An Endless Serenade

Chapter Thirty-Two

When I woke up, everything felt hazy. I briefly wondered if I'd overslept and missed school, but then I felt a dull sense of pain radiating from every joint in my body. I groaned and heard a small gasp from someone.

"Allie Cat?"

A soft hand touched my forehead and I opened my eyes. My vision was a little blurry for a moment, but then my mom's tired face came into focus. Her eyes were puffy, like she'd been crying.

I groaned again.

"Are you okay? Do you need something?" she said quickly.

"Yeah, for you to stop crying."

She looked shocked and then she laughed, her eyes watering again.

"I tell her that all the time," a new voice commented and then my dad stepped beside my mom, putting an arm around her shoulder.

"You're both jerks," my mom mumbled, wiping her eyes. "It's normal to cry when your only child is in the hospital. I've had enough hospitals for twelve life times."

I tried to sit up, grimacing when my head began pounding. My dad gently pushed me back down into a lying position. "You have a concussion, don't sit up."

"Concussion— oh my god, Paul." Everything hit me. The truck, the accident. Why didn't it register? Something clenched at my chest and I stared at my dad with wide eyes. "How is he? He's okay, right? Where is he?" I looked around the room. What time was it? How long had I been out?

My mom bit her lip, her eyes watering up again. "Allie, please don't feel guilty about what happened."

"What happened?" I choked out, barely able to speak with how tight my throat was. Please don't be dead, I prayed. I felt the tears before I could stop him. "He's not dead right?"

She shook her head and I immediately felt relief rush through me. "Oh my god, thank god, thank god, " I cried, rubbing the tears from my face. When doing so, a sharp pain went through my fingers. My eyes shot down to my bandaged hand. "What..."

"You've got some cuts and your pinky and ring finger are sprained," my dad said before I could ask. "They'll heal in no time. I'm more worried about your head."

"What about Paul?" I asked. I wasn't worried about myself at all. I knew I should be— I'd sprained my fingers and the competition was right around the corner. But who cared? Paul was the only thing that mattered at this moment. I had to know what I'd done to him.

"He's doing good," my mom answered me, wiping a finger under her eye to clean up some smeared mascara. All she did was rub it in more. "I'm going to call the doctor so he can check on you."

I shook my head, but regretted it instantly. The pain was coming on stronger. "Is he completely okay?"

My mom chewed on her lip. A tell tale sign she was hiding something from me. I turned to my dad instead, giving him the most serious look I could muster. "Dad?"

"He just about shattered the bones in his left wrist," he responded, lowering his eyes. "He had to have them go in and straighten them. And when you flipped, you were trapped. He shattered the window with his other hand to get you out, so his right hand is cut pretty badly. They gave him some stitches, so it will probably heal well."

My blood ran cold. "His wrist...?"

"I know, Sweetie," my mom cooed, smoothing down my hair.