My throat feels thick—full. Swallowing doesn't seem to be an option, but my mind is so muddled that I don't actually care. For some reason it feels like it's been ages since I last opened my eyes, and yet, all I want to to do is resume sleep. I'm so tired.

I try to block out the incessant beeping that's irritating my left ear, but it's impossible. Muted voices seem to echo from the end of a long corridor, increasing in volume as they near. It's my name being muttered from one of the men that has me pulling myself out of sleep.

I blink.

Beige walls come into focus and I attempt to roll my head around on my pillow to examine where exactly I am. I feel paralyzed. Movements are stiff as fire skitters through my nervous system—though, even the burning sensation searing my insides produces no reaction from me. I see two forms hovering nearby, but pay them no heed until I feel one of them touch my arm.

"Good morning," a voice says and I nod in greeting, or at least, I think I do. I can't even sense my own movements, and moving my head in any way has flames licking their way down my numb throat. "Are you ready?"

I try to ask what he's talking about but the goop that has replaced my brain doesn't seem to have a care in the world. Even as the larger figures reaches towards my face and begins pulling some kind of tube out from my lips, I remain still. Maybe it tears at my flesh, maybe it stings, maybe it's the worst pain I've ever experienced, but right now, it doesn't matter. My foggy mind can't recognize anything at this point—even pain.

A gasp exits my lips as the last of the tubing is pulled free from my throat. For the first time in what feels like weeks, I'm able to take a natural breath. I dry cough into my fist.

"How are you feeling, Jamie?" a man asks from my right.

I find that I'm now able to easily tilt my head in the stranger's direction, my sight seeming to come in and out of focus as each second brings about more awareness. I feel confusion and concern ebb their way into my psyche as I grab at pieces of information in hopes of forming a whole picture. From what I can gather so far, I'm in a hospital, and from the way my jumbled head feels, I'm not okay.

"Fine," I say, since it's mostly the truth. Aside from a gnawing fear, I'm not feeling all that horrible.

"Any pain?" he asks, reaching for an IV bag dangling from a pole on my right.

"No." My voice is still groggy, like sandpaper on rough concrete. The person on my left—who I can now see is a woman, probably a nurse—must sense the discomfort and hands me a glass of water.

"That's the drugs," the man says, patting my arm gently. "They're going to be your friend for a while."

"Who?" I ask stupidly.

"The drugs—you'll be on them awhile."

"Where am I?"

"Midwest Medical Center," the man says, crossing his arms over his chest and lifting his chin towards the nurse. She nods, clearly understanding his silent message, and then scurries out of the room. "The doctor is on his way to explain what's going on," he explains, walking to the end of my bed where my clipboard lays. "Do you remember anything about the accident?"

"What accident?" I ask, too tired to even find alarm in the man's question.

"Okay," is the only response I get. The male nurse nods once, taking mental note of my lack of recollection. "What's the last thing you remember?"

I remain silent for a moment, my mind wandering the halls of my dim mind. I see bits and pieces of memories floating in a chaotic heap before slowly conjoining. There's Dillon and Drew, laughter and mindless banter, a plate of fries, freedom, the feel of wind pressing against my body as I wind through the streets of Galena on my motorcycle, and a sense of urgency.

I think that's all I remember until suddenly a child's face flashes across the walls of my mind. There's a bike. I wanted to stop, but there was no time. I barely even had a chance to swerve and avoid him... and I didn't avoid him. I hear his cry of surprise as my front tire clips the edge of his. There's an eruption of chaos, and then—for merely a split second—complete silence.

"The boy!" The words leave my lips in a panic.

"You remember?" the male nurse inquires, but I see the worry creasing his brow.

"I hit a boy on his bike," I explain, even though I'm sure the nurse already knows the details. "What happened to him? Is he okay?"

"Listen," the nurse consoles, stepping around the bed and laying a hand on my shoulder. "Nothing about Friday afternoon was your fault. I hope you understand that."

My thoughts are reeling. I've got a swarm of images demanding attention, but I can't focus on them all. I see a boy, his body sprawled beside his bike. I see the same boy standing in the street, a relieved smile pointed in my direction. Then everything flashes back to the broken child crumpled on the road. Then he's spinning a slow circle as he takes in the wreckage. He's unmoving, gazing unseeingly up at the sky. He's smiling. He's unmoving. He's spinning. He's broken. He's alive. He's...

