The Best of Winter Renshaw - An 8 Book Collection - Winter Renshaw Page 0,48

Dr. Mosley,” the white-haired doctor says. “Do you remember your name, Brooks? Blink once for yes, twice for no.”

All eyes are on Brooks.

And then he blinks. Once.

“Excellent, excellent,” the doctor says. “Can you make a fist for me? Good, good. Can you give me a thumbs-up? Nice. Now follow this light on the end of my pen with your eyes. I want to track your movement. Perfect.”

Brenda covers her mouth with her hands, smiling. Crying. Looking like she’s two seconds from bursting.

I envy her.

I want to be happy in this moment. I want to celebrate, and laugh and cry and kiss his hands and talk to him.

But my image of him is shattered. Broken beyond repair.

The doctors remove the tubes from his mouth, and the first word he says is, “Water.”

Everyone laughs, like it’s hilarious.

Dr. Sanderson turns to Brenda and gives her a thumbs-up. It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile all week. I’m guessing moments like these are the ones he lives for, at least professionally.

The rest of this morning won’t be about tearful reunions and catching Brooks up to speed. We won’t be hanging out and chit-chatting. The rest of his day will be for the doctors. For tests and procedures. For examinations and assessments.

They edge me out, all of them swarmed and huddled around his bed. More people file in, rushing around the room. Clipboards. Pens. Laughter. Questions. With each new face, I move closer to the door.

I don’t dare interrupt them. What they’re doing is important. I wave down Brenda, and she bats me away and turns back to her son. I take the hint and leave.

By the time I hit the waiting area, Afton glances up from a magazine and uncrosses her legs. Her brows lift.

I stop, take a deep breath, and tell her, “He woke up.”

Her hands clasp together. Maybe she’s excited about a new development in her story. Maybe she’s one of the thousands of people in the area following his story because it affects her on a much deeper level. Or maybe she’s excited because the man she loves didn’t die after all.

I don’t know.

And I’m not sticking around to find out.

I burst through the automatic doors and welcome the gush of cool wind on my skin as I shuffle to the parking lot. I’ll be back later, when the excitement has died down. I’ll do my part, and I’ll be there for him despite the fact that he’s royally fucked me over.

But for now, I can’t be here.

I don’t want to go home either. And I don’t want to see Delilah or my parents.

I’m not exactly sure what I want right now.

Climbing in my car, I start up the radio. A song comes on, one that takes me back to high school dances and bonfire nights and Royal.

I take it as a sign.

Twenty-Three

Royal

* * *

“Hey, Royal, some chick’s here to see you.”

I’m crouched down, working on the underbody of a vintage Mustang, when I spot Daryl’s worn sneakers at my side.

I yank the mask off my face. “Some chick?”

“Yeah. Never seen her before.”

I place the sprayer to the side and step out into the lobby. From my angle, I watch Pandora yank a string of bubble gum from between her front teeth, wrap it around her finger, then peel it off as she shoots daggers toward someone sitting in one of the guest chairs.

“Demi.” I see her as soon as I come around the corner. “What are you doing here?”

Pandora rolls her eyes.

“I hope it’s okay that I stopped by.” She stands, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “I was in the area.”

“You were in South Fork?” I laugh. Nobody comes to South Fork by choice.

Demi shrugs and fights away a half-grin. “You have a minute? When’s your lunch break?”

“Not for another couple of hours, but I can see about taking it now.”

She swats her palm. “It’s okay.”

“No, no. You came here. Hang on.” I slip into Rod’s office and get the okay, grab my keys from my pocket, and lead her out the side door.

Pretty sure Pandora hissed at me when we passed by the front desk, but I ignore her.

“Everything okay?” I ask when we climb into my car. This is the first time she’s been in this thing, and it feels wrong for a second—if only because of all the things I’ve done in the backseat with other women over the years.

“Yeah, yeah.”

I don’t believe her, but I won’t pry. I’m just grateful that