Closer to You (Book One ✓)

T W E N T Y - S I X

"His breathing was very shallow so we had to intubate to help him breathe. We pumped his stomach contents and put him on IV fluids so he should be conscious very soon." The ER doctor explains slowly but my mind doesn't process the words. I stare at Beau, tubes taped to his face, all bruised and raw, in the hospital bed.

"Now, once he does wake, we want to perform some tests - with the broken nose and heavy bleeding in the face, we just want to eliminate the possibility of concussion." I nod wordlessly, making my way to the side of Beau's bed. Gripping his hand in mine, I lean my head against his forearm, silently cursing him for doing this to himself.

"Thanks, Doctor." Zach shakes the mans hand before taking a place at the foot of the bed. "Don't worry, Emma. He's gonna be fine. And we'll talk to Rocco and Fiona," Again I nod without speaking, focused on Beau's swollen face. "Hey, we can stay here, if you want?"

"I've got it," Val speaks up and I offer an appreciative smile as she settles into an uncomfortable chair beside mine.

After a few more minutes, the guys leave and the only sound is the soft beeping of the machines all plugged into Beau. "Did you know?" I whisper, tracing the outline of his skull tattoo with my finger.

Val places a hand on my arm, "Emma, no, of course not. Fiona never mentioned taking things this far, I think she was worried I'd tell you," Her round eyes seem sincere and even I had figured as such.

"Would you have?" I ask anyway.

She nods, "I'm so sorry."

Shaking my head and brushing hair from Beau's eyes, I shrug. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

We resume our silence, the drip, drip, drip of the IV nearly lulling me to sleep as time passes slowly. Nurses pop in to check Beau's vitals a few times before he finally stirs beneath my fingers. "Beau?" I stand, hovering over him as he slowly opens his eyes, grimacing at the bright lights of the hospital room.

Val stands, too. "I'm going to get us some coffee," She excuses herself and quietly leaves us, sending a doctor in on her way out.

Patiently, I wait as the older man with a shiny bald head removes Beau's breathing tube and conducts the concussion tests. Refusing to meet my eye, Beau slurs through the verbal assessment and misses a month when asked to recite them. I notice his jaw clenched in frustration and resume tracing slow circles on his arm. "Okay, follow my finger," the doctor instructs, shining a light into his eyes. Beau squints, eyes nearly swollen shut already.

"Okay," the old man straightens up. "You're definitely concussed. You really need to take time off, rest as much as you can with someone supervising. Stay away from phone screens, TV, those type of things. Avoid bright lights, in fact, try to spend the first few days in a dimly lit room." As the words leave his mouth, Beau's brows knit closer together above his eyes.

"I can't," his voice is coarse, "On tour."

"Beau," I sigh, grabbing his hand tightly. He doesn't look at me, eyes focused on the doctor.

"Well." The doctor looks up from his clipboard and clicks his pen, tucking it safely in the pocket of his white coat. "If you don't follow these steps, you can elongate the healing process and the symptoms can last much longer." He lets us know that Beau will be staying overnight for observation and then heads out to check on another patient.

"Beau?" I repeat, willing him to just look at me. "Talk to me," I plead, a million questions running through my mind.

"About what Emma? About how you think we should go back to 'pretending?'" His tone is sharp as he glares at me, but his words come slowly, each one taking concentration in his concussed state. "Or how about how I just got dumped from my fucking band? What would you like to talk about first?"