The Fine Print: Chapter 43

“Ani, can you shut off the alarm?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Ani.”

The same incessant beeping continues. I open my eyes and come face-to-face with a heart monitor. I bolt upright in the bed, and my chest aches in protest.

I stare at the IV embedded under the skin of my left hand as I try to comb through my memories. The last thing I remember is going to Rowan’s house to watch TV in bed.

So how did I end up here? My fingers trace the clear tubing that leads right into my nose. I follow the line with my eyes, landing on an oxygen tank.

“She’s awake.” Rowan’s raspy voice has me turning my head toward the sound.

He hangs up the phone and tucks it into his pocket. The look on his face has a chill spreading across my skin. It reminds me of how he used to stare at me before everything changed between us, and I hate it.

“Don’t move.” He stands and steps toward the bed.

“What’s going on?” my voice croaks. Every word takes a ton of effort I struggle to produce.

He fills a small plastic cup and passes it to me. “You’re in the hospital.”

I take a sip of the water before speaking. “I gathered that much. But how did I end up here?”

His lips remain in a flat line. He looks ragged and tired in a way I’ve never seen him, with days’ worth of stubble and bags under his eyes. I blink at his wrinkled hospital gift shop T-shirt.

Everything about him is all wrong.

I smooth out the blanket covering me. “Are you okay?”

“I will be.” He says the statement with such absolute resolve. I want to believe him, but he can’t even look me in the eyes.

Goosebumps explode on my arms. “Do you want to tell me why I’m here?”

It feels like a whole minute goes by before he finally looks at me. “You were dehydrated, bleeding from your head, and tempting fate. You’re lucky to be in this bed rather than the morgue.”

“Morgue? That’s drastic for a couple of stitches and a cold.” My brows pull together, and I’m hit with a sharp pain at the top of my head. I touch the spot. My fingers hover over a giant Band-Aid.

His jaw ticks. “Don’t touch. With your good fortune, you’ll pull a stitch and bleed all over your new gown.” He brushes my hand away with a gentleness that fails to match his tone.

“How did I end up getting stitches?”

He caresses my cheek with his thumb. “I found you passed out in my bathroom after you knocked your head against the floor.”

“Oh my God.” My lungs ache, making it hard to breathe normally. I wince at the burning sensation.

“What hurts?”

“The real question is what doesn’t.” I shake my head and regret it.

“Don’t do that.”

I rub my eyes. “I can’t believe I ended up here.”

He stands taller. “The doctor says you’ll go home by the end of the week.”

“What day is it?”

“Friday.”

“Friday?!” I end up coughing after my outburst.

How is it Friday already? The last day I remember fully is Monday, when I had to call in sick.

“You’ve been in and out of it from your fever and then your head injury.”

“How many days have I been here?”

“Two. They want to keep you here for observation before letting you go home.”

I rub my eyes. “This all sounds so expensive.”

His nostrils flare. “The only thing you need to worry about is getting better.”

“That’s easy for you to say. I can’t afford any kind of deductible that includes oxygen therapy and overnight hospital stays.” I shift in the bed, but Rowan places a hand on my shoulder, stopping me.

Darkness crosses over his face. “It’s already paid for.”

My pride shrivels up at the idea of being so financially insecure that he needs to cover my medical bill. “I don’t know how to repay you.”

His entire jaw clenches. “I don’t need your money.”

“Is everything okay?” My voice is a hoarse whisper.

He releases a deep exhale. “It’s good you’re more coherent.”

That wasn’t an answer to my question but I’m afraid to ask more. He tenses when I reach for his hand.

“I’m sorry you had to go through all this. I can’t imagine how scary it was for you.”

The vein in his forehead pulses. “I was terrified, Zahra. I found you barely breathing, with too much blood coming out of your head. And when I got you to wake up, you were talking gibberish. I thought you had permanent brain damage.” His voice cracks. “The few minutes before the ambulance got to my house were the scariest of my damn life and I couldn’t do anything to fix it.” The way his voice cracks has my heart splintering with him.

“I’m really sorry. I don’t even remember going to the bathroom.”

“Stop apologizing. You sound ridiculous.” He drops my hand and gives me his back. His back shakes as he lets out a deep breath.

“Minus the amazing?”

His heavy exhale is the only response I get.

I take a deep breath to calm myself down, but I end up wheezing. “Are you sure that you’re okay?”

“Stop worrying about me and save your energy for what matters.”

But you matter, I want to say. But the words get trapped in my throat, held down by this worry that something isn’t right between us.

The heart rate monitoring machine betrays my nerves.

Rowan turns around and glares at the machine. His jaw locks and the vein in his temple makes a reappearance. “I mean it, Zahra. Relax.”

“Will you stay while I sleep?” I feel pathetic for asking.

He remains silent.

Acid churns in my stomach and inches up my throat. What happened while I was resting? It’s like the man I spent the whole weekend with in New York is gone, replaced by this cold version. It reminds me of how Rowan was when I first met him, which pains me more than I care to admit.

He squeezes my hand once before taking a seat across from me. “I’ll stay.”

I offer him a small smile which he returns with a forced one.

The beeping machine fills the silence. Each breath is taxing on my energy, and I lose the battle with consciousness. Darkness swallows me whole, worries and all.