Beeping machines drag me back to consciousness like a fish on a hook, unwilling and flopping. My eyelids feel weighted with cement as I force them open, the harsh fluorescent lights stabbing directly into my brain. Everything hurts. Not the dull ache of a hangover or the burn after a workout with Ivy, this is different. This is total, systemic rebellion from every cell in my body.
"Where...?" My voice emerges as a pathetic croak, throat sandpaper-dry. The word costs me more effort than it should.
"Oh fuck, he's awake," Melissa's voice, sharp with alarm.
As my vision clears, shapes materialize around me. Melissa hovering near the foot of the bed, her racing jacket rumpled like she's been wearing it for days. Cecilia standing ramrod-straight by the door, her perfect posture somehow making her look more dangerous than usual. And Mom, Jesus, Mom looks like she's aged ten years overnight, her normally immaculate appearance disheveled, eyes red-rimmed and hollow.
I try to move but my body refuses to cooperate. Looking down, I see why, bandages wrap around my torso like a mummy costume, my arms immobilized in some kind of medical contraption. An IV line snakes from my right hand up to a bag of clear fluid.
"Huh?" I manage, the confusion thick in my mouth along with whatever drugs they've pumped into me.
The three women exchange glances, a silent conversation happening above my head. Cecilia's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly before she steps forward.
"You were in a bad crash," she states, her voice clinical but somehow gentler than I've ever heard it.
The words trigger something in my brain, like a dam breaking. All at once, the memories flood back in a violent rush that makes me gasp aloud.
Turn 4. I remember now.
I took it way too hot, my foot buried on the throttle like an absolute idiot. I was flying, exhilarated by the raw power beneath me, drunk on speed and rebellion. Then it happened, that sickening moment when the rear tires broke loose, the grip vanishing before my brain could even register the danger. Pure instinct took over, and I yanked the wheel hard, trying desperately to catch the slide.
Too hard. Too late.
The car snapped violently in the opposite direction, and suddenly I was hurtling backwards at nearly two hundred miles an hour. I remember the surreal moment of clarity as I saw the wall rushing toward me, the strange calm that washed over me in that split second before impact.
There was a deafening crack, metal tearing into concrete, and then my body was just along for the ride, a helpless rag doll trapped in a disintegrating steel coffin. The world became a blur of sky, wall, track, spinning endlessly as pieces of the car tore away around me.
And then... nothing.
"Oh god," I choke out, my voice barely audible over the beeping machines. The memory makes me physically nauseous, bile rising in my throat. "How bad is it?"
Cecilia moves to my bedside, picking up the chart hanging from the foot of the bed. Her eyes scan the pages methodically, her expression revealing nothing as she flips through the documentation of my broken body.
"Well?" I rasp, desperate to know just how badly I've fucked up.
She sighs deeply, finally meeting my gaze. "Fractured tibia and fibula in both legs. Several metatarsals broken in your right foot. Six broken ribs." She pauses, her clinical tone softening almost imperceptibly. "Both wrists broken. And they're monitoring you for a concussion, which seems likely given the impact."
The inventory of injuries hits me like a second crash. I close my eyes, trying to absorb the reality of my situation.
"Does Ivy know?" The question escapes my lips before I can even process that I'm asking it. Even now, broken and hospitalized, she's my first thought.
Cecilia nods once, her posture straightening slightly. "I called her the moment you were secured in the ambulance. She's... not taking it well."
The image of Ivy receiving that call flashes through my mind, her face draining of color, that fierce protective instinct kicking into overdrive. I can almost hear her screaming at her team, demanding a jet, threatening anyone who stands in her way.
"Tell her she can't come here," I say, surprised by the firmness in my broken voice. "Tell her she needs to stay in Monaco."
Cecilia's laugh catches me off guard, a small chuckle that seems oddly out of place in this sterile hospital room.
"She wouldn't listen to anyone now," she says, her eyes softening slightly. "Not me, not Victoria Zenith, not even the FIA president herself."
"But she can't miss Monaco!" My voice cracks as panic surges through me. "Not because of my stupid fuck up! It's the most prestigious race of the season!"
Cecilia shakes her head, checking something on her phone before sliding it back into her jacket pocket. "Mr. Hunt, your wife is already on a private jet heading here. She commandeered the team plane about thirty seconds after I called her."
My heart sinks and soars simultaneously. The thought of Ivy dropping everything for me fills me with a warmth that even the pain medication can't replicate, but the knowledge that she's abandoning Monaco because of my recklessness makes me feel physically ill.
"How long until she gets here?" I ask, my voice small.
Cecilia's eyes flick to her watch.
"She's landing soon," she says quietly.
The room spins slightly as I process this information. I try to sit up straighter but my body screams in protest.
"How long was I out?" My voice still sounds like it's being dragged across gravel.
Cecilia checks her watch again. "About nine hours."
"Fuck," I breathe, letting my head fall back against the pillow. Nine hours. Nine hours of Ivy thinking I might be dying while she's trapped on a plane, unable to reach me.
"I told you," Mom's voice cuts through the room like glass breaking. "I told you this would happen, Nicholas. Men aren't built for…"
"Keep that up, Mom, and I'm sure my wife won't hesitate to beat the shit out of you again," I snap, the words coming out colder than I expected. "Even if you're right."
The room goes silent. Mom's face crumples, somewhere between shock and hurt. Melissa's eyes widen, and even Cecilia seems momentarily taken aback by my outburst.
The silence stretches between us like a rubber band pulled too tight, ready to snap. My body throbs with pain beneath the mountain of bandages and braces, but it's nothing compared to the ache in my chest when I think about Ivy abandoning Monaco because of me.
"I'm so fucking stupid."