by Callie Rose
I dreamed of my mother again, of hurtling through endless space, my body turning over and over—and when I woke with a start, I felt actually awake for the first time since I’d blinked my eyes open to find myself in this white-walled room.
At the sound of my low groan, Philip hauled himself out of the easy chair where he’d been dozing, walking quickly toward my bed.
“Talia. Are you all right? Do you need anything?”
Didn’t someone ask me that last night?
I glanced around the room as vague memories flitted through my mind—memories of the Princes’ faces, and of Mason and Cole speaking in low voices by my bedside.
The large, private room was empty now except for me and Philip. It was almost an exact match to the one my grandfather had stayed in when he was recovering from his stroke, and chairs were gathered haphazardly around the bed. But they were vacant.
Philip hovered over me, concern making the wrinkles in his face even deeper. “How do you feel?”
“Okay,” I murmured, my voice raspy from lack of use. My mouth was dry, and a stale, coppery taste sat on my tongue. Nothing hurt, although my head felt like it was stuffed full of cement, making my mind heavy and dull. “Did I dream…? Were there…?”
My gaze flicked to the chairs around the bed, and even though I hadn’t fully articulated my question, Philip nodded.
“The boys were here. Stayed all night, actually. They left this morning, but they’ll be back.”
“Why… were they here?” I blinked, squinting my eyes against the light that still felt too bright.
My mind was slowly piecing together the details of what’d happened, processing and sorting through what was real and what was imagined. I’d been in an accident. I knew that much—it was why I was in the hospital. And it made sense that Philip was here, although I couldn’t help but notice Jacqueline was nowhere to be seen.
But why had the Princes been here? How had they even known?
“I called Finn Whittaker.” My grandpa’s drawn expression tightened with pain for a moment. “You were barely conscious when the paramedics pulled you from the car. But they told me you kept saying his name. His and the other boys’. I thought… maybe having them here would help.”
My stomach flip-flopped at his words, like a fish struggling to stay alive on dry land. I could remember the moments leading up to the accident pretty clearly, but everything after I hit the curve in the road was a blur, a series of images and sensations that I couldn’t seem to piece together in the proper order.
I honestly wasn’t sure I wanted to.
“They met me here, and we waited for you to come out of surgery,” Philip continued. “I hope it’s all right that I called them. I thought you should have… people here who cared about you.”
His voice shifted on the last words, and I glanced up at him, my mind sharp enough by now to read between the lines and hear what he hadn’t said.
“Where’s Jacqueline?”
He dropped his head, his blue eyes growing shadowed, as if he were the one who should feel guilty for her absence. “She’s back at the house. She’s been texting me for updates every few hours though.” He pursed his lips, drawing a hand down his face. “She is worried about you, Talia, she’s just—”
A bitch?
“—stubborn.”
I huffed a noise that would’ve been a laugh if I’d had the energy. I had told my grandmother flat-out that I didn’t want her in my life anymore, so maybe I should consider her refusal to come see me as a way of respecting my wishes.
But that’d be giving her way too much damn credit.
“I’m sorry, Talia.”
Philip rested his wrinkled hand over mine, and I looked down at it, noticing the IV placed in my arm, the small tube held in place by medical tape. A blanket covered my body, but I could see dark bruises marring the skin of my forearm.
“It’s okay.” I swallowed, forcing down the bile that tried to rise up my throat. “What… happened? I mean, I know I got into an accident, but what happened to me?”
I didn’t hurt, but that fact didn’t make me feel much better. I knew what pain meds could do, and the way I still felt disconnected from my body made me worry. Just because I couldn’t feel them, it didn’t mean the injuries weren’t there.
Philip’s face slackened, his cheeks almost seeming to droop as he glanced down at my body, hidden by the hospital gown and the sheet. “You—”
“Ah, you’re awake.”
The voice from the door pulled my focus away from my grandfather’s haggard face, and I looked over to see the same doctor who had spoken to me after Philip’s surgery.
So I’m definitely at Roseland Medical, then.
Philip glanced up too, and we both watched the doctor stride across the room.
Doctor Garrett checked the monitors near my bed, then picked up my chart, flipping through it as he met my gaze. “How do you feel, Talia? Do you know what day it is? Do you know where you are?”
“Roseland Medical,” I scratched out. “And it’s… Tuesday? No, Wednesday.”
It’d been Tuesday when I got into my new car and headed up the coastal highway to meet the Princes at Finn’s house. But unless I was imagining waking up in the dark to the sound of Mason and Cole’s voices, at least one night had passed since then.
“Yes. Good.” Doctor Garrett bobbed his head in a nod as he wrote something on my chart. “And just for good measure, what year is it?”
I almost rolled my eyes as I told him, but I knew exactly why he was asking. He was checking me for signs of brain damage or memory loss. I didn’t think I had any though—at least, not beyond the details of my accident and the time since, which were all a bit fuzzy in my mind.
He nodded again, making another mark on my chart. Then he looked up, meeting my gaze. He had salt-and-pepper hair, which he seemed a little young for, and a kind face with a thick nose and a cleft chin.
