"Ma'am!" Another nurse chased after her, hot on her heels.

Rachel wrapped her arms around me, sobbing into my chest. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." She kept on saying it, over and over, like an old-time record with a scratch in its surface.

My mind warred with itself whether I should make sure Rachel was okay or demand answers about Maggie. I ran a hand over her head and my fingertips came away blood-stained and sticky. "Rach, are you all right?"

Her fingers trembled as she wiped at her eyes. "I'm fine, just scratched up a little." A hand drifted up to her face, shaking like a leaf, hovering over a gash that slashed through her left eyebrow.

"The blood . . . it's not . . ." I took a step back, trying to swallow the bile that was creeping up my throat. "It's not yours?"

A sob ripped through her throat, and she shook her head.

"What happened?" I meant to yell it, but it came out like a whisper. "Tell me, please just tell me."

"He came out of nowhere." Rachel bowed her head, then pulled it back up with a deep, shaky breath. "We were crossing the parking lot, leaving to come to you. The car, it came out of nowhere. It was flying. We tried to get out of the way, but . . ." She squeezed her eyes shut like she was trying to rid herself of the image. "It clipped me, I fell." She held out her hands toward me, palms first so I could see the abrasions. "Maggie . . . I didn't see what happened, but next thing I knew, she was on the ground with me. I called 911, and stayed with her till they came. There was so much blood. I swear, Ian. I did everything I could. Everything."

When she broke down this time, I wrapped my arms around her again and pulled her into me. "I know you did, Rach." My throat burned, and so did my eyes. Tears blurred my vision until the emergency room disappeared, hidden in my grief. I tried to cling to hope, but it seemed just outside my reach. I'd already done this, been through the same routine with my father. Why would this time be any different?

This was all my fault. If I hadn't lied to her, hadn't tried to surprise her for our anniversary, then she wouldn't have even been at the mall. She would've been home, where she was meant to be-wrapped up in my arms.

"Mr. Mathis?"

I turned to see a man, a doctor, if I was guessing by his white coat. Trying to get myself under control, I nodded at him.

"Mr. Mathis, I'm your wife's doctor, Dr. Abel. I wanted to come out and give you a brief update. I won't lie to you, your wife is in bad shape. We're dealing with a pelvic fracture, tibial plateau fracture, internal bleeding, and intracranial hemorrhage. I know that's a lot to take in, and you probably have plenty of questions, but where I'm needed most right now is with your wife. I'll have someone keep you updated, but it'll be awhile before she's out." He laid a hand on my arm. "I promise you, Mr. Mathis, we're doing the very best we can."

A thousand questions hovered on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them down. If Maggie needed him, I wouldn't waste his time. I'd ask someone else. His sneakers squeaked on the floor as he turned, his bald head disappearing around the corner and out of sight. My mind spun, conjuring images of Maggie lying bleeding and broken on the hard asphalt, splatters of crimson spotting the snow.

"Ma'am?" The nurse who'd trailed Rachel laid a hand on her shoulder. "I need to st.i.tch this up. Please, come back to your bed."

"I . . ." Her gaze searched mine. "I'll come find you as soon as they're done with me." She took two steps away before looking back to me, her eyes welling with tears. "I'm sorry, Ian."

I didn't blame her, knew it wasn't her fault. In that moment I should have told her so, but my tongue was paralyzed, and I couldn't make myself say the words. I managed to give her a jerky nod, or at least I thought I did. Everything was numb. I couldn't feel my fingers. My feet seemed miles away.

I stood there, staring, for G.o.d knew how long, my shoes cemented to the floor. If breathing hadn't been an automatic process, I'd likely have died right then from forgetting to do it. As the horror of it all continued to sink in and the nightmare wrapped itself around my neck, one thought persisted in being heard above all others-my wife was going to die, and it would be my fault.

Hours pa.s.sed that seemed like years. They'd taken me to a waiting room that smelled of cinnamon and had an enormous painting of a flower hanging to my right. The clock perched on the opposite wall, and I felt each tick of the second hand against my skin.

Ben was the first to show, then Mom. Rachel appeared with st.i.tches crisscrossing her brow, her bloodied clothes exchanged for an oversized pair of blue scrubs. She'd sat next to Ben, gripped his hand in hers, and hadn't let go.

Maggie's parents came after them, but I couldn't even manage to give them a h.e.l.lo. They asked all the same questions I did, and Ben supplied the answers-yes, she was still alive; no, the man who hit her was DOA, he'd been in diabetic shock when he ran them down; no, we didn't have any more information than that.

