Secrets, Lies, and Summer Skies

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Time ceased to exist.

The world ceased to exist.

There was nothing outside of the darkness in which I was swathed. I didn't know if Mark had been caught. If Grayson had beaten him up after I'd slipped on the stairs. I had no idea how badly hurt I was, nor how long it had taken for an ambulance to arrive.

Hell, I didn't even know why Grayson had been at the house that night after Dad had told him he wasn't welcome.

All I knew was that at one moment I'd been awake, terrified, and running for my life.

The next, there was nothing.

The first thing to return was pain. It wasn't blinding, as one might suspect after what I'd been through, but it was a dull throb which made my body heavy and sluggish. Next were the monotonous beeps from a nearby machine, the gentle thrum of noise from outside of my room, and the sting of light cast in a pinkish hue as it bled through my closed eyelids.

It took more effort than I cared to admit opening my eyes. It was through sheer force of will that I welcomed the waking world back in and I found myself staring up at a white-tiled ceiling into which had been set large square light panels. A plastic clip was clamped around my finger and wired into the machine. I regarded it with confusion and fought the urge to tear it off. Even in my barely conscious state, I understood it was important enough that I shouldn't fiddle with whatever it was.

"Chaise?"

I tried to turn my head, but my neck felt stiff. Instead, my gaze slid to the chair beside the bed and the man who occupied it. Dad looked like he hadn't slept or, if he had, it'd been in the chair and hadn't been a restful night. His eyes were puffy. Dad wasn't the crying sort, but if I didn't know better, I'd have said that was exactly what he'd been doing.

Realizing that I was, indeed, awake, Dad clutched my hand in both of his and brought it to his lips to kiss my fingers in relief. It was the most affection my father had shown me since he'd returned from England. It was hard to believe that this was the same man who couldn't stand to be in the same room as me once he'd found me with Grayson.

"Oh, thank God," he breathed. "Hey, sweetheart. I was starting to think–"

Dad let the sentence hang in the air, unwilling to release it to the universe in case some vindictive deity took heed and inflicted whatever it was upon me. Instead, he forced a smile and took a hand from mine. He reached out like he was going to brush my hair to soothe me but stopped. Instead, he pressed his palm against my cheek as fresh tears welled in his eyes.

"What happened to Mark?"

My voice was hoarse and dry. It certainly didn't sound like mine. I tried to clear my throat, hoping that I could ease the itchiness if I just swallowed enough, but there was no saliva to help me. I was dying for some water, but there was none within easy reach.

The answer to my question didn't come from Dad.

"Arrested."

It was no wonder I hadn't noticed Grayson right away. For one thing, I was recovering from a head injury and that was a great excuse for my lack of social and spatial awareness. For another, his chair had been as far from the bed as it was possible to be while still in the room. If there hadn't been more important things to think about, I might have been hurt that he wasn't right beside me when I woke up. Still, from the way the chair had been kicked back, I guessed that he'd jumped to his feet the moment he realized I was awake. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, and he couldn't hold my gaze. Instead, he was watching Dad, as though seeking permission to approach the bed. If that was the case, Dad didn't seem inclined to give it, because he narrowed his eyes at his friend before he turned his attention back to me.