The Rush (54 page)

             
Falcon felt horrible.  He blamed himself for Mad leaving.  He gave Mad five thousand dollars as a graduation present and we assumed that was the money which funded his trip.  He beat himself up about it more and more every day.  I think Mad assumed we would all move on.  I don’t know how he could’ve underestimated how much we loved him.  He was our clown and he made us all happy.  Owen was the brawn, Falcon was the brains and Mad was the clown.  He was just as important as anyone else.  I cried for hours and hours on the night he left after Sylvia called everyone. 

             
Falcon and I were supposed to get married in a month but without Mad, we both refused.  It just wouldn’t be right. Falcon would never vow to marry me without all of his brothers beside him and I didn’t blame him one bit.  No matter what Sylvia said or even what Mad said; he was Falcon’s brother.   My future husband held me as I cried for my wedding, for his lost brother, for Sylvia’s heartache, for my best friend. 

             
And Owen and Nellie—they had finally decided to start trying for another baby.  But now that Maddox was gone, it was like our whole world stopped.  Plus, she wasn’t even sure she wanted to get pregnant ever again.  But I was the only one who knew that.

             
Chase was practically comatose.  He stood in the kitchen looking out of the window while Sylvia explained to us why Mad was gone.  She started the story twenty years prior…

Expected Release Date: May 1, 2013

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And now an excerpt from Wide Awake by Shelly Crane

A girl.

            A coma.

             
                                                    A life she can't remember.

When Emma Walker wakes up in the hospital with no knowledge of how she got there, she learns that she's been in a coma for six months. Strangers show up and claim to be her parents, but she can't remember them. She can't remember anyone. Not her friends, not even her boyfriend. Even though she can't remember, everyone wants her to just pick up where she left off, but what she learns about the 'old her' makes her start to wish she'd never woken up. Her boyfriend breaks up with the new girl he's dating to be with her, her parents want her to start planning for college, her friends want their leader back, and her physical therapist with the hazel eyes keeps his distance to save his position at the hospital.

             
Will she ever feel like she recognizes the girl in the mirror?

Please enjoy an excerpt from Shelly Crane's new novel, WIDE AWAKE, available now.

              Someone was speaking. No, he was yelling. It sounded angry, but my body refused to cooperate with my commands to open my eyes and be nosy. I tried to move my arms and again, there was no help from my limbs. It didn't strike me as odd until then.

I heard, "All I'm saying is that you need to be on time from now on." Then a slammed door startled me. I felt my lungs suck in breath that burned and hissed unlike anything I'd ever felt before. It was as if my lungs no longer performed that function and were protesting.

              Then I heard a noise, a gaspy sound, and my cheek was touched by warm fingers. "Emma?" I tried to pry my eyes and felt the glue that seemed to hold them hostage begin to let go. "Emma?"

             
Who was Emma? I felt the first sliver of light and tried to lift my arm to shield myself, but it wouldn't budge. Whoever was in the room with me must've seen me squint, because the light was doused almost immediately to a soft glow. My eyelids fluttered without strength. I tried to focus on the boy before me. Or maybe he was a man. He was somewhere in between. I didn't know who he was, but he seemed shocked that I was looking up at him.

             
"Emma, just hold on. I'm your physical therapist and you're in the hospital. Your…" he looked back toward the door, "parents aren't here right now, but we'll call them. Don't worry."

             
I looked quizzically at him. What was he was going on and on about? That was when I saw the tubes on my chest connecting my face to the monitors. The beeping felt like a knife through my brain. I looked at the stranger's hazel eyes and pleaded with him to explain.

             
He licked his lips and said softly, "Emma, you were in an accident. You've been in a coma. They weren't sure if…you'd wake up or not."

             
Of everything he just said, the only thing I could think was, 'Who's Emma?'

             
He leaned down to be more in my line of sight. "I'll be right back. I promise." Then he pressed a button on the side of the bed several times and went to the door. He was yelling again. I tried to shift my head to see him, but nothing of my body felt like mine. I started to panic, my breaths dragging from my lungs.

             
He came back to me and placed a hand on my arm. "Emma, stay calm, OK?"

             
I tried, I really did, but my body was freaking out without my permission. And then his face was suddenly surrounded by so many other's faces. He was pushed aside and I felt my panic become uncontrollable.

             
I thrashed as much as I could, but felt the sting in my arm as they all chattered around me. They wouldn't even look me in the eye. That man…boy was the only one who had even acknowledged me at all. The rest of them just scooted around each other like I wasn't important or wouldn't understand their purpose, like it was a job. Then I realized where I was and guessed it was their job.

             
My eyelids began to fight with me again and I cursed whoever it was that has stuck the needle into my arm. But as the confusion faded and the air become fuzzy, I welcomed the drugs that slid through my veins. It made the faces go away. It made my eyes close and I dreamed of things I knew nothing about.

             
My eyes felt lighter this time when they opened themselves. The fluttering felt more natural and I felt more alive. I could turn my head this time, too, and when I did I saw something disturbing.

             
There were strangers crying at my bedside.

             
The woman caught me looking her way and yelled, "Thank the Lord!" in a massive flourish that had me recoiling. She threw herself dramatically across the side of my bed and sobbed. I shifted my gaze awkwardly to the man and waited as she stood slowly, never taking his eyes from mine. "Emmie?" When I squinted he said, "Emma?"

