"You might be mad at me when you wake up," I say as I continue my study of his hand, his wrist, his arm. Easier than looking at his face and wanting to cry. "I'm sorry. That you'll be mad, I mean. I'm not sorry I called for help."

For half a second, the machine monitoring Adam's heart catches, the rhythm momentarily disturbed. Then it returns to normal. I wish I knew if every rise and fall of his chest was his own, or simply powered by the ventilator.

"Look. I know you think life is terrible. And it is. It's...pretty shitty, actually. But you weren't supposed to do this. Not yet. You think it's fine, because no one would really miss you, but you're wrong."

My voice hitches, cracks.

"You're really, really wrong, Adam. I would miss you."

CHAPTER 20

There's a blanket around my shoulders when I wake up. No idea when or how it got there. I have a crick in my neck and back from sleeping hunched over in the chair, arms as a pillow on the bed. Adam looks no different. Maybe paler with the sunlight coming through his window. It makes my head hurt. What woke me up was a nurse standing on the opposite side of Adam, checking his vitals. I assume that's what she's doing, anyway. Her name tag reads Monica.

When she notices me sitting up, she winks. "Good morning. You were out like a light."

I rub at my eyes. "What time is it?"

"A little after ten." She tucks her clipboard under her arm. "How about some breakfast?"

Last night, the thought of food was enough to make me hurl. Now, though... I think it's been nearly twenty-four hours since I last ate. So I nod mutely.

Monica the nurse comes back with a tray of food. Nothing spectacular, but I see she's snagged an extra pudding cup for me, and although the eggs and toast are cold they don't taste half bad. I eat in silence, stealing the occasional look at Adam, feeling guilty I'm eating a breakfast he can't enjoy.

After I'm done, I sit back and pull my legs to my chest, just watching him breathe. Watching him sleep. Watching him, I hope, heal.

His eyelids flutter.

It's so brief, I'm certain I imagined it. But it makes me lean forward all the same, and a moment later, the gesture is repeated. Adam shifts slowly, subtly, lifting a hand a few inches from the bed with a choked, confused sound.

I'm on my feet and jabbing at the nurse's button before taking his hand.

"Shh, Adam. Hey. Hi. It's okay; don't freak out..."

His eyes slide open a fraction of an inch, blurry and tired and, yes, a bit afraid. I don't have time to do anything beyond smile at him, because there's a click click of heels which I assume to be Monica but, in fact, belong to Adam's mother.

Oh.

Mrs. Rockswell is poised in the doorway.