Chapter 101 Garrett
Garrett
The first thing I noticed was the light.
Harsh white fluorescent light pressed against my eyelids even before I opened them, the kind that made the inside of my skull throb. The second thing was the pain.
It slammed into me the moment I shifted.
My left leg felt like it had been shattered from the inside out. A brutal, pulsing ache shot from my ankle all the way up to my knee, hot enough to make my stomach twist. My ribs hurt every time I breathed too deeply, and the dull pounding behind my eyes made the whole room feel slightly tilted.
Hospital.
The memory hit in fractured flashes. Tempest. The jump. The sudden refusal beneath me. The sickening crack of impact.
I clenched my jaw and forced my eyes open.
A doctor stood at the foot of the bed, clipboard in hand, speaking in a measured tone that instantly got under my skin. My parents stood beside him, perfectly dressed, perfectly composed, as if we were discussing an investment portfolio and not the fact that I could barely move.
“Mr. William, your scans look reassuring,” the doctor said. “There is no intracranial bleeding, but you have sustained a mild concussion. Given the confusion and disorientation after the fall, we’d like to keep you overnight for observation.”
Overnight. Great.
He glanced down at the chart before continuing. “As for the leg, you have a non-displaced fracture of the distal fibula and significant ligament trauma to the ankle. We’ve immobilized it for now, and orthopedics will reassess in the morning. You’ll need crutches and strict rest for several weeks.”
Several weeks? What?
The words cut through the haze. The Canada trip...
My stomach dropped so hard it almost hurt more than the leg.
My mother spoke before I could. “He is meant to travel tomorrow evening.”
The doctor turned toward her, still maddeningly calm. “I would strongly advise against that. Flying so soon after a concussion is not recommended, and with the fracture, prolonged travel would significantly increase discomfort and risk. He should remain here until he is properly discharged and then continue recovery at rest.”
I pushed myself up too fast, pain exploding through my leg so violently that I hissed through my teeth. “What do you mean, not travel?”
A part of me was ecstatic and relieved, already considering every possibility this meant. Every possible outcome. The other part, the part that was constantly playing the part, immediately sounded outraged and disappointed over missing a trip I wasn't really looking forward to.
The doctor’s expression didn’t change. “I mean, the trip should be canceled.”
For a second, I just stared at him. Holy shit, now it was official.
Then I looked at my mother. Her face was unreadable in that terrifying way of hers, cold enough to make the whole room feel even more sterile.
“Well,” she said, voice clipped and sharp, “this is what happens when you decide to humiliate yourself in front of half the academy.”
I blinked at her.
My entire body was screaming in pain, my head still swimming, and that was the first thing out of her mouth.
“The equestrian assessment was arranged specifically as part of your family’s holiday legacy presentation,” she continued. “Sponsors were present. Trustees were present. And instead of demonstrating control, discipline, and strength, you fell.”
The word landed like a slap.
I gripped the sheets harder. “I was thrown from a fucking horse. An untrained, wild, goddamned horse.”
Her jaw tightened. “Watch your language.”
A bitter laugh slipped out before I could stop it.
Of course. Not concern. Not relief that I hadn’t cracked my skull open.
Language.
My father finally spoke, quieter but no less cutting. “This reflects poorly on the family, Garrett.”
I turned my head slowly to look at him, the movement sending another sharp pulse of pain through my skull.
“You too, Father?” I asked, not expecting much more from him, but still feeling the sting of the words.
For a moment, his expression softened, and somehow that almost made it worse.
“Son, this was a traumatic event for all of us. You could have been seriously hurt out there.” His voice remained calm, measured, the way it always did when he was about to disguise judgment as concern. “But perhaps your lack of practice, discipline, and focus led to this. Your performances, both on the wrestling mat and in the equestrian arena, have been less than desirable this year, and I must say your mother and I are highly disappointed.”
“Father, I worked extremely hard. I’m really trying—” I cut through the speech before he could keep carving into what little strength I had left.
He raised one hand, silencing me with the same effortless authority he used in boardrooms and family dinners alike.
“I am not saying you did not work, Garrett, but clearly, you did not work enough.” His eyes held mine, steady and impossible to read. “You are not an average student. You are royalty here. Our family has invested far too much in your academic and social future to accept mediocrity. Excellence is expected of you. You owe it to yourself—and to us.”
The words settled over me heavier than the cast around my leg.
Even after trying my hardest, carrying every fear on my back, and ending up broken in a hospital bed, it still wasn’t enough.
It would never be enough.
Through the pounding in my skull, anger started to burn hotter than the pain. It spread through me slowly, mean and blistering, until it was the only thing keeping me upright.
My mother’s eyes sharpened as she leaned closer. “And don’t think I’m overlooking that boy’s intervention. He should have kept his damn mouth shut…and his dirty hands away from you.”
My chest went tight. My Aslan.
His face flashed in my mind so clearly it almost made me dizzy again. The panic in his eyes. The way he had reached me before anyone else. His arms around me.
Holy shit. He did do that.
And did I… hold his hand?
Fuck.
I had tried to stop him, I was pretty sure… but I remembered him saying he didn’t give a shit, and I swear to God, in that moment, neither did I.
I was definitely giving a shit right now, with my mother’s voice slicing straight through my skull.
“I must say this could be for the best,” she continued coolly. “Missing the school trip may create some much-needed distance between you and… all of these undesirable distractions. It will give you time to refocus and reflect.”
I stared at her, something dark and ugly twisting in my chest. Satisfaction.
Because for once, I had something she didn’t. A secret that would make her stomach turn if she knew.
Aslan wasn’t going either.
Fuck you, Mother, and all your goddamned plans.
She folded her arms. “Your father and I are leaving as planned tomorrow morning.”
Thank you, God.
I almost laughed with relief.
“The house renovations cannot be delayed, and the retreat has already been arranged,” she finished.
The words should have hurt. They were leaving after all. Leaving me here like this.
But, oh my God, they didn’t. I had never been so relieved by my mother’s selfishness in my entire life.
“You’ll remain at Crownwell,” she said coolly. “In your dormitory, except for medical appointments.”
And somehow it just kept getting better.
“Consider it time to reflect on the consequences of weakness and poor judgment,” my father added.
Weakness.
I looked down at the cast, at the bruises darkening along my arm, at the hospital bracelet around my wrist.
Pain, humiliation, confusion, and something dangerously close to grief began to settle over me, because I wasn’t made of stone and all of this actually fucking hurt.
But somewhere beneath all of it, the image of Aslan was starting to settle eerily comfortably inside my head.
Here I was, in a hospital bed, literally broken, half-drugged out of my mind, disappointing my entire bloodline and missing the most anticipated winter trip of the year, and yet my heart was beating out of my chest over the one dysfunctional memory that refused to leave me alone.
That one moment on the field—
Did my lion call me, babe?