My head never left my hands, and I stared down at the floor between my feet until the pattern of the linoleum was imprinted onto my retinas. I could feel their eyes on me every now and then, worrying, waiting. What rea.s.surance could I give them when it felt like my soul had been ripped from my body? When the essence of my being was lying right next to Maggie, waiting to hear its fate?

Because if there was one thing I knew, it was this: I wouldn't make it without Maggie. I wouldn't survive. Sure, my body might go through the motions, but the important parts, the pieces that made me who I was, all that would die with her. And really, what kind of life would that be?

Gavin and Felix were the last two to walk through the door, but they came, like I knew they would.

The hours pa.s.sed into early morning-tick, tick, tick-my hope sinking with every twitch of the minute hand.

"The fact that she's still in there is a good sign," Ben said.

"No news is good news." That gem was from Gavin.

A hand on my shoulder, and a hard squeeze from Felix. At least he didn't dump another plat.i.tude on me.

The door opened with a whoosh, footsteps scuffing on the floor.

"Mr. Mathis."

Finally, I moved, my neck protesting the change in direction. "Yes?" I said, my voice cracking. My face was already twisting, antic.i.p.ating the bad news. The entire room held a collective breath.

"Your wife is in recovery. We'll monitor her there for a time before transferring her to the ICU-"

"Wait." I pinched my lips together, trying to hold back the next wave of tears. "Are you saying . . . she's alive?"

Dr. Abel smiled, adjusting his gla.s.ses on his face. "Your wife is most definitely alive."

Chapter 33: Bianca.

A fist pounded on my door. Correction, two fists pounded on my door, in an alternating rhythm that resembled machine-gun fire. I quirked an eyebrow at it, hesitating.

"Bianca! Biancabiancabiancabiancabiancabiancabianca!" Harper yelled through the door.

I threw the door open and glanced quickly down the hallway, half expecting someone to be running down it with an eight-inch blade wearing a hockey mask. When I was satisfied that no one was chasing down Harper to kill her, I pulled back and glared at her. "What was that?"

She gave me a maniacal grin, rocking up onto the b.a.l.l.s of her feet. "I'm going to ignore your snarkiness because in thirty seconds, you are going to be squealing right along with me and thanking me like you've never thanked anyone before."

I searched out the time, glowing green on the microwave. "Harper, I don't really have time for this. My shift starts in an hour-"

"No, it doesn't. I got someone to cover it." For the first time, I noticed the two enormous garment bags dangling from her fingers. "Ah, you finally noticed. So, did you know that I have a friend who owns a high-end consignment shop?"

I shook my head.

"Well, I do, and she let me borrow these two beauties."

"I'm a.s.suming there's more to this story." I retrieved a bottle of water from the refrigerator and twisted the cap off with a crack. Harper followed right behind me, practically skipping with glee.

"Elizabeth York," she spat out, bouncing up and down.

I gave her a blank stare and shook my head.

"E-liz-a-beth York," she repeated. Her smile slowly started fading, the corners of her lips dipping like melted ice cream dripping down the cone. "Are you freaking kidding me? You don't know who she is?"

I stuck my hand out toward her. "Hi, I'm Bianca. I don't own a TV, or troll social media sites, or touch anything resembling a magazine."

She smacked my hand away. "This rock you're living under? It's sad. But for right now, feed off my excitement." Her hands twirled in front of her like she could literally waft her energy toward me. "Elizabeth York is an A-list actress. Super famous. And she's marrying some Russian hockey star. Don't ask me his name, I can't p.r.o.nounce it, it's got like seven consonants to one vowel. Did I mention they're getting married?" She reverted to jumping up and down. "Tonight?"

I pursed my lips, trying to follow her train of thought. "Okay, so two famous people who I don't know are tying the knot tonight, and you're spazzing out because . . ."

"We're going! My friend, the caterer, they got the gig. And he just called me, like, two hours ago, and he can sneak us in. So, I ran over to the shop and got us dresses and-"

I squeezed her in a tight hug, the plastic of the water bottle crinkling in my hand as it got crushed. "We're crashing a wedding?"

"h.e.l.l yeah we are!"

Harper's att.i.tude was contagious, and I found my cheeks aching with the strength of my smile. I couldn't care less about this Elizabeth person, but crossing this next thing off my list left me with two measly items. I smelled the end, saw it cresting on the horizon. I was going to do this.

I pressed the water bottle into her hand, the cap slipping between my fingers and falling to the floor. "c.r.a.p. I need to take a shower." My hand searched over my hair, which I'd casually thrown back into a ponytail. "The dress. You gotta let me see the dress. I'm not sure I'll have the right shoes." I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead. "Jewelry. Oh G.o.d."

