When I wake, sunlight beams through my window. I’m having a hard time recalling whether the window was there before or if I’ve switched rooms. Either way, I lay my head back and stare into the rays, pretending I’m outside basking in their warmth. Wishing I were outside, free of these casts and the constant pain I’m feeling.

Outside my room, the hall is busy. Busier than I can recollect from earlier, but mostly everything is fuzzy, and right now I’m having a hard time separating fact from fiction. Someone is singing. Another is whistling. And I remember someone playing guitar earlier. Or was it the other day? I’m starting to feel like I’ve imagined things, such as Noah being here and kissing me.

That I know is fiction. Not only would he not be here, but kissing me is definitely out of the question. He’s with Dessie. And whether I’m hurt or not, there would be no way in hell she’d let him come to see me.

It doesn’t escape my notice that my room is empty, and honestly, I sort of like it. I welcome the peace and quiet. I know my family is worried, but they’re hovering. They ask me how I’m doing or if I’m okay every time I grimace. They want to touch me, hug me, coddle me, and when they realize they can’t, the look of upset on their faces makes me feel like I’ve done something wrong.

I look at my casts. Long gone are the days of white plaster which could be decorated with an array of sharpies. A hard bandage looking material has taken its place, making it almost impossible to write on. Both my casts are pink, making me believe my mother and sister picked them out. I hate pink. I would’ve opted for black or something fun like orange.

The color orange makes my thoughts switch to Kyle. It took a day or two for my memory to come back but I’m still lacking the small details. From what I can remember, we met at the game and hit it off. Still, I’m going to ask my mom. At least, I’m hoping she knows. There’s something in the back of my mind telling me that Kyle could be special though.

A nurse or an orderly, I don’t know which or if that’s even her title, comes in with my tray of food. I press the button that raises my bed until I’m somewhat comfortable and wait for her to push the mobile cart into place. Thing is, I can’t recall doing this any other time, so how is it that I know?

“It’s nothing fancy, but the toast is pretty good.”

“Wait, is this my first meal?” She looks at me as if I have two heads. “What have I been eating?” I ask her, utterly confused.

“That machine over there.”

“Oh, okay.”

As soon as she leaves, I pick up my fork and stare at the over easy eggs, the slices of ham that need to be cut, and my left hand. “Yeah, not gonna work,” I mutter to myself. In fact, the only possible thing I can eat are the slices of fruit, the toast, which is dry, and if I can get enough force behind it, I’ll be able to stab the foil on my cup of juice so I can drink that. Everything else requires two hands. I have one working one, if you can call it that. The IVs pinch if I’m not careful.

Out of frustration, I push the tray away. My stomach protests. The couple pieces of fruit and dry toast aren’t doing anything to curb my hunger. I’m also very uncomfortable. The pain in my chest is almost unbearable. I recline my bed and the ache starts to subside, but not enough. I push the button that delivers my painkillers and wait for the agonizing feeling to go away.

I’m on the verge of tears when my mother walks in. She’s nothing but smiles when I’m nothing but anger.

“Sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up.”

“It’s fine. You don’t have to be here twenty-four seven.”

“You know I’m going to be, Peyton. Did you eat your breakfast?”

“Nope.”

“Are you not hungry?”

I look at her, then down at the cast on my arm, which extends over my fingers. “I have maybe the use of one hand. I can’t eat unless it’s finger foods. Speaking of which, how was I eating before I went into surgery?”

My mom pulls the tray over and starts cutting up the eggs. They’re runny and considering I’ve already eaten the toast there isn’t anything to sop the yolk up with. “You had a feeding tube, but Dr. Colby removed it when you went back into surgery.”

I glance down at my chest, wondering what kind of monster I look like. “I’m ugly now.”

“Open up,” she says, feeding me like I’m a baby. “And please don’t say that. You’re alive, Peyton, and you’re beautiful, inside and out. The scar on your chest is just a sign of how resilient and strong you are. When I look at you, I see my daughter, the fighter, who looks the same today, with her gorgeous brown hair and bright blue eyes as she did last month.”

I do as she says, chewing and swallowing my food. This continues until everything on my tray is gone. She sits down and pulls out a book from somewhere under my bed or on the stand where the machines sit, still monitoring my life.

“I was reading to you earlier, do you remember?”

I shake my head. “Mom, what do you know about Kyle?”

She sets the book in her lap and folds her hands. So damn prim and proper all the time. “Honestly, not much. From what the police have said, you met him at the football game and he asked you out.”

“How did I meet him?”

“What do you remember of that day, Peyton?”

“Not much, and I’m starting to wonder if the things I do remember actually happened.”

“Like what?”

“First tell me about Kyle and how I met him,” I plead.

“Professor Fowler gave you an assignment. You were to write an article about the game, but you had press credentials to be on the field. According to Kyle, he almost hit you with the football and you said some smart ass remark back to him.”

I close my eyes and search my memory bank for any sign but come up blank. “I can’t believe I don’t remember being on the field. It must’ve been a dream come true.”

