Page 322 of Faking the Goal

Call me overprotective.

Tell me to stop worrying.

Do anything.

Just...come back to me.

Because the very first thing you're going to hear when you wake up is the three words I should've told you a long time ago.

I love you.

Mom and Miho come by every day without fail. Mom always brings food she knows I'll forget to eat otherwise, while Miho quietly straightens the room or replaces the flowers on the windowsill. Mom never cries in front of me, but I still catch the way her eyes glisten every time she looks at Taylor lying so still beneath the blankets. She always reaches down to smooth Taylor's hair before she leaves, her lips moving in a silent prayer she never lets any of us hear.

The guys have been here every day too. Zach. Elijah. Cody. Caroline. Even the twins somehow manage to rotate their schedules so someone is always checking in. Liam and Luke have both offered more than once to stay with Taylor for a few hours so I can go home, shower, sleep... do something besides sit in this chair.

I always tell them no.

Because I already failed her once.

I won't leave her side again.

Not for an hour.

Not for a minute.

Not even for a heartbeat

A knock jerks me awake.

My head snaps up so fast a sharp ache shoots through the back of my neck. For one disorienting second, I do not know where I am or why my entire body feels as though I have been folded into this chair for several years. Then the sterile smell reaches me. The steady beeping of the monitor. The faint hiss of oxygen flowing through the tube beneath Taylor's nose.

Her hand is still trapped between both of mine.

I straighten from where I have fallen asleep leaning over the edge of her bed, my cheek nearly resting against her forearm. My eyes fly to her face, searching for movement—a flutter beneath her eyelids, a change in her breathing, anything that might mean the sound woke her too.

Nothing.

She lies exactly as she has for the past three days, pale and frighteningly still beneath the thin hospital blanket. The swelling around her temple has begun to fade from angry red to deep purple, but the bruises covering her face somehow look worse today, their edges darkening against her skin.

For one cruel, hopeful second, I thought she had moved.

Another knock comes from the door.

I drag a hand down my face, trying to clear the exhaustion from my head. "Come in."

The door opens, and Detective Matthews steps into the room. He is wearing the same rumpled dress shirt and dark slacks I saw him in yesterday, though his tie is gone and the shadows beneath his eyes suggest he has not slept much more than I have.

I carefully lower Taylor's hand onto the mattress before standing. Every muscle in my back protests as I cross the room to meet him halfway.

"Detective."

"Mr. Azuma."

We shake hands briefly. His grip is firm, but his attention immediately shifts past me toward Taylor.

"Any change in her condition?"

I glance over my shoulder even though I already know what I will see. "No."