Ah we reached 50 reviews for this story! You don't even know how much that means to me. Thank you, thank you, thank you! Your reviews are completely amazing, so please, keep them coming. I wish I had time to respond to them all, but unfortunately I don't. But I read each and every single one of them, so thank you :) As for upcoming plot, some of you are just spot on and it kills me to have to keep it a secret, but I promise it'll be worth it. Patience is key…...

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I opened my eyes and immediately regretted it, squeezing them tightly closed once more. Light radiated into the room, blinding me completely. Why was my bedroom so bright this morning? Had I fallen asleep with my desk lamp on again?

A soft hand squeezed my own.

"Take your time waking up, honey," a soft voice murmured close to my ear.

I was immediately confused. I took a minute to take in my surroundings.

I was lying on an extremely lumpy, uncomfortable surface that did not feel like my pillow-top mattress. The smell of overpowering cleaning supplies and strong chemicals burned my nose. There was a constant, faint but annoying beeping sound to my left.

This was so not my bedroom.

I struggled to sit up, whimpering as a sharp shooting pain radiated through my head.

"You're in the hospital, sweetheart," the soft voice continued. "You're okay, everything's okay. Just try and stay relaxed."

Suddenly everything that happened Saturday night at the beach re-entered my mind. The party, Emma getting completely drunk and then running off, me trying to follow her through the forest, and then tripping and hitting my head.

My eyes flashed open quickly.

Mom was sitting in a gray chair on my right. She had her ancient silver cell phone perched on the knee of her jeans and her hand was on mine, her thumb smoothing the top of my hand comfortingly. She looked absolutely worn out, but she still managed to smile brightly at me when I forced my sore eyes up to meet her own.

"Hi, sweetheart," she whispered, leaning down to kiss my cheek. "How are you feeling?"

I didn't answer her, turning my head slowly to let my eyes trail around the room. I was definitely in the hospital, just like she had said. I was lying on a very small bed with wheels and two lumpy pillows did a poor job of supporting my neck.

The room was stark white and clearly disinfected from ceiling to floor. To my left, was a big machine and single, see-through cord ran from it to the IV needle sticking out of the top of my left hand.

I let my eyes return to my worried mother. There was obviously something missing in my recollection of what had happened that night.

I sat up, holding a hand to the side of my head gingerly as the room spun. "Mom, what's going on? Why am I in the hospital?"

Mom frowned. "You don't remember what happened?"

I grimaced. "No, I do. But—but just until I hit my head." Of course I remembered what happened. It was kind of hard to forget something like that; no matter how badly I wanted to.

She sighed, looking slightly relieved. "Oh, I'm not surprised, honey. It's quite the bump you've got there," she told me as her voice took on a slightly emotional quality. "After they found you—your Dad and Jared brought you here. They had to stop your head from bleeding and they used fifteen staples to close it up."

"Oh," I said carefully. I didn't remember any of that. "What's—how hurt am I?"

"You have a mild concussion and sprained ankle," Mom murmured. "And you're covered in bruises from head to toe."

I sat back against the lumpy pillows as I tried to absorb everything she had just told me. I could remember all of it up until I hit my head. Everything after that was a complete blank, like someone had thrown a dark, black screen over my memories. I shifted uncomfortably on the bed and yawned.

"Who found me?" I asked all of a sudden. I knew there was no way I had managed to get myself out of the woods on my own.

"Lucas did, honey," Mom replied. "He brought you from the forest to Jared and Kim's house."

Of all the people in La Push that could have found me that night, why did it have to be him? I mean, of course I was thankful that Lucas had found me, but I felt awfully bad about it. I couldn't remember how I had acted when he found me, but I was positive that I hadn't been easy to deal with. I probably scared the poor guy into never speaking to me ever again. I was going to have to find a way to thank him for all of his trouble.

I fingered the red hospital bracelet on my wrist, unsure of what to say.

Mom stood up suddenly. "I'm just going to tell the doctor that you're awake, okay?"