Placing the water bottle on the counter, Harper gripped me by both arms. "Breathe, Bianca. And before you do anything else, call Ian."

"You want me to invite Ian?"

"I'm dying for him to come. Please, let me finally meet the guy who's got my best friend falling in love with him."

My mouth dropped open.

Harper's finger prodded me under the chin and pushed it closed. "Was it the 'best friend' comment, or the 'falling in love' comment?"

I wasn't even going to touch the second half of that sentence. Denying it would make me a liar, but actually saying it out loud made things infinitely more complicated. "I'm your best friend?" I tried to wrap my mind around it, and really, it wasn't all that hard. Harper was my best friend, too. Just that simple realization stirred up a whole mess of emotions-a quick spot of pain, a dash of regret, followed by a whole flood of happiness.

"Don't you forget it. Even if you go through with this asinine idea of moving across the country to practice law when you can do it just as well here, and I have to survive on once-a-year visits and weekly Skype dates, you'll still be my best friend." She gave me a shake. "Call him! We've got two hours. Let's go!"

I sprinted across the apartment to my bedroom, throwing myself across the bed to yank my phone off the nightstand. One pillow jolted with the impact, falling off the side of the bed. The situation called for haste, so I skipped over our typical route of communication and called him.

"Hey, is everything okay?" Ian's voice was edged with worry.

"Fine. Better than fine, actually. I know it's Sat.u.r.day, but please tell me you don't have plans tonight." I crossed my fingers, waiting for his answer.

There was a muttered curse on the other end of the line, and my excitement slipped a few degrees. "I'm at my mom's tonight."

I bit back a sigh. "d.a.m.n. I was really hoping you'd be free."

"I'm sorry. I really wish I was."

"It's alright." I rolled over onto my back. Harper poked her head in the room, her hand alternating from the thumbs-up to the thumbs-down position. I shook my head no, and she rolled her eyes. She gave me the wrap-it-up sign and then pointed to the imaginary watch on her wrist, lifting one eyebrow at me.

"Well, I've gotta run."

"Wait, wait. What's going on tonight?"

"My friend Harper got . . . you know what? I'm not going to tell you. Let's just say that you're going to seriously regret being busy tonight."

"I already regret it."

Harper stomped her foot, giving me eyes that said hang up the d.a.m.n phone.

"Alright, I have to go. I'll-"

"Tomorrow. Are you busy tomorrow?"

I pushed up onto my elbows and frowned into the empty air. "No, why?"

"Have lunch with me. I . . . we need to talk."

By that time I was sitting up on the bed, my fingers clenched in the comforter. "That sounds ominous."

He let out a heavy sigh and I could picture him kneading his forehead. "There are things I want to tell you. Things I need to tell you. About me. About my life. I want to talk about us."

Us.

For a moment, I stopped breathing. My mouth forgot how to form words.

"Will you come? Tomorrow?"

I shook myself, snapping back into the moment. "Sure."

"Great." Relief flooded his voice. "I'll let you go. I . . ."

My heart tripped as he trailed off. At the same time hoping and fearing that what I thought he was about to say would actually come out of his mouth.

" . . . I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow."

I disconnected the call and spent a minute staring at the dark screen. Had he been about to say that he loved me? No, that couldn't be right. But what if he was? What if, against all odds, he'd actually gone and fallen in love with me? Holy c.r.a.p. Something reached out and pinched my heart. For a second, I thought it was panic, but it wasn't-it was hope. Immediately, my mind spun out into a thousand different directions, a million different ideas of things we could do to make this work.

Harper snapped a finger in front of my face. "Earth to Bianca. Time's a-wasting."

"Right, sorry. I'm gonna shower, give me fifteen minutes."

"Good." She nudged me in the shoulder. "And hey. There better be a big frickin' smile on your face when you come out. That's an order."

I gave her a mock salute. "Yes, ma'am."

"This is incredible," I said, my gaze roaming around me, not bothering to waste any time landing on one particular thing.

"Right?" Harper ran a hand down the wall as we walked. "Who would've thought the Museum of Natural History would be such a fantastic place for a wedding? Not exactly the first place I'd imagine Elizabeth York getting married, but hey, who am I to judge?"

We lingered for a moment outside the reception doors. The wood vibrated from the music inside, the ba.s.s humming through the air and dancing over my skin. Harper's friend had snuck us through a side entrance they'd been using, taking us through the back hallways and, at one point, shoving us into a deserted room as someone walked by. The whole thing was very James Bond.