Author pov
The ICU waiting room didn’t have windows.
Just white walls, plastic chairs, and a vending machine that hummed too loud.
Kiefer had been sitting on the floor for 8 hours.
Back to the wall.
Knees up.
His shirt was stiff.
Brown in places.
Her blood.
He’d gone to the bathroom sink 7 times.
Scrubbed until his skin was raw.
There was still blood under his nails.
He was counting his breaths.
In.
Out.
Like if he stopped, she would too.
The double doors slammed open.
Angelo first.
Eyes bloodshot.
Hair sticking up like he’d been pulling it.
Then Jay’s mom.
Both hands over her mouth.
Mascara running.
Then her dad.
Shoulders squared, jaw locked, trying to look like he wasn’t about to shatter.
Kiefer stood up too fast.
The chair behind him screeched.
“She’s in there,” he said.
Voice cracked on the last word.
“ICU.
Unconscious.
They’re monitoring her.”
No one looked at him.
They rushed past him.
Toward the curtained room.
Kiefer’s chest caved in.
“Wait,” he said.
Louder.
“Please.
Wait.”
They stopped.
Turned.
For a second no one spoke.
Then Jay’s dad stepped forward.
“Tell us.”
Kiefer nodded toward the hallway.
Away from the room.
“Outside.
I’ll tell you.”
They followed him to the empty waiting area by the window.
No one sat down.
Kiefer stared at the tile floor.
At a crack in the grout.
“We had dinner,” he started.
Voice hollow.
“At Marco’s.
We were leaving.
Going home.
I was going to my car.
She was walking home.
She said it was only 10 minutes.
She didn’t want a ride.
Said the air would help her headache.”
He swallowed.
It felt like glass.
“Then I heard it.
Tires.
Screeching.
I turned.
A car came out of nowhere.
Full speed.
No headlights.
Jay had headphones in.
She was on her phone.
She didn’t hear it.
I ran.
I screamed her name.
I grabbed her and pulled.
We hit the ground.
Hard.
Her head hit the concrete.”
His voice broke.
“There was blood.
Everywhere.
On the sidewalk.
On me.
On her face.
I was shouting.
‘Someone call an ambulance!
Please!
Call an ambulance!’
People came.
Someone called.
I held her.
I kept saying ‘stay with me, Jay.
Stay with me.
Open your eyes.’
The ambulance came in maybe 8 minutes.
It felt like 8 years.
They took her.
And I followed them.
In my car.
I haven’t left since.”
He stopped.
His shoulders were shaking but no sound came out.
Silence.
Jay’s mom was sobbing quietly into her hands.
Her dad closed his eyes and exhaled like he’d been holding his breath.
Angelo stepped forward.
Put a heavy hand on Kiefer’s shoulder.
“It’s not your fault,” he said.
Firm.
“You ran.
You shouted.
You stayed with her.
You could’ve frozen.
You didn’t.
It’s not your fault.”
Kiefer shook his head.
“I was 10 feet away, Angelo.
If I’d walked her— if I’d insisted—”
“Stop,” Angelo cut him off.
“She’s alive.
Because of you.”
Kiefer didn’t answer.
A nurse came down the hall, clipboard in hand.
“Family of Jay Mariano?”
They all turned.
“She’s awake.
You can go in.
Two at a time to start.
She’s tired.”
Jay’s mom made a sound.
Half sob, half laugh.
Her dad nodded.
“Thank you.”
*Room 204*
The room smelled like antiseptic and the lilies someone had left in the corner too late.
The beeping was constant.
The lights were too bright.
Jay was sitting up.
Propped on pillows.
Pale.
A white bandage on her temple.
An IV in her hand.
But her eyes were open.
The second her mom saw her, she broke.
“Jay, baby,”
she sobbed and rushed in.
Dropped to her knees beside the bed.
She cupped Jay’s face with both hands.
Kissed her forehead.
Her cheeks.
Her hands.
“Oh my god.
Oh my god.
Thank god.
Thank god you’re awake.”
Her dad came next.
He didn’t cry.
But his voice shook.
He pulled her into a careful hug, one arm around her shoulders.
“Kiddo,” he whispered.
“You scared us so bad.”
Angelo leaned in last.
Kissed the top of her head.
“You absolute menace,” he whispered, laughing and crying at the same time.
“Don’t ever do that to us again.
You hear me?”
Jay smiled.
Tired.
Real.
Tears running down her face.
“I’m okay,” she whispered.
“I promise.
I’m okay.”
She looked at each of them.
Memorized them.
Then her eyes moved.
Past her mom.
Past her dad.
Past Angelo.
To the doorway.
Empty.
Her smile faded a little.
“Where’s…
Kiefer?” she whispered.
The room went still.