"Is he okay?" I ask again, my words hard. Abstract thoughts are melding together with reality and I can't depict which is the truth.

I get no answer because it's then that the doctor decides to stroll through the doors followed by my mother. A weight lifts from my chest at the site of her. She looks exhausted, dark circles sinking into the skin around her eyes.

When she spots me, a smile brightens her face. Tears begin spilling down her face the second her eyes make contact with me and she rushes to my side, throwing her body over mine as she hugs me to her. My arms are slow to react, but when they finally circle around her, a wave of sorrow rushes through my body.

"It's gonna be okay, baby," my mom assures as she whispers in my ear. "I'm so glad you're awake."

Awake. Not okay, just awake.

She pulls away, wiping tears I didn't know I had from my face. For some reason, I've got a tsunami of emotions swarming through my system, but no answers as to why they're there. I feel so lost and frustrated.

"Mr. Gallagher," the doctor greets professionally, coming to the side of my bed and reaching to shake my hand. "I'm Dr. Cohen."

My brain is numb, but I find myself sliding my palm into the doctor's and watching as he shakes my limp arm. My mom grips tightly to my opposite hand as the doctor speaks, probably just as anxious as I am to hear what he has to say.

"I'm sure you've got lots of questions," Dr. Cohen begins, pulling a wheeled stool over to the bedside and taking a seat, "so I'm not going to beat around the bush, okay?"

I nod slowly, watching as the male nurse from earlier pulls up a chair for my mom. She smiles a 'thank you' and takes a seat, never letting go of my hand.

"Your mom already knows the details, but I'm sure you'll both have more questions by the time I'm done." My mom smiles at me, a smile that feels reassuring even though I can sense the sadness in its depths. "You were in a severe accident Friday afternoon," Doc explains. "Due to the extent of your injuries, we put you into a medically induced coma for three days. During that time, we performed two procedures on your left leg."

"My leg?" My whole body is so juiced up on narcotics that I feel nothing. This doctor is telling me I've had surgery on my leg and I can't even tell. I glance down, hoping to catch a glance of the damage, but the thick blankets obscure my view.

"Yes." The doctor grows quiet for a moment and then sighs before continuing on. "Jamie, your injuries were severe. When you lost control of your motorcycle, you ended up swerving into oncoming traffic. The driver of the truck tried to avoid a collision, but he overcompensated. He turned the wheel too tight, hit a curb, and the truck flipped. Unfortunately for you, your leg was in the direct path of that vehicle." The doctor offers a sympathetic tilt of his lips, but I see no joy in the smile. "Your leg was crushed. The damage was extensive."

"What do you mean?" I ask. I can sense that the news he's just delivered is horrific, but my mind won't allow the truth to gain access. "How's that possible?"

"Imagine it like this," Dr. Cohen begins, "when that truck landed on your leg, it crushed nearly every bone from your knee down to your pinky toe. Even the most experienced of doctors would not have been capable of reconstructing your leg because your bones had essentially become shards." He pauses, a pained expression on his face as he leans over to rest his elbows on his knees. "This is going to sound awful, and I apologize, but it was basically like crushing a bag of potato chips."

I see my mom cringe at the description, but no matter how detailed the doctor is, I still can't comprehend what this could mean for me. It's like there's a blockage in my mind between the receiving of information and understanding it.

"What does that mean for my leg?" I ask, hesitant.

The doctor eyes me for a moment, the look on his face warning me to be prepared. I hear my mom sniffle beside me, her fingers digging into mine. I keep my gaze trained on the doctor, waiting for the news and praying to God it's not as bad as my mind has conjured up. But, as much as I respect blunt, straight up answers, I could have done without this one.

"Son," the doctor says, his voice gentle, reassuring, "the truck literally ripped your leg from your body." He pauses, eyeing me so I fully understand what's being said. "Your leg is gone."

---

Okay... yikes! Thoughts on the story so far?

I couldn't wait to post this chapter any longer, which is why you all got two updates today. Whoo hoo! As heartbreaking as this chapter was, I hope you're still excited about the story.