“He’s out of surgery,” I overheard the doctor telling Brooks’ parents. I sat up straighter to eavesdrop. “He’s doing okay. He was very lucky that the cut to his side wasn’t too deep. Any deeper and we could’ve lost him.”

“Oh my God,” Brooks’ mother muttered, tears filling her eyes.

“The troubling news was with his hand.” The doctor shifted around in his shoes before crossing his arms over his white coat. “I’m sorry. We tried our best to save his two fingers, but the damage to them when they hit the propeller was too great. We were hoping to salvage them both, but were unable to. We had to amputate them both in order to improve the overall hand function.”

Which hand? I wondered, my stomach in knots.

“Which hand?” Jamie called out from behind his parents.

The doctor raised an eyebrow, looking over at Jamie. “I’m sorry?”

“I said which hand.”

With hesitation, the doctor looked at Brooks’ parents, unsure if he should say anything in front of us all. When they gave him the right to speak freely in the room, he said the left hand. The room all groaned together.

“Shit,” Rudolph hissed, pounding his hand against the wall. “Shit!”

Brooks used his left hand for frets on his guitar. He’d be unable to play with his injury, and everyone in the room felt that devastation.

“I know how hard this can be, being his career, but we’re really happy to have him still here with us. I fear it might be nearly impossible for him to play the guitar again. With his throat injury singing might be tough, but I believe he’ll fall back into place with his vocals over time. It will be hard, but I think with the right physical therapy and vocal work, he should be able to get his voice back to normal.” The doctor gave everyone a sad smile. “He’ll probably be resting for a while, but when it’s time to see him, I’ll have the nurses come get you.”

As he left, the room went silent, except for the sound of Rudolph pounding against the wall and cursing. “Shit, shit, shit.”

When they moved Brooks to another room we were allowed to see him two people at a time. I held back, waiting to be the last one in to visit. He was asleep when I entered the room, and I was somewhat thankful. I stood in the corner of the room, watching him sleep. His breaths were heavy and seemed hard to swallow. The scar across his neck ran from his collarbone up to his jawline. His left hand was bandaged up, and he had a few bruises on his body, but he was alive. Therefore, nothing else mattered.

“You won’t hurt him,” a nurse told me as she checked his vitals.

I hadn’t moved from the corner for the past thirty minutes I’d been allowed into the room.

She smiled. “If you hold his right hand, you won’t hurt him. They gave him some sleeping pills to help him rest up a bit. He’s been a bit restless while sleeping, which makes it harder for him to heal. So, he’ll be asleep for some time. But, if you wanted to sit beside him…” She gestured toward the chair to Brooks’ right side. “You can hold his hand.”

Nodding, I moved to his side, sat down, and slowly locked his fingers with mine. I’m here, Brooks. I’m here.

The nurse grinned. “I’ll be back to check on him in a while.”

Once she left, I scooted in closer and laid my head on his arm. His chest rose and fell every few seconds, and I counted each time it happened. I moved in even closer, wanting him to feel my heat against his skin, wanting him to know I was there. I’m here.

I couldn’t stop staring. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, because if I did, I worried he’d stop breathing.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know—” a voice started, making me lift my head from Brooks’ bed. I twisted around to see a woman standing there, with a vase full of flowers. “I…” Her words stumbled off her tongue, and she frowned. “They didn’t say anyone was in here.”

Sasha.

I’d seen her before due to me stalking her online and staring at every photograph she ever posted on Instagram. She was beautiful, and it seemed effortless. No makeup. No fancy clothes. Just her, and her flowers.

Her eyes shifted to my hand, which was still holding Brooks’.

I dropped it quickly.

“Sorry. I’ll just drop these off and get going.” She grimaced as she placed the vase on the countertop. As she turned to leave, she paused. “You’re her, aren’t you?” she asked.

I narrowed my eyes, confused.

“Oh, don’t play stupid. You’re the girl. The girl who sent him the books.”

I stood up, feeling awkward, unable to communicate with her.

“So nothing? You have nothing to say? I’m not trying to be rude. I’m just…” She paused. “You’re not the only one who really cares about him, you know.”

I tapped against my throat, and she narrowed her eyes confused.

“What?”

Looking around the room, I searched for something I could write on. When I looked up against the wall, I saw the nurses’ white board and hurried over to it.

I don’t have a voice.

Sasha crossed her arms. “Like just today or…ever?”

Ever.

She frowned. A level of guilt rocketed through her eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. What’s your name?”

Maggie.

“Maggie.” She pushed her fingers through her chocolate brown hair, then placed her hands against her hips. “You’re crazy about him, aren’t you?”

I didn’t know how to answer, because I felt as if anything I said might hurt her.

She smiled. “It’s okay, I know. It’s hard not to be. I’ll get going… If you could please not tell him I stopped by? Not for him, but just for me. I’d rather him not know.”

Are you sure?

“Yeah, I am. Just take care of him, all right? He’s going to be a bit broken, not being able to play his guitar anymore. It’s his life. Other than, well…” Her words faded, and she gave me another tight smile. “Anywho, I’m gonna go. Just don’t let him on the Internet, all right? The media can love you one day and hate you the next. It’s easy for a celebrity to lose themselves after something tragic happens. This time the media was shockingly quick to turn their backs on Brooks. You know how gentle his heart is...I’m not sure he could handle the backlash. Just watch after him. Even though it seems like you’re never alone in the limelight, no one ever really speaks out about how lonely it truly becomes. Remind him that his worth isn’t decided by the leading headline of the week.”