“You’re lucky to be alive, Talia. Air bags and seat belts save lives, and in this case, they definitely can be credited with saving yours.” A small smile tilted his lips as he added, “As some might say, thank fuck for seat belts.”
Philip’s eyebrows pulled together, and he drew himself up a little, casting a disapproving frown at the doctor. I knew what Doctor Garrett was referencing though. Oh, thank fuck had been my response to the news that my grandpa had come out of his surgery okay several weeks ago. I was impressed Doctor Garrett remembered that—and it could only be a good sign that I remembered it—but Philip looked deeply offended that a doctor at this elite medical facility was swearing in front of his granddaughter.
I could’ve told him Doctor Garrett was doing what adults did to kids all the time. Trying to gain my trust by proving he was “cool” and “hip” or whatever.
But my brain was still hung up on the words the man had said before that. The part about me almost dying. Had the wreck been that bad?
My stomach felt like it dropped out of my body as I remembered the sickening feeling of the car’s wheels lifting off the road, of the world outside tilting and spinning dangerously as the little blue vehicle rolled.
I closed my eyes for a second, fighting down the images. When I opened them, Doctor Garrett was regarding me seriously.
“The seat belt and airbags kept your body from absorbing as much of the impact as it might’ve otherwise, and they prevented you from receiving worse whiplash. The strain in your neck was mild, but you hit the left side of your head and received several lacerations along the left side of your body. The seat belt strap itself cut into your shoulder, leaving further lacerations and some significant bruising.”
He stepped forward, perching on the end of the bed and balancing his chart against his leg with one hand.
“You were pressing on the brake when you wrecked, weren’t you?”
Wordlessly, I nodded, trying to mesh what he’d told me so far with what I felt. The hit on my head explained the bandages over my left temple. And judging
by the bruises and bandages on my left arm, that side of my body must’ve absorbed more impact than the right.
“I thought so. The most significant injuries you suffered were to your right leg. You received compound fractures in both your tibia and fibula and fractured a bone in your ankle as well. We went in surgically and were able to set the bones and secure them. You’ve got a few screws in your leg that will stay there to help reinforce the damaged bones and secure them until they’re healed and beyond.”
What?
My gaze snapped up to his face so fast it made me dizzy.
The room seemed to fall out of focus as he talked, until nothing existed but his lips moving, forming words I couldn’t understand, didn’t want to understand.
My legs.
Not my legs.
“To come out of a car accident like the one you were in with only the injuries you have is pretty miraculous, kiddo.” He dipped his chin, a look of sympathy passing over his features. “You might not feel like it right now, but you’re very lucky, Talia. You’re alive. And you’ll heal.”
An awful heaviness crept through my gut, wrapping itself around the core of me and threatening to drag me under.
I had been here before, propped up in a hospital bed listening to a doctor tell me my legs would heal. And they had… that time. After my dad had pushed me down the stairs at our old apartment complex, I had worked through physical therapy and pushed my body to adapt, to function despite my injuries.
But could I do it again?
“I…” Tears leaked from my eyes, but I couldn’t tear my gaze away from Doctor Garrett. He looked so calm, so kind. And he had saved my life. So why is he crushing my heart? “I’m… a dancer. Will I be able to…?”
He straightened a little, and I saw him press his lips together as if holding back the first response he’d been about to give. Then he shook his head, reaffixing the calm, patient expression to his face. “It’s really too early to say, Talia. You’re young. You have that going for you. And with careful healing and rehab, I feel confident you’ll be able to walk again just fine. A dance career though… That kind of strain on your body? I can’t make you any promises.”
The tears slipped faster down my cheeks, but I jerked my head up and down to show I’d heard him. I could feel my body now, and even though the pain meds being pumped into my system kept anything from hurting, everything felt wrong.
Wrong.
All wrong.
Doctor Garrett rose to stand again, casting a sympathetic look from me to my grandfather. Through blurry eyes, I saw Philip glaring at him. The doctor had gotten on the older man’s bad side the second he’d said “fuck”, and nothing he’d said since had redeemed him.
“We’ll keep you here for several more days to monitor your progress and run a few more tests,” Doctor Garrett added, patting my arm lightly. “We need to make sure everything is healing well and watch for infection. Then you’ll be able to go home and keep resting up there.”
He turned to leave, and Philip shook his head angrily as he stared at the doctor’s retreating back. He reached a hand out to smooth my hair back from my face, making sure to avoid the bandages at my temple, then pressed a kiss to the top of my head.
I almost jolted, surprised at the warmth of the gesture. I’d only ever hugged my grandpa a few times in my life. But he didn’t seem to give it a thought as he stroked his hand over my hair again and drew back, a frown creasing his features.
“I’m so sorry, Talia. I’ll be back in a moment, all right?”
I nodded, still unable to speak. Philip’s footsteps were heavy as he marched to the door and strode after the doctor. I could hear his raised voice calling down the hallway a moment later. He might not be able to stand up to his wife where I was concerned, but he didn’t seem to have a problem giving hell to other people.
The room fell into silence, broken only by the ragged sound of my breathing, and I was both glad and sad that Philip was gone—that I was alone in this moment.