“Peyton, honey, I’m sure it’ll happen again. Once you’ve recovered, you’ll have another opportunity. Now, why don’t you rest a little and let me read you some more of this story?” I lean my head back and start listening to the sound of her voice. The words she reads really aren’t making much sense, but I love hearing her talk. Every so often, she pauses and looks up. Her smile is the widest I’ve seen in a long time. Mom places her hand on top of my fingers and squeezes them gently. We really can’t hold hands because of all the tubes so this is as good as it’s going to get.

The book she’s reading is unfamiliar, but the story seems to trigger something in my mind. “I met Grandma Gracie.”

Mom pauses, but she doesn’t look up. “Grandma died before you were born, honey.”

“I know, but I met her, while I was… I saw Dad too.”

“Peyton, I’m sure you were dreaming. You’re on some pretty heavy drugs and the nurses say they can cause hallucinations.” She starts reading again, but I need her to believe me.

“I wasn’t hallucinating. Dad and I were in the same room, and he looks exactly the same as the pictures I have.”

“Of course he looks the same as the pictures, it’s all you remember.”

“He told me he’d be there to help me, that he’s always watching over Elle and I.”

“Peyton, that’s enough.” Mom slams her book shut and immediately pinches the bridge of her nose, a sign she has an impending headache. “It’s the drugs, nothing more.”

“I almost died, Mom.”

“But you didn’t. You survived and you’re here, with us. Your family is here and I promise, we’re not going to let anything happen to you.” She doesn’t say anything else as she opens her book again and starts reading. I close my eyes and think about the images of my grandmother and father. They seem so clear and present in my mind. I want my mom to believe me, but I’m not even sure myself.

At some point I must doze off because when I wake again, my dad is sitting in the chair, playing on his phone.

“I miss my phone,” I say groggily.

He leans forward and kisses me on my cheek, careful not to get anywhere near my head wound. Most of the damage was done to my right side, except for the missing chunk of scalp I now have. My long hair has been sheared on one side, giving me some emo look that I’m not fond of.

“Nice nap?”

I smile and nod. “I guess. Although I’m always tired.”

“It’s the medicine.”

“So I’ve heard. What am I missing in the world?” I ask, nodding toward his phone.

He turns it around and shows it to me. “I’m chatting with JD about the construction on the house.”

“They’re building?”

Dad shakes his head. “No, we’re putting in a temporary ramp for when you come home.”

“Oh.” I look down at my leg and that’s when it hits me. I don’t get to return to my sorority or stay in Chicago. I can’t walk because of my leg, and I can’t use crutches because of my arm. I’ll be in a wheelchair until who knows how long. Tears stream down my face and my dad is there to wipe them away.

“Don’t cry, baby girl. It’s going to be okay.”

I shake my head. “But it’s not. I’m damaged and broken. Nothing will ever be the same.”

“You know that isn’t true, sweet pea. Your uncle Xander is the best out there and he’s going to make sure that you’re back at school in the fall. Your mom and I have already met with your professors and because of the circumstances, they’re letting you finish out the year this summer. You can take courses over the internet.”

“It’s not the same.”

“You’re right, but for us, it works because the alternative wasn’t exactly going to.” He smiles and doesn’t need to tell me he’s referring to the fact I almost died.

“What would you say if I told you I saw my father?”

My dad leans back and sighs. He shakes his head slightly before making eye contact with me. “First, I’d say it’s likely the drugs you’re on, but I have a feeling you’d try to convince me otherwise, so then I’d say it’s probably likely. You were on the brink of death. I’m not naïve to think an afterlife doesn’t exist and I would hope your father would be there to meet you.”

More tears come as I nod my head. “He was. I called him daddy because--”

My dad comes forward and hugs me the best he can. “It’s okay, baby girl.”

“Mom doesn’t believe me.”

He nods into my shoulder. “She’s in denial about a lot of things, right now. Be patient with her, she’s struggling and having a hard time coping with the fact she almost lost you the same way she lost your father.”

“I love you, Daddy.”

“Not nearly as much as I love you. There are never going to be enough words, lyrics or songs to accurately describe what it feels like being your dad. You, your sister and Quinn, it’s because of you, my life makes sense.”

We stay like this until my machine starts to beep. Reluctantly, I let go of my dad so he can silence it quickly. “The nurse will be in to give you some antibiotics.”

“Oh joy. Is anyone else here?”

“Yeah, Quinn, Elle, Ben, and Noah.”

“Noah’s here?”

“You don’t remember? You woke up with him in your room during the night.” My hand instantly goes to my lips and I smile.

“Can you tell him I want to see him?”

“Of course.” He kisses me on the forehead and almost runs into the nurse as she comes in with some medicine.

“You look cheery. It’s a nice look on you.”

“Thanks. This won’t put me to sleep, right?”

“Definitely not. Just going to give you a little dose to help ward off any infections.”

“Perfect.”

As soon as she leaves, I catch a glimpse of Noah walking by my window. The heart monitor machine spikes, causing the nurse to pause and look at me. When Noah steps into the doorway, she glances at him and smiles. “I’ll just close the door behind you,” she says as Noah walks into my room.

“Hey, Peyton,” he says, stuffing his hands into his jeans. Words escape me as I look at him with his mop top hair, scruffy face and dazzling smile. He looks amazing.