The Very Best

Chapter Five

I woke up to the sound of beeping. The pulsing of my heart kept time with the rhythm and pounding. I couldn't quite open my eyes, but I heard someone crying. I tried to move my hand, but it felt weighted.

"She had just left. I should've drove her home. This never should have happened." Ian. It was Ian's voice. It was comforting and I relaxed slightly. "It never should have happened," he whispered, voice breaking.
"You couldn't have known," I heard Dad say. I identified the soft sobs as Daddy's. I tried to remember what all had happened, but the memory was fuzzy.

Parting my lips slightly, I tried to make my voice work, but no noise came out. Once again, I tried to open my eyes. This time they fluttered open. I squinted away from the bright lights.

"Matt," Dad whispered to Daddy. "She's waking up," he said more urgently. They rushed to either side of me.
"Ky?" Daddy whispered gently. I opened my eyes a little more, breathing labored. I shifted my gaze to meet his eyes.
"Daddy," I said, voice cracking. He took my hand in his.
"You're okay, baby," Dad whispered, stroking my hair. I blinked, trying to catch my breath. "You're in the hospital. Do you remember what happened?"
"It's a little fuzzy," I replied. He nodded in understanding.
"The car flipped over into a field." He touched the side of my head gently and I winced at the pain. "You hit your head right here. You were in a coma."
"How long has it been?" I asked.
"Three days," he said. "The doctor said it could be a while before you woke up." He visibly bit back the last part of his sentence and without saying a word, the heavy silence screamed. If I woke up. "You lost a lot of blood. You needed a lung transplant and a blood transfusion."
"A stranger's blood is in me?" I asked childishly.
He nodded. I noticed a tall figure in the corner. He had dark curly hair and blue eyes. He looked to be a few years younger than my dads.

He approached me hesitantly. "I'm Zach." It all came flying back to me. He looked exactly like his pictures. My eyes widened. "I'm your father."

I inhaled sharply, throwing my body into a coughing fit.
Dad brushed my hair out of my eyes nervously. "He was nearby when you had the accident. His sister works here and she was shocked when she saw you. You look more like him than we thought. She called him down here. He gave you the lung."

My train of thought came to a halt. "I missed my birthday," I said. My dads nodded.

The doctor walked in. "Kaya Tanner-Morgan?" He asked. Daddy nodded. "You should be okay to go home as long as the stitches are in place." I unbuttoned the side of the hospital gown so he could look at the stitch work. "They all look okay. I've heard it was your birthday two days ago." I nodded as I buttoned up the gown. "You were really lucky. Had you moved even a few inches, your heart could have been punctured instead of your lung." He paused. "Everything looks good," he said as he removed the cannula from my nose. I tried to breathe normal. It was difficult, but not impossible. "You should be okay to go home now."

I was relieved to be able to leave the sterile hospital. "Can I take a shower first?" I asked. Daddy nodded, wiping his eyes. Dad handed me a bag of my things so I could get cleaned up. I felt sweaty and gross.

I showered for probably way too long until I felt a little better. I had to cover the stitches, but other than that I was fairly functional. I had got off lucky. My head ached, but I ignored the pounding. I slipped on my softball t-shirt and a pair of loose joggers. I brushed my teeth in the mirror and brushed my hair. I stared at my reflection. A cut that would turn into a scar stretched over my cheekbone. I had a large bruise on my temple where I had hit my head, but other than that it seemed the air bag had protected from further damage. My hair fell damp around my face.

I stepped out of the bathroom and winced at the movement. Ian stepped forward, supporting my weight by wrapping his arm around my back. I looked up into his eyes; red and puffy from crying. He helped me sit down on the bed. My dad helped me slip on my tennis shoes because I couldn't reach my feet without tearing out the stitches on my left side. Ian helped me follow my dads out to the front desk so I could check out. Zach followed. He mostly just looked at me funny, as if his brain was still processing my existence.