             
When I went to speak this time, the tubes had been removed. I let my tongue snake out to taste my lips. They were dry. I was thirsty on a whole new level and glanced at the coffee cup stuck between his palms. He looked at it, too, and guessed what I wanted. He sprung to set the cup down quickly and fill an impossible smaller cup with water from a plastic pitcher. I tried to take it from his fingers, and he must have sensed I needed help, because he held my hands with his and I gulped it down in one swig with his help. My arms ached at the small workout they were getting and again I wondered what I was doing there.

             
I made him fill it three more times before I was satisfied and then leaned back to the bed. I decided to try to get some answers. I started slow and careful. "Where am I?" I said. It felt like my voice was strong, but the noise that came out was raspy and grated.

             
"You're in the…hospital, Emmie," the woman sobbing on my bed explained. She smiled at me, her running mascara marring her pretty, painted face. "We thought we'd never get you back."

             
That stopped everything for me.

             
"What do you mean?" I whispered.

             
She frowned and glanced back at the man. He frowned, too. "What do you remember about your accident, sweetheart?"

             
I shook my head. "I don't remember anything." I thought hard. Actually, that statement was truer than I had intended it to be. I couldn't remember…anything. I sucked in a breath. "Who are you? Do you know something about my…accident?"

             
The woman's devastated face told me she knew everything, but there was apparently something I was missing. She threw her face back onto my bed and sobbed so loudly that the nurse came in. She looked at the man there. He glanced to me, a little hint of some betrayal that I couldn't understand was in his eyes, before looking back to the nurse. "She must have amnesia."

             
The nurse ignored him and took my wrist in her hand to check my pulse. I wanted to glare at her. What the heck did my pulse have to do with anything at that moment? "Vitals are stable. How do you feel?" she asked me.

             
How did I feel? Was she for real? I rasped out my words. "I feel like there's something everyone isn't telling me."

             
She smiled sympathetically, a side of wryness there. "I'll get the doctor."

             
I looked up at her. She was short and petite, her blond hair in a bun and her dog and cats scrubs were crisp. I watched her go before looking to the man again.

             
"I don't understand what's going on. Did I…"  A horrifying thought crossed my brain. The gasp I sucked in hurt my throat. "Did I kill someone? Did I hit them with my car or something? Is that why you're all being so weird?"

             
The man's own eyes began to fill then. I felt bad about that. I knew it was my fault, I just didn't know why. He rubbed the woman's back soothingly. He shook his head to dispel my theory and took a deep breath. A breath loaded with meaning and purpose. "Emmie…you were in an accident," he repeated once again that I was 'in an accident'. OK, I got that. I wanted him to move on to the part that explained the sobbing woman on my bed. He continued after a pause, "You were…walking home from the football game. Someone…hit you. A hit and run, they said. The person was never found. They left you there and eventually someone else came along and helped you. But you'd already lost a lot of blood and…" He shook his head vigorously. "Anyway, you've been here for six months. You were in a coma, Emmie."

             
I took in a lungful of air and uttered the question that I somehow knew was going to change my world. "Why do you keep calling me Emmie?"

             
He grimaced. "That's your name. Emma Walker. We always…called you Emmie."

             
"My name… Emma," I tasted the name. "I don't feel like an Emma."

             
He smiled sadly. "Oh, baby. I'm so sorry this happened to you."

             
The woman raised her head. "Emmie." She tried to smile through her tears. "Try to remember," she urged. "Remember what your favorite color is?" She nodded and answered for me, "Pastel Pink. That's what you were thinking, right?"

             
Pastel pink was the last color I would ever have picked. "Are you sure I'm Emma?" She started to sob again and I felt bad, I did, but I needed answers. "Who are you?"

             
"We're your parents," the man answered. "I'm…Rhett. And your mother is Isabella. Issie…" he drawled distractedly.

             
"Rhett?" I asked. "Like in Gone With The Wind?"

             
He smiled. "That was your favorite movie when you were little."

             
I closed my mouth and felt the weight bear into my chest. I wasn't me. I had no idea who I was. These people claimed to know me and be my parents, but how could I just forget them? How could I forget a whole life?

             
I tried really hard to remember my real name, my real life, but nothing came. So, I threw my Hail Mary, my last attempt to prove that I wasn't crazy and didn't belong to these strangers, however nice they may be. "Do you have some pictures? Of me?"

             
In no time, two accordion albums were in my lap. One from the man's wallet and one from the woman's. I picked up the first, trying to sit up a bit. The man pressed the button to make the bed lean up and I waited awkwardly until it reached the upright position. Then I glanced at the first photo.

             
It was the man, the woman, two girls and a boy. They were all standing in the sunlight in front of the Disneyland sign. The man was wearing a cheesy Mickey Mouse ears hat. I glanced at him and he smiled with hope. I hated to burst the little bubble that had formed for him, but I didn't recognize any of these people. The pictures proved nothing. "I don't know any of those people."

             
The woman seemed even more stunned, if possible. She stood finally and turned to go to the bathroom. She returned with a handheld mirror. She held the picture up in one hand and the mirror in the other, and I indulged her by looking. I have no idea why I was so dense to not understand what they had been implying, and what I had so blatantly missed.