I saw Chloe glance at me, double take, and then she was up and by my side in an instant, her hand going to my head to check for fever. “Allie, you’re all flushed! Is your fever coming back?”

I shook my head and pushed her hand away, glancing guiltily at Brandon, who was laughing.

“No, Chloe, I think she just likes what I’m wearing,” he said, his tone sliding like silk over my skin.

Chloe looked up at him and I swear I saw her gulp as she registered that he was standing there in nothing but shorts. Couldn’t blame her; the man is hot.

“Alright, babe, I’m gonna go hop in the shower real quick, okay?”

I nodded, lifted my face for his kiss, and watched him walk away.

Chloe and I were laughing at something she had said when my cell phone rang. I picked it up, smiling when I saw the name.

“Hey, Jacks!” I said happily into the phone, glad I could actually communicate with him for once, rather than just moan and groan in misery.

But it wasn’t Jackson on the other end of the line.

I could feel all the blood drain from my face. I could almost swear that it was draining from my entire body. I started shaking my head no, the words I’d just heard reverberating throughout every inch of my brain. ‘No, no, no, no, no, no’…I didn’t realize I was whispering the word out loud. I didn’t feel the phone slip from my suddenly numb fingers.

I didn’t hear Chloe’s cry of concern, didn’t see her leap forward to grab the phone up, speaking quickly to try to figure out what the hell was going on. And I didn’t flinch when she screamed Brandon’s name brokenly, her face dissolving into a mask of panicked pain, tears pouring from her eyes as she collapsed beside me.

Because I couldn’t stop saying no...and the only other words that I could think of were the ones that were echoing in my ears.

“I’m so sorry, Ms. McCormick.”

Chapter 19

The opening notes of Kelly Clarkson’s Stronger played softly over my headphones and I ripped them away from my ears. I swore under my breath and deleted the song from my playlist, like I thought I had done over an hour ago after hearing it three times.

I used to like that song. Now, I want to scream when I hear it because, trust me, I’m not stronger from what hasn’t killed me. Because I am dying every fucking day that I have to sit here beside the quietly beeping machines keeping my heart alive.

I say my heart because it’s true. I don’t mean the actual organ pumping away in my chest; I’m talking about one of the men I love, lying in a hospital bed a foot from me. For four weeks now, I’ve sat here, day in and day out, hoping…praying…begging that something will change and he’ll wake up. That he’ll open those beautiful, deep brown eyes that I love so much. That he’ll smile, hold out his arms for me, and I’ll be able to crawl into them and hold him just as tightly as I want him to hold me.

And every day, those hopes and prayers go unanswered.

My mom has taken over my store for the moment, but at this point I really didn’t even care about it. I know I probably should, but my priorities are a little different right now. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for everything she’s done and is doing for me. She makes sure that I have clean clothes at the hospital, and they bring me food and make sure I eat it. My illness had gone away, but my appetite was severely lacking. I showered and slept at the hospital, and they let me because the first (and only) time they’d told me I needed to go home and rest, I’d gone a little crazy on them.

Chloe has pretty much been with me the whole time, too, only she’s gone home to sleep every night now.

Jackson’s and her mom flew in as quickly as she could once Brandon had called her. She’d been staying at my house with Chloe and Brandon. I just couldn’t make myself leave him. I’d told the hospital staff I was his fiancée the day we’d come to the hospital, the day of the accident. Chloe and Sarah, their mom, had backed me up. Talk about a bad way to meet the mother of the man you’re in love with.

I felt bad, too, because I knew I’d been a real bitch to Brandon lately. I’ve pushed him away and it’s not his fault. He’s been there for me every step of the way, holding me close when I’ve just needed to be held. Kissing my forehead and whispering empty reassurances that sounded pretty, but didn’t really help. And I loved him for it, I really did. But I still couldn’t bring myself to leave Jackson’s side.

I’ve seen the pictures of Jackson’s car now; the mangled metal painting a horrific image that burned itself into my mind and won’t let go. It was a hit and run, I’ve been told. The police have said they’re investigating, but they have nothing and I really don’t see them ever finding the asshole that did it. From what they could piece together from the scene, a car travelling in the southbound lane of the road crossed the line into Jackson’s lane. He was northbound, but the car didn’t hit him head on.

Instead, it had hit the driver’s side rear quarter of the car, causing it to go into a spin, which sent it off the road, over the embankment, and flipped it. Apparently it rolled twice, and landed on the roof. Jacks had to be cut from the car and he wasn’t breathing when they found him. They also said they’d lost him on the way to the hospital, but were able to bring him back.

He’d been in a coma ever since, machines performing every necessary function to keep him alive. He’d had head trauma, including a concussion and a laceration that required twenty stitches. His brain had swelled slightly initially, but thankfully had went down and they didn’t have to do any kind of surgery for that. They did have to do surgery to repair his punctured lung and his ruptured spleen.

He had a broken nose, four broken ribs, a broken leg (clean break, thank God), a cut above his eyebrow that needed ten stitches, and a slew of other cuts, scratches, and bruises. The cuts and bruises had mostly healed in the month since the accident. His leg was healing nicely, as were his ribs, and they’d managed to set his nose so perfectly, you could barely tell it had been broken.

But he still wouldn’t breathe on his own. Or wake up. His scans weren’t showing any major sign of brain damage, but the doctors weren’t optimistic about it. They did say his brain activity was slower and not showing signs of improvement. They had indicated that the longer he stayed out, the more chance he stood of either not waking up, or, in the event he would, he would need to relearn simple things that we all take for granted.

There were whispers around me…those three dreaded words. Pull. The. Plug. They were talking about turning off the machines. Of him dying. So, here I sat, stoically watching the love of my life lying lifelessly in the hospital bed a foot away from me.

I tossed my iPod onto the bed beside his leg, giving up on listening to music. Kelly had irritated me enough that I didn’t want to bother trying to find something else, something more soothing.

I reached out and took Jackson’s hand in mine, and I sat there, stroking it gently with my fingers and urging him silently, like I did every minute of every day, to wake up.

I heard a noise and glanced up at the door to see Brandon standing there, watching me with an unreadable look. I held his gaze, unblinking, silently speaking with our eyes that nothing had changed, but there was an undertone to that look that I just didn’t want to analyze right now.