The College Room [THE KISSING BOOTH #2 - FAN FICTION]

Chapter Twenty-Four

Noah's letter had me in tears once again. The thought of him sitting down in his tiny college dorm, pressing a pen to paper just to talk to me really was something else.

But I couldn't help but wonder why Dad hadn't made it home yet. He was always conscious to be home by the time Brad finished school, and it was especially weird that he wasn't here given the fact I was grounded.

"Brad, where is Dad hiding my phone at the moment? I know you know where it is."

Brad turned his head away from the TV and looked at me with narrow eyes. "I'm not allowed to tell you that."

I put Noah's letter back onto the table and walked over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I might be overreacting, but-"

"You're always overreacting," Brad said, interrupting me.

"Shut up," I said, and then instantly felt guilty. "Sorry. I just mean, I think Dad might be in trouble. Please tell me where my phone is."

Brad hesitated for a moment, and then sprung his tiny body off the couch. "Just in case you're wrong, I want to cover my own butt. You wait here, and I'll go get it."

I waited in the living room while Brad trotted away, the sound of his footsteps momentarily disappearing.

"Here," he said when he arrived beside me, holding my iPhone up high to my head.

I thanked him profusely and then switched it on. A million notifications popped up on my screen, and I was so tempted to check them.

But first, I had to make sure Dad was okay. I just couldn't escape the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

I dialled his number, but the line rang out. I texted him multiple times.

Brad started to get concerned, so I sat with him and watched TV for a couple of minutes before I tried calling again.

This time, the line only rang three times.

"Dad! Oh my god, are you okay? Where are you?"

"Sorry, is that Rochelle Evans?" The voice on the other end of the line was feminine and unfamiliar. My stomach dropped, and my mind travelled to the worst case scenario.

"Y-Yes," I said. 

"My name is Emma, I'm a nurse here at the Good Samaritan Hospital. You may want to come down here. Your father's been in a serious car accident."

"I'm on my way," I said immediately, and then hung up the phone. I slid my phone into the pocket of my school pants and practically dragged Brad out to the car. 

On the ride to the hospital, Brad asked a million questions. I couldn't help but feel hopeless and frustrated, wishing I knew the answers. I didn't know what happened, I didn't know if Dad was okay, and I didn't know if Brad and I would be orphans after all this. I prayed that we wouldn't be. We couldn't bear to lose another parent.

My heart racing a mile a minute, I felt like the traffic was barely moving. My sweaty palms could barely grip the steering wheel, and as I blinked through the tears that perched themselves on my red eyelids, I knew that it probably wasn't the safest idea for me to be driving. But I didn't have a choice: Dad was hurt.

I slid the car into the nearest parking space - thankful that I even managed to find one - and raced through the bays until we reached the entrance to the hospital.

Brad and I were out of breath by the time we reached the reception area, but I managed to get enough words out to be directed to Dad's bed.

"He's in the intensive care unit. Straight down the hall, take the lifts to level four. Take a right, he's bed number fifteen," said the attendant, looking at me with sad eyes. "Want me to write that down?"

"There's no time," I said, grabbing Brad by the hand and racing down the hall to the elevators.

We made our way from the elevator to intensive care, still dressed in our school uniforms and both our hair waving around wildly. There was no time to care about our appearance, although a number of people squinted their eyes at us when they saw us running through the halls.

I rolled my eyes internally, thinking that a hospital of all places was an acceptable place to be frantic.

We counted the beds in the intensive care unit, Brad pointing out the numbers of each one. Most beds had their curtains drawn for privacy, so we kept our eyes peeled for any sign of Dad.

When we saw number fifteen, we darted over the slippery lino and over to the curtain. I gripped my hand on the satin and ripped it open quickly, giving Brad a fright.

The sight before me was one I wished I didn't have to see.

Dad's body was mostly covered in white bandages, and the rest of him badly bruised and beaten. The few bits of skin that showed through his blue hospital coat and white dressings were red and purple, and his eyes were so puffy they were forced shut.

Brad leaned into me for a hug and we both broke into tears as I wrapped my arms around him.

"Is Dad going to be okay?" He asked through sobs, and I shook my head and told him I just didn't know.

One of the nurses brought up two plastic seats and offered to fetch us some hot drinks, which I gratefully accepted. A hot chocolate at that point in time was probably the only thing that would stop us from crying. It used to be Mum's favourite trick to calm us down.

I sobbed some more at the memory, knowing that, by the looks of Dad, I might only have memories of him left, too.

When the nurse returned, she handed us a warm Styrofoam cup each and frowned at us, her big green eyes looking most sympathetic.

"What happened to him?" I asked, my voice shaking.

She paused before answering. "He was in a head on collision with a drunk driver," she said very slowly. "I'm so sorry you have to see him like this."

"Is he going to be okay?"

"We're not sure yet," the nurse said, her voice strained. "He's broken a lot of bones, and he suffered a blow to the head. We've induced him to a coma to let his body heal itself before he has to be awake to feel the pain."

I let out a yelp, but then swallowed the lump in my throat.

"Is anybody else injured?" I asked, and Brad managed to take a sip of his hot chocolate without bursting into tears.

"I'm not sure about the status of the other driver now, but he wasn't in particularly good shape when he arrived. Is there anyone you'd like me to call?"

I handed the nurse my mobile phone, pulling it out of my pocket with a sob. "Can you please call the number under 'Lee'? I don't think I can explain this right now."

"Of course," she said, taking the phone from me and scrolling through my contacts. "I'll invite him down here straight away."

As the nurse took a few steps away from the bed to call Lee, I leaned into Dad's bed with Brad and sobbed, our tears seeping onto his sheets.

"I'm so sorry for everything, Dad," I said. "I'll do anything you ask if you just stay with us. I promise."

___________

Author's Note:

Hi everyone! Thank you all so much for your support. I'm entering this story into the Wattys 2018 so I'd LOVE if you could keep up all the votes and comments. Tell me below if you think Elle's dad is going to be okay! 

Also, I'm wanting to start writing another book - another teenage or young adult love story. If you got to pick the two main characters, what would you want them to be like? What kind of story would you be most likely to read?! xoxo