Lilac's Chance

Chapter Twenty-Four

When Rosalita enters the room, it seems to brighten. She flies in in a whirl of white and smiles and her crazy cloud of jet-black hair that floats around her head, but despite her constant motion, the tray she carries doesn't wobble. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine." I'm lying. My tongue feels glued to the roof of my tongue, my ankle throbs painfully, and every breath I take is a dagger digging into my chest. But worst of all, nobody has come to see me. There's been no sign of Braydon or Hank or... anybody. Not even a phone call. I'm just alone on my hospital bed, with a shitty soap opera to keep me company in a language I don't understand.

The nurse clucks disapprovingly and studies me with her head tilted, even as she puts the tray down and hands me the water and pill that was on it. I swallow it gratefully. "From what I was told about your accident, you were very lucky."

No. This was not an accident. I remember the black colt, the look in the jockey's eyes. J's friend. Whether he was behind it or not,  I know that it was done on purpose. Before I can stop it, though, the memory continues, to the feeling of Chance falling beneath me, of the sound of her hitting the ground.

I don't even know if she's okay.

I grit my teeth and force a deep breath through my lungs. It hurts, but it's nothing compared to the thought of what might have happened to the mare.

"Anyways," Rosalita continues, "Dr. Allen should be in here any moment to speak to you."

"Do you think it's good news?" I ask hopefully.

"Depends on what you think good news is." And she leaves, so I'm alone with nothing but my thoughts. They're not good company.

I've been in here for a few hours at least. My ribs are almost certainly broken, which isn't too bad by itself, but not knowing what's wrong with my ankle scares me. What if I can't ever ride again? What would I do then? My friend, Jack, was once told he would never ride again,  yet he continued to ride and race, nearly destroying himself in the process. Now he's wheelchair bound.

I can't have that happen to me, but I can't live with myself knowing I'll never ride again either.

A bolt of pain spreads through my chest when I take in a shaky breath, but it's quickly fading as the painkiller begins to set in. Dr. Allen hasn't arrived yet, and the darkness is beginning to fold in on me again. I accept its offer and drift back into a restless sleep.

*****

Someone's hand is on my shoulder, and there's a strange voice in the room, and I tear myself violently out of my dreams and into reality.

The painkiller has still dulled the pain, but I flinch reflexively when my ankle knocks against the board on my bed. "Shit."

"I can't imagine you feel too comfortable right now, " the strange voice says kindly. I glower at its owner, which must be Dr. Allen. She's tall, with dark hair braided back tightly against her skull, and her eyes are soft and compassionate, but I feel no good-will towards someone who states such obvious things.

"No, I really don't."

Dr. Allen sighs and glances down at her clip-board. "Well, Lilac Piperson, from what I've heard about your riding accident, you seem very lucky."

My stomach flip-flops. "What's the diagnosis? When can I ride again?"

She half-smiles. "I'd take it easy for a few months, but it's nothing too serious. Your lower ribs are broken-"

"I figured that out for myself, thanks."

"But there's no danger of any puncture in your lungs," she continues, ignoring me. "And there's a hairline fracture in your fibula- your ankle, essentially," she translates when I look confused.