She leaned down to kiss my forehead—the spot without the huge bandage taped to it—before she hurried out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her. I heard her boots click down the hallway as she went searching for whatever doctor she was talking about.

I sat unhappily in the bed as I waited for her to return. It was just my luck that I had managed to get myself this injured at my first high school party. My parents were unlikely to ever let me step foot out of my house again.

The door to the room opened again only moments later and Mom reappeared with a middle-aged, brown-haired man at her side. He was wearing a white doctor's coat and green scrubs. In his hands was a clipboard with my last name on it, along with a bunch of other things I couldn't read from far away. I stared at him apprehensively as the two of them approached the bed.

"Brynn, honey, this is Dr. Bromont," Mom introduced, smiling at me encouragingly.

"Miss Lahote, it's good to see you awake," Dr. Bromont said in his doctor-y way. "How are you feeling this morning?"

I forced a smile onto my face, hoping to be convincing. "I'm feeling good."

Dr. Bromont sent my mother an amused glance. "Are you feeling any discomfort? Any pain?"

I shook my head negatively. I'd say anything if it meant getting me out of this place sooner.

He came closer to the side of the bed. Lifting the edge of the blanket away from my foot, he revealed my very discoloured ankle. His cold hands gently prodded my foot along the bruise, only pausing when he caught the expression on my face change.

"Tender?" he asked.

"No," I said quickly. "It's fine."

He examined my head, claiming that the massive bump on my skull was starting to dissipate a little. Though, when he carefully touched it with his fingers, I couldn't even attempt to hold in the whimper that spilled out of my mouth.

I could feel the blush beginning to form on my cheeks.

"Not so good there, huh?" he stated gently.

After checking my vital signs, my temperature, and my IV, he changed the bandage covering the massive gouge on my forehead. Then, he asked me a bunch of ridiculous questions, including when my birthday was and how to spell my middle name. It was all extremely embarrassing and by the end of it, I was just barely holding back tears.

"Everything seems to be healing up nicely," Dr. Bromont said, turning so he was speaking more to my mother than me. "The cut on her forehead will need cleaned twice a day. You can do it once in the morning when she wakes up and once before she goes to bed. The dressing will need changed daily too. In two weeks you can come back and I'll remove the staples."

"Two weeks?" I cried.

He smiled sympathetically. "The time will fly by," he assured me before he turned to look at Mom again. "You'll need to watch her with the concussion. Make sure she doesn't overexert herself and no physical activities for those two weeks, too." He sent me a stern look. "Take it easy, rest, and recuperate."

I grumbled in response.

"Now, her ankle isn't too badly sprained, but we definitely don't want it to get any worse," he continued. "I would recommend that she stays off it for at least a week. I'll give you some crutches to use that way you can still maneuver around freely. I'll also prescribe some pain medication that will help with the headaches along with any pain from your ankle."

"I have to use crutches?" I asked.

I was fairly uncoordinated on a good day. I couldn't even begin to imagine what I was going to be like with crutches. I'm sure that they would just complicate everything. Not to mention, there was absolutely no way that I would even come close to going out in public on crutches, never mind at home. They could just forget it right now. I would walk.

Dr. Bromont chuckled. "Like I said, use them for a week. You don't want to injure yourself any further. Once the swelling and bruising is gone, you can slowly start to walk on it little by little. I'll give you a tensor bandage you can wrap it with. You're very lucky it was only just a sprain."

I didn't say anything in return. I didn't feel lucky; I felt weak. Who goes to their first high school party and ends up unconscious in the hospital? Not to mention, did this doctor have to be in such a good mood? His happiness was starting to make me feel grouchy. It was bad enough that I was stuck here and in pain—he didn't need to be so joyful about it.

"I'll go grab a nurse so we can discharge her," Dr. Bromont told Mom. "After you get her release papers and the prescription, it shouldn't take too long for you to be free to go."

"Thank you very much," Mom said as she shook his hand. "I appreciate everything you've done."

Dr. Bromont smiled. "That's what I'm here for," he said. "You feel better now, Miss Lahote."

I smiled briefly in his direction as I watched him leave the room. The second the door shut, the smile was gone.

