The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 337

"Are you out of your mind? A deep coma? Ten years?"

She looked down at the back of her hand, then looked up, scanning the hospital room, staring at the very real buildings, trees, and passing cars outside the window. "You're telling me it's 2026? Why don't you just tell me aliens have taken over the Earth? A targeted cancer drug? Why don't you tell me you won The Nobel Prize in Medicine while you're at it? Actually, they should give you an award for best fantasy novelist!"

Garrison was speechless.

He had never realized until now that Sloane could actually be incredibly infuriating when she wanted to be.

"Sloane, I am not joking." Garrison pulled his phone out of his pocket, intending to show her today's date.

"Stop trying to brainwash me! I don't buy any of this for a second, and I'm seriously starting to doubt you're even a real doctor!"

Sloane threw off the blankets, her bare feet hitting the freezing floor.

The IV needle was still embedded in her hand. The sudden movement yanked the transparent tubing taut, ripping the needle out of her vein and slicing a thin, bloody gash across the back of her hand.

Blood instantly welled up from the puncture, trailing down her pale skin and dripping onto the cuff of her striped hospital gown, blooming into a jarring crimson stain.

Garrison's heart leapt into his throat. "Don't move!"

She ignored the blood entirely, bypassing the edge of the bed and making a beeline for the door. She was unsteady on her feet. Having been bedridden for so long, her muscles hadn't fully recovered. After two steps, her legs gave out, and she pitched forward.

Garrison moved instantly, catching her by the waist.

Her body collided with his chest, feeling as weightless as a leaf caught in the wind.

His hands gripped her sides. Through the thin cotton of the hospital gown, he could feel the prominent ridges of her ribs—she was even thinner than before. Every single rib felt sharply defined.

She wasn't in any pain, but she was just so, so tired...

Just then, the door was suddenly pushed open.

A woman stood in the doorway, the collar of her trench coat popped up, her hair blown into a frizzy mess from clearly having run all the way up. She took in the scene in the hospital room—Sloane slumped against Garrison's shoulder—and froze.

Sloane froze, too.

Because she recognized the woman, and yet... she didn't completely recognize her.

Lexi Lowery.