Stella nods, something dark flickering behind her gentle expression. "It was a pretty serious accident, but you're stable now. Fractured ribs, concussion, bruising—we're monitoring everything closely."

I catch her hesitation, the slight fidget of her hands. "What aren't you telling me?"

"You've been here a while. Do you remember anything after the accident?"

I search the murk. Headlights. Glass everywhere. A man and woman's voices, then nothing but void.

"No," I admit.

"That's okay. Memory takes its time returning. Don't force it—healing comes first."

"How long?" The question feels like tempting fate.

Her eyes flood with sympathy. "Three weeks."

The words hit like another crash. Three weeks of life continued without me, of memories I may never recover. Time becomes physical, crushing my chest with all I've lost.

Stella's hand finds my shoulder. "The doctor will be in shortly. You're lucky your boyfriend found you when he did. He saved your life."

"My… boyfriend?" The words feel wrong, like trying to speak a forgotten language.

"Tall, dark, tortured but handsome."

Nate.

"How is he?"

"He was pretty inconsolable when he brought you in. I haven't seen much of him lately though.” Her pen gestures toward Jake, rooted to the chair like an ancient tree.

"But this one? Hasn't left except for coffee. We're limiting visitors for now. Last time you woke, you were so agitated we had to sedate you. Your body's been through a lot of trauma—we need to be careful."

I nod mechanically, but two phrases echo in my mind: Three weeks. He saved your life.

Tears burn trails down my cheeks as tremors take hold. "M-my mom… is she here?"

"In the waiting room with your brother. They've been here every day." She pauses carefully.

My heart races against broken ribs. If Nate pulled me from death's door, why isn't he here?

The monitors pick up my panic, their rhythm sharp and urgent.

"Hey, hey, deep breaths," Stella soothes. "I know this is overwhelming. But you're okay, Lenora. You're okay."

"Nora," I whisper. "Please, just Nora."

Her smile softens. "Nora, the doctor will explain everything when you wake. For now, rest."

Before darkness claims me again, my eyes catch the bedside table—a shrine of love: defiant flowers, hopeful cards, and there—my 'fearless' bracelet, the one Nate won at the carnival.

"I got you," his voice echoes between memory and dream. I reach for him, and he smiles—that real smile, with crinkled eyes and dimples that make the world feel right.

"Nate," I whisper as consciousness slips away like sand through fingers.

The darkness is warmer now, filled with echoes of carnival lights and guitar strings and a boy who tasted like summer nights and kept all his promises he said he would.

Except one.

To stay.

75. Dancing With The Devil

CHAPTER 75

DANCING WITH THE DEVIL

NATE