Her mom turned.
“Honey, he’s been here the whole—”
“Bring him in,” Jay said.
Softer now.
“Please.
I want to see him.”
30 seconds.
That’s all it took.
The door opened.
Kiefer.
He looked wrecked.
Eyes red and swollen.
Face dirty.
Same bloody shirt from two nights ago.
Hair a mess.
Hands shaking at his sides.
Dark circles under his eyes.
Like he hadn’t slept.
Hadn’t eaten.
Hadn’t breathed in 48 hours.
The second he stepped in, Jay’s breath caught.
“Kiefer,” she whispered.
He tried to smile.
Couldn’t.
“Hey,” he whispered back.
Voice rough.
Jay stared at him.
Really looked at him.
Took in the blood.
The exhaustion.
The way he was standing like he might collapse.
And then her face crumbled.
“Come here,” she said.
He crossed the room in 3 steps.
She grabbed his hand.
Her fingers were cold.
Pulled him down to sit on the edge of the bed.
Then she looked at him.
Really looked.
And the first thing she said was:
“Look at yourself.”
Her voice broke on the last word.
“Look how worse your condition is, Kiefer.
You look…
you look like you’re the one who got hit.”
That did it.
A sob tore out of him before he could stop it.
Ugly.
Broken.
He dropped to his knees next to the bed and buried his face in her blanket.
His whole body shook.
“I thought I lost you,” he choked.
“You were walking home.
I shouted for an ambulance.
I followed them here.
I haven’t slept.
I’m so sorry.
I’m so—”
“Shhh,” Jay whispered.
Gentle.
Shaking.
“Kiefer.
Look at me.”
He couldn’t.
He was crying too hard.
“I should’ve walked you,” he sobbed.
“I should’ve insisted.
I was going to my car and you were walking and—”
“Kiefer.”
He looked up.
Face wrecked.
Tears cutting clean lines through the dirt on his cheeks.
Jay was crying too now.
“Don’t you dare,” she said.
Water running down her cheeks.
“You pulled me out of the way.
I remember everything.
The music in my ears.
The lights.
You screaming my name.
You falling with me.
You holding me.
Telling me to stay awake.
You saved me.”
Kiefer shook his head.
“I was supposed to—”
“You did,” Jay cut him off.
Squeezed his hands.
“You did everything.
You didn’t leave me.”
Kiefer pressed his forehead to her hand.
“I was so scared,” he whispered.
“So scared.”
“I know,” Jay said.
Thumb brushing over his knuckles.
“But I’m here.
Because of you.
So please stop, okay?
You’re scaring me more like this than the accident did.”
Kiefer laughed once.
Broken.
Wet.
“Okay,” he whispered.
“Okay.”
Jay tugged him up until he was sitting beside her on the bed.
Careful of the IV.
Careful of the bandage.
She leaned her head on his shoulder.
“Don’t let go,” she murmured.
And he didn’t.
Not while her mom cried quietly in the corner, covering her mouth.
Not while her dad looked away to give them a second, then came back and put a hand on
Kiefer’s back.
Not while Angelo stood in the doorway, arms crossed, and finally let himself exhale for the first time in 2 days.
For a long time no one spoke.
Just the beeping.
And their breathing.
Finally Angelo cleared his throat.
“Alright.
That’s enough trauma for one day.”
He looked at Kiefer.
“You.
Go wash your face.
Get coffee.
You look like you crawled out of a grave.”
Kiefer nodded.
Stood up shaky.
As he turned to leave, Jay’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.
“Come back,” she whispered.
Kiefer looked at her.
Really looked.
“I will,” he promised.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
In the hallway he leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor.
Angelo followed him out and sat next to him.
Shoulder to shoulder.
They didn’t talk for a while.
Finally Angelo said, quiet: “She’s lucky you were there.”
Kiefer closed his eyes.
“I keep seeing it.
The car.
Her on the ground.”
“I know,” Angelo said.
“But she’s awake.
Because of you.”
Kiefer nodded.
Couldn’t speak.
Inside the room, Jay’s mom was fixing her pillow.
Her dad was holding her hand.
And Jay was staring at the door.
Waiting for him to come back.
For the first time since he shouted “call an ambulance”,
Kiefer wasn’t alone with the guilt.
Kiefer pov
Finally she is awake.
Thank god she didn’t had a memory loss.
Suddenly my phone buzzed.
It was a call from mom.
I excused myself from angelo to attend the call.
“Hello mom”
“How is she.”
“She is awake and she is fine.
Mom”
“Okay.
Today let her rest.
I will come tomorrow to meet her.”
“Okay take care .
Mom”
“Take care of yourself too.
Kiefer.
And don’t leave her alone .”
“Okay mom.
Bye”
“Bye”
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