Meant to Marry Me

Confusion washed over Bree as she opened her eyes and couldn't remember where she was. She heard a beeping and looked around. The gauze on her hand reminded her of what had happened. She was in the hospital. The hotel had caught on fire, or had been set on fire, and she and the others had had to run for their lives. She prayed no one had been hurt or, God forbid, killed.

A few moments after she awoke, the door opened and a nurse walked in. The middle-aged woman dressed in green scrubs wore a soothing smile that implied she had just the sort of bedside manner one would look for in a nurse. "There she is. I was wondering when you might come around. How you feelin' Miss Bree?"

The woman's demeanor made Bree feel better immediately. "Okay," she said, her throat dry. "Where's Trent?"

The nurse, whose name tag read Raneisha, helped Bree to get a sip of water from a cup on a table near her bed. "He's in the process of being discharged, honey. He should be in in a few minutes, once he's done with all the paperwork. We'll need to keep you a bit longer, let Dr. Holloway look at your hand again. He may want to send in a specialist."

"A specialist?" Bree asked. She took another sip of the water through a straw, the cold drink feeling good against her rough throat.

"Yes, honey. You've got some pretty bad burns on your fingers, and they think they may need to do a skin graft. I'll let him explain it to you, though."

Bree raised both eyebrows. She had no idea it had been that bad. She vaguely remembered sticking her hand out as they went through the doorway, and that it had hurt something awful, but she didn't realize it was so bad. "Can I get you anything else? How's your pain?"

"I'm fine, thank you," Bree said. She felt a little nauseated, but she didn't know if that was because of the injury or the news she'd just gotten.

"Okay, sugar. I'll go let the doctor know that you're awake, and then he'll come in and check on you. Okay?"

"All right. Thank you," Bree said. As Raneisha walked out the door, Bree couldn't focus on anything. She had tears in her eyes as she thought about what it might be like to have to have surgery on her hand. It was her left hand, too, the one she used to finger all of the chords on her guitar. Granted, she hadn't been playing the guitar much the last few months, but she still couldn't imagine her life without being able to play.

She was so upset, she didn't hear the door open until Trent's voice sounded. "Hi, baby. How are you?"

Looking up, she saw his face, and the tears were unstoppable. "Trent...."Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

"Oh, baby. It's okay." He came over to and wrapped his arms around her. "It'll be all right."

"Will it, though? What if they can't fix my hand? What if it's so badly burned I can never play again?"

"They'll fix it, Bree. I know they will. And... I know you. You'll never give up."

That much was true--if it was possible for her to learn to play again, she definitely would. Bree swiped at her tears. "I'm sorry...."

"Don't be sorry," he said, brushing her hair back. "You have every right to be upset."

"Still... it could've been so much worse. Do you know if anyone was killed?"

"No one died," he assured her. "No one else was injured, except for some smoke inhalation, and Zach had a few minor burns, but he was treated on the scene and released. The band is all out in the waiting room." "That's nice of them," she said, finally getting her tears under control.

"They're all worried about you. So's the crew. As soon as they let you go, we'll head home, okay? There wasn't much left of our stuff from the hotel."

Bree shook her head. She hadn't taken anything too important, but she hated to hear that.

The doctor knocked on the door and pushed his way in. "Hi there, Miss Matthews. I'm Dr. Holloway. I'm here to look at your hand."

"Hi, Dr. Holloway," Bree said.

"Do you want me to wait outside?" Trent asked the doctor.

"No, it's fine for you to stay, if it's all right with Miss Bree."

"Of course," she said, forcing a smile at Trent. He still moved aside, and she noticed he had a few bandages on his legs.

Dr. Holloway unwrapped her hand, and studied, turning it over gently. Bree decided to look, even though she was scared to. Three of her fingers were in horrible shape. Most of the skin was burned on all but her thumb and pinky. She had to look away. Whatever medicine they were giving her must be awfully powerful because it didn't really hurt at the moment.

He shook his head. "I can get a second opinion from one of our specialists, but I think it's safe to say, you need a skin graft, Miss Matthews. My understanding is that you don't live here, though, is that right?"

"No, I live in Nashville."

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"My suggestion would be that you are transferred there for the procedure. That way, you can recover closer to home."

"Can't I just ride back on my bus with my band?"

"You could do that, but you'll need to go straight to the hospital. I can give you some medicine to keep you out of pain for a few hours, but I can't guarantee it will last too long. If you go by ambulance, we can treat you the whole way. Do you have insurance?"

Bree nodded, she did. "Yes, but I think I'd rather go with my band."

"Very well then. I'll go ahead and discharge you and call my friend Dr. Rook in Nashville. She's a specialist. If anyone can help you, it's Dr. Rook."

"Thank you, Doctor," Bree said, and he rewrapped her hand before he made some notes on her chart and then left.

Bree tried not to cry as she looked at Trent. "Sounds pretty serious."

"It does. But it'll be all right," he said, kissing her on the head.

Bree wanted to believe him, but it was hard. With tears in her eyes, she rested her head on Trent's shoulder, praying she'd play the guitar again.