“I’m sorry,” I say, and then it feels like the walls are closing in on me. The doctor gives me some oxygen and puts something in my IV, and everything gets kind of heavy and warm.

Somewhere, far away, people are shouting.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Ridley

I BLINK GROGGILY under too-bright lights, feeling pain in places I didn’t know existed. Panic claws around my heart, sending its rhythm spiraling faster as I try to piece together where I am and how I got here. I turn my head, which, ouch, this is a headache like no other, and there’s Gray sitting in the chair beside my bed. She sets her phone down, patting my arm with a sad smile.

“Hey, Rid,” she says. “You’re in the hospital, but you’re okay.”

“Peak?” I rasp. It hurts to talk, but I have to know.

“Peak’s fine,” Gray says. “She already went home.”

“Fine?”

“Well, a couple broken bones, but nothing that can’t be fixed.” The relief mixes with whatever drugs they have me on, and I shut my eyes again, content to drift some more.

•  •  •

The next time I open my eyes, Gray’s in different clothes and drinking coffee. I shift in bed, wincing.

“Hey,” she says, scooting her chair closer and rubbing my leg. “Sleeping Beauty awakes.”

“Am I . . . ?” I trail off, not sure what I’m asking. Alive? Okay? Still a part of your family?

“You’re fine. Mostly. There are six staples keeping your brain from leaking out, and you have three cracked ribs, so nice work.” She takes another sip of her coffee. “We’re not even going to talk about what you did to my poor car. I just got that thing, Ridley.”

I reach up and touch my head, wincing when my fingers ghost over the bandage. “How long was I out?” I ask, poking at all the holes in my memory. There was yelling, I think, and . . . Vera?

“You’ve been awake off and on for two days, but they doped you up really good, so I doubt you’ll remember. I guess you were awake for part of World War Three the other night, but the nurses said you didn’t make any sense. You just kept saying you were going home, but every time Dad said you would soon, you freaked out until they finally had to sedate you. They turned your meds down this morning. I think they’re discharging you tomorrow.”

“World War Three?” I rasp, and she finally hands me some water.

“Small sips,” she says, and it’s so automatic, I wonder how often she’s been doing it.

“Tell me what happened.” I focus on the feel of cold water sliding down my throat to stay awake.

“Apparently Dad was here, and so were Peak’s parents.”

“Vera.” I huff out a deep breath.