I stared down the length of my body to my legs and ankles, taking in the outline of what was probably a cast under the blanket. It looked lumpy and ugly, like a monster hiding in wait under the sheets.
The last time I’d danced had been during my audition for the Pacific Contemporary Ballet. I had shown them a piece that had been born out of my heart and soul, and it had felt incredible to fly across the stage under the bright lights, to share that story with an audience.
Had that been the last time I would dance on a professional stage?
The ache in my heart was too big for words or speech to encompass. So I didn’t sob. I didn’t scream or yell. I just stared at my legs as twin tracks of tears fell from my eyes, slipping off my chin and wetting my hospital gown.
“Talia?”
Finn spoke from just inside the doorway, and when I looked over in surprise, he had his bottom lip clenched between his teeth. The other three Princes were gathered around him, having fanned out as soon as they entered the room. They looked like they often did—like a singular force, a group so tight-knit that they functioned as one being with separate bodies. Parts of a whole.
That whole, the entity that was The Princes, had seemed eminently powerful and completely untouchable for so long. As if they could change the world with a snap of their fingers.
But they couldn’t change this.
“Fuck, Tal. Fuck.”
Finn was across the room in three long strides, the others so close behind him that they all reached me at the same time. Despite Doctor Garrett’s list of my injuries, I didn’t know where I was hurt or should feel hurt, but they all seemed to. Finn bent to hug me, keeping his hands well away from any of my bandages or bruises.
I could feel his body trembling as he wrapped as much of himself around me as he could, as if I were still in my little blue car, flying over the cliff, and he could save me from the impact somehow, absorb all of it himself.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Legs,” he murmured, his lips at my ear and his voice rough. “I’m so goddamn sorry.”
He was talking about more than the physical hurts. He, out of all the Princes, knew best what dance meant to me. Knew what it would do to me to have it taken away.
I wrapped my less-bruised arm around his back, clinging awkwardly to the strong planes of his muscles as I let my sadness pour out of me. Other hands gripped me, holding me up, keeping the heavy weight in my stomach from dragging me into the darkest place. For a moment, the singular entity of the Princes surrounded me completely, wrapping me in a soothing blend of their combined scents. Cedar, citrus, oak, and ginger.
Pulling in a deep, shuddering breath, I held it in my lungs for a few seconds, feeling my heart thud hard against my ribs.
It wasn’t over. Not my life, not the possibilities of the future. Nothing was played out to the end yet.
I’m still here, aren’t I?
My heart was still beating.
I was still breathing.
Nothing I’d encountered had broken me for good so far, and this wouldn’t either.
Finn held me for a while longer, and I felt his body relax a tiny bit as mine did too. When he released me, all the Princes dragged the nearby chairs into a tight grouping around the bed. Mason sat on my right side, closest to my head, and he reached out to grasp my hand in both of his.
“Do you remember what you told us yesterday, Princess?” he asked. His voice was strained, and I could see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.
I shook my head. Everything since the accident was still fuzzy. I remembered seeing their faces hovering above me, remembered the sound of his voice and Cole’s whispering back and forth late at night. But the specifics were a blur.
“You said you tried to stop. And you couldn’t.” His tone was hard, and angry agitation seemed to churn under his skin.
My voice was raspy when I spoke, but my words didn’t slur like they had before.
“Yeah. I tried to press the brake. It felt… soft. And t
hen, nothing. Like there was nothing connected to it. I pressed on it as hard as I could—”
I broke off, my gaze shifting back down to my shattered leg. It’d been that press that had transferred the shock of the impact from the car to my leg. In trying to save myself from spinning out, I had basically guaranteed the outcome that’d come to pass.
Mason’s grip on my hand didn’t tighten, but I could feel his fingers go rigid. Then he said, “Tal, that shouldn’t have happened. It was a brand new fucking car. It shouldn’t—wouldn’t—have happened if someone didn’t plan for it. Someone set this up. I’m fucking sure of it.”
My gaze whipped up to meet his, my stiff neck protesting the quick movement with a flare of pain. “What?”
But my shock began to fade almost before I finished speaking the word.
It made sense.
It was practically the only thing that made sense.
Someone had tried to kill me.
Chapter 4
“Who?” I whispered.
Maybe that was a dumb question too, but my brain wasn’t functioning at full capacity yet. My gaze shifted around the tight circle of faces, taking in each of the Princes. They all looked grim, and none of them had spoken up to contradict Mason’s assertion that someone had deliberately sabotaged my car.
Elijah shook his head, his hazel eyes glittering with anger. “We don’t know for sure. Your car was totaled, so there probably isn’t any way to even prove there was tampering. But we have an idea.”
An idea.
I let that sink in for a second, and then I let out a choked, almost hysterical laugh.
There was only one person I could think of who hated me enough, and who had such wild disregard for my life, to try something like this.
“Adena,” I muttered.
She and her minions had jumped me during my first year at Oak Park, and after my return, she’d shoved me backward down the steps of Craydon Hall. Even though I’d escaped that incident with nothing more than some painful bruises and a traumatizing flashback, it could’ve been much worse than that.
“Yeah. Fucking Adena Davenport.”
