Page 85 of Forgotten Dreams
Chapter 37
Sierra
I open my eyes and then shut them again for a second before I force myself to open them again. I look around and see I’m in a hospital room. The door is closed and a machine is working on the side. The IV in my arm pinches me as I see the chair next to my bed and Caleb sitting in it. His head is back, his eyes closed, and his hands folded on his chest. I lick my lips as I try to lift my arm, but the burning in my shoulder makes me hiss out.
Caleb’s eyes fly open, and he looks at me. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You’re up.” He sits up, and I close my eyes again.
“I need water,” I tell him, trying to swallow, but my mouth is so dry. He gets up and walks out of the room, and I rest my eyes until I hear the door open, and he walks back in. “Thank you,” I say, grabbing the plastic cup he is holding in his hand, but he continues to hold it, putting the straw in my mouth. The cold water hits my tongue right away, and I take a couple of sips. “That was good.”
He turns to put it on the brown hospital table before he sits on the bed beside me. “You scared the shit out of me,” he mutters, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. “I was so fucking scared. Never do that to me again.”
“Okay,” I reply softly. “In my defense, I didn’t want to do it in the first place.”
He smiles. “You have been in and out all night.” I’m surprised by his words.
“What happened?” I ask, thinking back to when the memories start to get fuzzy.
“Before we get to all that, I have to go and get your parents”—he gets up from the bed—“and my parents.”
“Our parents are here?” I ask, shocked. “Like my parents and your parents?”
“Yes.” He nods. “The waiting room was busting with all our friends. All of them left when they found out you were going to be okay, except for our parents. It’s pretty great but a little bit too much.” His hands go by his head. “I’ll be right back.” He walks out of the room, and I can hear the rushing of footsteps when the door opens. My mother is the first one in, followed by my father.
“Oh my gosh,” she says, rushing to my side while my father follows her. “We were so scared.” My mother holds my face. “So fucking scared.” She uses the f-word and then gasps. “I didn’t mean to swear, but don’t fucking do that again.”
I try to smile at her as I look over at my father, who is holding my mother’s shoulders. “Your mother is happy you’re okay.” He tries to hide the tremble of his voice by clearing his throat. “I told her you were going to be okay, but she never listens to me.”
“Oh, hush”—my mother swats at him—“she was shot. I never thought that would ever come out of my mouth. I know someone who was shot.”
I look over at the side, seeing Caleb standing with his parents who I’ve met on FaceTime a couple of times. My heartbeat starts to pick up. “Um, hi.” I hold up my hand as much as I can, but it falls beside me. “Sorry, I would be more chipper, but getting shot is exhausting.”
“Sierra,” my mother gasps, “too soon.” She wipes her eyes, then looks at my father and face-plants her head in the middle of his chest. “She gets that from you.”
“Of course she does.”
“Can I meet Caleb’s parents now?” I ask them, and they move aside. “This is really not how I wanted the first meeting to go with the two of you.” I try to sit up in the bed but that just is too much energy. “I had a dress picked out and everything.”
His mother comes forward first with a smile and tears, of course. “It’s so good to finally meet you,” she says, and I look over her shoulder at Jensen, who Caleb looks exactly like.
“Thank you for coming. You really didn’t have to.”
“Of course we did,” she refutes. “We’re practically family.” I look at her, then at Caleb, who looks up and avoids my eyes.
“He did tell me the two of you were moving in together,” my mother interjects.
“They already live together,” Jensen adds, and my father quickly looks at Caleb.
“This is fun,” I note, “but can we talk about me getting shot?”
“What do you remember?” Caleb asks, coming over to sit by the bed. His hand wraps around mine, bringing it to his lips.
“I remember my birth mother telling me about what her family did to her.” I look at him. “Then I remember opening the door to a man.”
“That was your uncle.” He fills me in on everything he knows, the silent sobs coming from my mother as she listens to the story as Jensen holds Hailey in his arms. His jaw is tighter with each passing second the story goes on. My mouth hangs open. “I don’t know how to tell you this next part,” he says softly, “but Fiona was shot.”
I sit up in bed, ignoring the way my arm burns. “What?”
