’t conduct herself like a respectable journalist. She speaks to me like we’re on the same level, a couple of old friends.

“Where are you from, Afton?” I ask.

“Pardon?”

“You said you’re not from Rixton Falls.” I massage the back of my neck where it hurts. “Where are you from?”

Her pale cheeks turn a pretty shade of rose, and it’s not from her blush.

“A little town north of here,” she says. “You’ve probably never heard of it.”

“Try me.”

“Glidden,” she says. Her gaze falls to my ring. “Ever heard of it?”

I feel color draining from my face as I stare into her eyes.

It could all be a coincidence.

A very big, huge, weird coincidence.

“I have. Why don’t I see if Brenda’s up?” I point toward the corridor. No part of me wants to stand around and imagine pretty Afton all over my ex-fiancé, because that’s exactly what I’ll do—whether or not she is the mystery woman. “I’m sure she’d love to give you some quotes for your article.”

Before she has a chance to protest, I turn on my heel and trek back to Brooks’s room.

Only I’m not prepared to walk in and see him sitting up.

Eyes open.

Awake.

Air is siphoned from my lungs, and my hands clutch at my neck.

“B-Brooks,” I say.

Brenda turns to face me, tears in her eyes. Her smile fades for a moment. She’s disappointed in me for missing the moment he opened his eyes for the first time in a week.

“I—I went out there to make some phone calls,” I say, taking a seat at his side like the dutiful fiancé Brenda believes me to be.

Brooks’s nurse scurries around the room in an excited frenzy. A page for his doctors blasts through the hospital intercom system. Outside the room, more nurses walk past, popping their heads in and smiling.

The whole floor is celebrating.

Brenda takes his hands, bringing them to her lips.

Brooks’s eyes shift to mine.

And I wonder if he remembers.

And if he remembers, I wonder if he knows I know.

I’m not sure how coherent he is, but if there’s any bit of the old him in there, he’s got to know that I’m not exactly myself right now.

I slip my hand into his and present a smile on my face.

Now is not the time.

“Brenda, that reporter from the Herald is in the waiting area,” I whisper across Brooks’s shifting body. “She’d like some quotes for her article.”

“Well, she’ll have to wait.” Brenda rubs her hand across her son’s knee. “I’ve got more important matters to tend to right now.”

Two doctors rush in, and I move aside, standing back against the windowed wall.

“Brooks, I’m Dr. Sanderson, and this is