keep you here for several more days to monitor your progress and run a few more tests,” Doctor Garrett added, patting my arm lightly. “We need to make sure everything is healing well and watch for infection. Then you’ll be able to go home and keep resting up there.”
He turned to leave, and Philip shook his head angrily as he stared at the doctor’s retreating back. He reached a hand out to smooth my hair back from my face, making sure to avoid the bandages at my temple, then pressed a kiss to the top of my head.
I almost jolted, surprised at the warmth of the gesture. I’d only ever hugged my grandpa a few times in my life. But he didn’t seem to give it a thought as he stroked his hand over my hair again and drew back, a frown creasing his features.
“I’m so sorry, Talia. I’ll be back in a moment, all right?”
I nodded, still unable to speak. Philip’s footsteps were heavy as he marched to the door and strode after the doctor. I could hear his raised voice calling down the hallway a moment later. He might not be able to stand up to his wife where I was concerned, but he didn’t seem to have a problem giving hell to other people.
The room fell into silence, broken only by the ragged sound of my breathing, and I was both glad and sad that Philip was gone—that I was alone in this moment.
I stared down the length of my body to my legs and ankles, taking in the outline of what was probably a cast under the blanket. It looked lumpy and ugly, like a monster hiding in wait under the sheets.
The last time I’d danced had been during my audition for the Pacific Contemporary Ballet. I had shown them a piece that had been born out of my heart and soul, and it had felt incredible to fly across the stage under the bright lights, to share that story with an audience.
Had that been the last time I would dance on a professional stage?
The ache in my heart was too big for words or speech to encompass. So I didn’t sob. I didn’t scream or yell. I just stared at my legs as twin tracks of tears fell from my eyes, slipping off my chin and wetting my hospital gown.
“Talia?”
Finn spoke from just inside the doorway, and when I looked over in surprise, he had his bottom lip clenched between his teeth. The other three Princes were gathered around him, having fanned out as soon as they entered the room. They looked like they often did—like a singular force, a group so tight-knit that they functioned as one being with separate bodies. Parts of a whole.
That whole, the entity that was The Princes, had seemed eminently powerful and completely untouchable for so long. As if they could change the world with a snap of their fingers.
But they couldn’t change this.
“Fuck, Tal. Fuck.”
Finn was across the room in three long strides, the others so close behind him that they all reached me at the same time. Despite Doctor Garrett’s list of my injuries, I didn’t know where I was hurt or should feel hurt, but they all seemed to. Finn bent to hug me, keeping his hands well away from any of my bandages or bruises.
I could feel his body trembling as he wrapped as much of himself around me as he could, as if I were still in my little blue car, flying over the cliff, and he could save me from the impact somehow, absorb all of it himself.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Legs,” he murmured, his lips at my ear and his voice rough. “I’m so goddamn sorry.”
He was talking about more than the physical hurts. He, out of all the Princes, knew best what dance meant to me. Knew what it would do to me to have it taken away.
I wrapped my less-bruised arm around his back, clinging awkwardly to the strong planes of his muscles as I let my sadness pour out of me. Other hands gripped me, holding me up, keeping the heavy weight in my stomach from dragging me into the darkest place. For a moment, the singular entity of the Princes surrounded me completely, wrapping me in a soothing blend of their combined scents. Cedar, citrus, oak, and ginger.
Pulling in a deep, shuddering breath, I held it in my lungs for a few seconds, feeling my heart thud hard