I lay back against the lumpy pillows and my eyes traveled to the open windows across the room, a streak of sunlight catching my attention. It was light out? I hadn't expected to see the sun. For some reason, I had assumed that it was still dark out. Then, something dawned on me. I turned back towards my mother quickly, anger momentarily forgotten.

"Mom," I whispered urgently. "What day is it?"

Mom sat back down in her chair. She brushed her hand across my cheek softly. "It's Monday, sweetie. You've been in and out of consciousness since they brought you in."

This information was a little upsetting to say the least. I had been trapped in this hospital for two whole days all because I had been a good friend. I obviously didn't regret looking out for Emma in her act of insanity, but I wished I had been more in control of the situation. More than anything at all, I wished that I had never gone to that stupid party in the first place.

"Is Emma okay?" I asked cautiously, almost afraid to know the answer.

Mom's face turned abnormally stern. "I talked to Kim last night. Apparently, she's had a pretty bad hangover the last two days, but other than that, she's okay. Hopefully having her head stuck in the toilet for most of the day will teach her a lesson. She told Kim to tell you that she loves you and she's sorry."

It sounded like typical Emma. I was glad she was okay, but I couldn't help but feel angry towards her.

Mom's phone buzzed loudly and she was quick to pick it up. Her eyes followed the words across the tiny screen before she began to type out her own response on the small keyboard. She looked up after a moment. "It's your Dad. He's worried sick about you. He's been here day and night until this morning. Some work emergency—a flooded basement or something like that."

I suddenly wished Dad were here now. I mean, I loved my mother will all my heart, but I was totally a Daddy's girl. I knew I would have felt a lot better if Dad had been here. He always knew how to keep me calm. He was good at making sure situations didn't get too out of hand.

I was actually surprised that my mother was the only one here to see me, not to mention a little hurt. As self-conceited as it made me sound, where was the rest of my family and friends?

"He wouldn't have left if I hadn't forced him to go," Mom assured me, seeing the look on my face. "He needed to be there. And he was driving me nuts with all his pacing. He's going to meet us at home after you're discharged."

I smiled and pulled the scratchy blanket up to the edge of my chin. "What about Tate and Stella?"

Mom smoothed back my hair carefully. "I made them both go to school. Stella's upset but it wasn't doing her any good waiting here. She's too young to be allowed in the room so she's just been sitting in the waiting room with either your father or me.

I didn't miss that she purposely left out any information about my brother. "And Tate?"

She sighed. "He's quite angry, as to be expected. He gave Emma quite the mouthful after the boys had found you both. He's been having trouble with his phasing because of his mood. Your father literally dragged him out of the hospital to get him to school."

It didn't surprise me that Tate had overreacted. It wasn't the first time and certainly wouldn't be the last. I was glad he wasn't here now. Mom had made the right choice to get them out of here. I hated that they were so worried. I didn't like causing everyone such emotional turmoil.

"Your aunts and uncles have been in and out of the hospital since you were brought in," Mom told me. "They've all been very worried."

I nodded. It was nice to hear that everyone cared so much, but as I thought more about the situation, I was suddenly very relieved that Mom had been the only one I had woken up to. It could have been a very embarrassing, awkward moment for everyone if the room had been too full.

"So," Mom said softly, catching my attention once more. "Until further notice, no more beach parties or any kind of party for that matter."

I blushed deeply. "I'm really sorry."

She brushed her thumb across my cheek. "I know it wasn't your fault. Despite everything that happened, I am very, very proud of you."

I raised an eyebrow. "You are?"

Mom laughed. "Is that so hard to believe? You protected your friend, despite the fact that she was in the woods. That's a very brave, selfless thing to do. Of course I'm proud of you."

I played with a loose thread in the blanket, looking down. "I feel so stupid being scared of going in the woods."

Mom's hand tilted my chin to look up at her. "You have no reason to feel ashamed of your fear, baby," she lectured gently. "It's perfectly normal for you to feel that way. You experienced a very traumatic thing for a young child—for anyone of any age—to go through. Don't put yourself down for something that's completely reasonable."

