Page 74 of Tutored in Love

She unscrewed the lid, took another sip. “He feels like he wasn’t a good enough brother, like he should have been closer to you.”

Noah scoffed, knowing who had done most of the pulling away. “He tried. It takes two.” He reached for her wrappers, but she stopped his hand with hers.

“Thank you for being here now.”

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

Chapter 38

Prognosis

That night Noah missed thebedding he’d internally complained about in Mexico. Mom insisted on staying at the hospital in case Matt woke up, and the waiting room chairs he’d created a makeshift bed out of left much to be desired. Once he pushed a few of them together with his duffel as a makeshift pillow, he was slightly more comfortable, but sleep wouldn’t come.

His mind wandered to the Mexico crew. What had they done today? Were they able to get the roof on the new bathroom building? He knew Jane wanted it done before the crew left, and he’d been looking forward to the work. Of course, they had Oscar there, and the others would have picked up the slack with Noah being gone.

Had Grace been on the crew?

He’d probably never see her again. At least he’d been able to get his apology out before he left, and her reaction hadn’t been terrible. He couldn’t be sure, but he was fairly confident the tension between them would have eased.

Not that it mattered. His only means of contacting her before had been through her now-obsolete school email address.

Ryan has her number.

Noah’s heart thumped in response. Was he willing to openthatdoor? He hadn’t even talked to Ryan in months—hadn’t talked to him about Grace since their disastrous date.

No.

He wasn’t that desperate for closure. Climbing into his collection of chairs, Noah brought out his phone and played the only game he had—a lame Tetris copycat—until he dozed off.

He woke up disoriented, embarrassed to find a solemn middle-aged woman in scrubs watching him from the doorway with a clipboard in hand. Noah pushed one of the chairs away so he could stand, running his fingers through his hair and wishing for a shower. The clock on the wall read 6:05.

“Excuse me,” the woman said. A stethoscope and ID tags hung around her neck. “Are you Matt Jennings’s family?”

Mom stood, and Noah came to her side. “I’m his mom, Cynthia Jennings. Noah is his brother.”

“I’m Ana Hoffman,” the woman in scrubs said, reaching out a hand. “Neurosurgeon on call today. I just checked in on Matt and read through his charts.”

“How is he?” Mom asked.

“We aren’t seeing any changes yet,” the doctor said, consulting her clipboard. “As you know, he suffered a skull fracture and epidural hematoma in the accident. We were able to remove the pressure on his brain in surgery yesterday, and now we’re watching and waiting for him to wake up.”

“How can you tell there’s been no progress, if he’s still out?” Noah asked.

“Good question,” Dr. Hoffman said. “We assess his responsiveness to light and voices and mild pain—like pinching his hand—and his vitals are about the same today as they were yesterday.”

Mom was wringing her hands. “How soon will he wake up?”

“We don’t know. But we’ll continue to monitor him closely.”

“Will he be all right when he does?” Mom asked.

Dr. Hoffman offered her a weak smile. “There’s no way to tell. The sooner we see some progress, the better his outlook will be.”

“What are his odds?” Noah asked.

The doctor assessed him, as if determining how much he could handle hearing. “Recovery from a traumatic brain injury is difficult to predict, but he is young and healthy, and they got him here in a hurry. Those things work in his favor.”

Noah noticed the growing worry lines on his mom’s face and regretted asking his questions in front of her.