*Lucas*
My heart was hammering against my ribcage, the sterile hospital lights too bright, too harsh as they carted Lauren in on a gurney. Her golden hair, usually so vibrant and full of life, lay limply across the stark white pillow. The sight of her like that—vulnerable, hurt—sent a shockwave of fear through me that I couldn't control.
"Lucas?" Michael's voice came from somewhere to my left, but it sounded distant, muffled by the frantic beating of my own pulse in my ears.
"Is she going to be okay?" I managed to ask the doctor, my voice sounding foreign even to myself.
"She's regained consciousness and she seems to be alert, which is a good sign," the doctor replied with a calm I envied. "She has a concussion and a sprained ankle. We'll need to keep an eye on her, but she's been very lucky."
"Can I see her?" I asked, my hands clenched into fists at my sides.
"Just for a few minutes," he consented with a nod.
