Ellen looks over to me. “Go ahead,” she instructs.

“What? No, you all should go. He doesn’t need to see me. I just needed to make sure he wasn’t…” I let my voice trail off, not sure how to finish the sentence. Dead? Paralyzed? Alone?

“He knows you’re here already. Go. We’ll talk to the doctor,” Mrs. Dawson urges.

I risk a glance toward my parents for the first time since the Dawsons’ arrival. My mother looks shocked; my father looks concerned.

I walk toward the door. “Which room?” I ask the nurse as I pass her.

“He’s in Room 128,” she replies. “Just down the hall on the left.”

Thomas is the only one who follows me as I make my way down the hallway and pause outside the wooden door that has 128 emblazoned on the plastic plaque next to it. I take a deep breath and walk inside the room, shutting the door behind me.

I didn’t know what to expect based on the nurse’s words, but Jace looks alert and aware as he leans against the partially raised bed, his gray eyes bright and clear. He doesn’t seem surprised to see me, but I’m completely unprepared for the sudden swell of emotion that hits me when I see him awake.

Wracking sobs leave my body as I hurry over to his bedside. I perch on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb whatever injuries the white blanket might be concealing.

“Jace,” I heave out brokenly. “I thought—it seemed like—you were—” I can’t manage to string more than a few words together.

Jace watches me closely, his face completely blank as he listens to me stutter. I take a deep breath, and rest one of my trembling hands on the tan, calloused one resting on the sheet. Jace inhales sharply as our skin makes contact.

“I love you,” I whisper to him. “I told you in the ambulance, but I want to make certain you know that.”

Emotion flickers across his face for the first time since I entered the room. His eyes look down to my left hand, and I realize what he’s looking for when he quietly asks, “Aren’t you engaged?” His voice is measured and carefully controlled.

“What? No!” I reply. “Where did you hear that?”

“I saw it in a magazine,” Jace admits. He shifts in the bed, looking slightly sheepish.

“Those aren’t the most reliable sources,” I tell him gently.

“So you don’t have to get married before you can take over for your father?”

It’s my turn to shift uncomfortably. “No, that part is true.”

“You left that out before,” Jace accuses.

“I know. It wasn’t supposed to happen until after I graduated. I didn’t think it—I—would matter to you by then.”

“And now?” Jace questions.

“Sometime next spring.”

Jace curses. “Fuck, Vivienne. What are you even doing here?” His tone has changed from accusing to angry.

“You could have died, Jace,” I reply, letting some aggravation seep into my voice. “What was I supposed to do? Sit there and wait for the official statement? You expect me to have just stayed and watched the rest of the game?”