“Thanks for staying with him,” she replied, keeping her eyes on her father. “I got back as quickly as I could.”

“Of course.” June squeezed her shoulder. “So … the pitch went okay?”

Annika let out a breath. “It could’ve been better.” She looked up at June. “I’m sorry. I messed up a couple of times and my heart just wasn’t in it. I’m pretty sure they could tell. Wakefield seemed impressed by the idea, but I’m not sure I gave him anything to really hold on to.” When she looked down, a few tears dripped off her eyelashes. “I think we’re going to lose.” And Break Up would win. She would’ve felt worse about it, but she’d hit the limits of negative emotion.

June wrapped her arms around Annika and gave her a quick hug. “Let’s just wait and see what the results come back like tomorrow. Anyway, you did the best you could with what you had. That’s all anyone can do, sugar. That’s all anyone can do.”

“Thanks, June.” Annika pulled back and looked at her friend’s drawn face, her eyes puffy and red, her expression slightly dazed. “You should go back to the hotel, though. Get some rest.”

June frowned. “What about you?”

“I’m going to take a nap in this chair. I can’t go back to the hotel; I won’t be able to sleep.”

After a moment, June nodded. “Okay. But text me the moment something changes? I’ll be back in a couple hours.”

Annika managed a thin smile. “Sure.”

Once the nurse took her father’s vitals, Annika slumped down in the chair and closed her eyes. Her body began to sink into sleep almost immediately, the craving for rest becoming too much for her conscious mind to handle. Images and thoughts began flashing through her mind, the precursor to sleep: her father, smiling at her and handing her a glass of mango juice; Hudson gathering her into his arms, smelling like the ocean; the investors’ blank looks as she tripped and fumbled her way through the pitch.

And then, finally, there was darkness as she slept fitfully, pieces of her broken heart rattling in her chest.

“Ani.”

Her eyes flew open before her brain fully processed what was happening. The clock on the wall said she’d been asleep for about two hours. “Daddy,” she gasped, rushing to his bedside.

His eyes were open, eyelids fluttering. His gaze roved her face. “What—what’s happening?”

Annika pushed the nurse’s call button. “You were in a car accident,” she said, her voice wobbling. Tears streamed down her face as relief coursed through every muscle, every nerve-ending, every artery in her body. He was awake. He was speaking. Her father was here with her. “You’ve been unconscious almost a full day.”

His face was uncomprehending, though he winced, as if he were in pain. “An accident?”