"Thanks, Mom," I whispered.

A very long half hour later, I was finally discharged and allowed to go home. Mom helped me change from the embarrassing hospital gown into a pair of flannel pajama pants and a baggy sweatshirt.

Much to my dismay, despite the doctor's promise of crutches, a very scary-looking nurse forced me into a wheelchair. She wheeled me out to Mom's car, blabbing away about how it was hospital rules. I had to bite my tongue to keep from complaining. As long as I was allowed to leave the hospital, I didn't care how I got out.

Our house wasn't an overly long drive from the hospital. When Mom pulled into our driveway about twenty-five minutes later, I was relieved to see it empty sans Dad's pickup. I didn't have enough energy to deal with anyone else right now. I needed my bed.

"I told everyone that there were to be no visitors until tomorrow," Mom told me, her voice leaving no room for arguments. "You need to rest and you know that it's quite impossible to do so when you're surrounded by all those loud boys. Jared and Kim are stopping by for dinner because if you haven't noticed, your uncle gets quite whiny when he doesn't get his own way. He's difficult to say no to. But besides that, no one is coming over today."

I couldn't help but laugh. Mom was spot on about Uncle Jared. If you said no to him, even for the smallest thing, he'd start whining like a little kid. It was easier to say yes just to avoid the argument.

In a sense, I was extremely glad that no one was coming over. I knew they would all make a big fuss and I didn't want to deal with all the interrogating questions I knew they would ask. But, on the other hand, I knew having people over would distract me from not only the excruciating pain I was in, but also the fact that I had spent an alarming amount of time wandering around the woods helplessly.

Mom allowed me to try my crutches from the car to the house. You would think such a short distance wouldn't be too difficult. Well, apparently that's not the case. I suddenly realized why I hadn't been allowed to crutch out of the hospital. I felt unbalanced and gangly, like a foal might when it gets on its feet for the first time.

I could only imagine how stupid I looked, too. I accidentally placed just the tiniest bit of pressure on my injured foot and it was awful. I could hardly put any weight on it. It took me a whole five minutes before I had even got close to the front door. I was teary, frustrated and slightly sweating from all the effort it took to get there.

Mom opened the front door and carefully helped me inside. She set her purse and keys on the table by the shoe closet. "We're home," she called in a cheerful tone.

Dad appeared from the kitchen before she had even finished her sentence. He smiled brightly at both of us. "There are two of my favourite girls," he murmured. He leaned down to kiss Mom's cheek before he turned to me. He held his arms out for a hug. "How are you feeling, darling?"

I grumbled angrily, unable to form proper words to describe my mood.

Mom patted my head sympathetically. "She's had a long morning, I'm afraid."

Dad sent Mom a questioning look, but she just shook her head, silently telling him that they would discuss it later.

Great. Even more things for them to talk about behind my back.

Dad was still for a long moment before he gently removed the ugly, offending crutches from underneath my arms and then in a single, swift movement, plucked me off the ground and into his warm arms. He carried me in the direction of the living room, calling over his shoulder to Mom that we would be watching TV.

He carefully placed me on the couch in front of the TV, which was playing sports highlights from yesterday's basketball game. He grabbed the big quilt off the back of the couch and gently covered me with it. Then, he sat down beside me, bringing me close to his side. I leaned my head on his shoulder, trying to ignore the dull roar that echoed inside my ears.

"We should probably prop your foot up, honey," he said softly.

I shook my head and closed my eyes. I didn't want to move; I was much too comfortable.

Mom appeared in front of me a couple of minutes later, brandishing a glass of water and two tiny pills. I stared up at her blearily as she shook my shoulder gently, feeling annoyed. I just wanted to sleep.

"Take them, they'll help with your headache," she demanded softly. "There's no point in arguing and there's no reason to concern yourself with taking medicine when you need it. So, just take them."

I knew she wouldn't let it go until I either took the pills voluntarily or she forced them down my throat herself. Hoping to avoid the latter, I grabbed them from her outstretched hand and without a word, quickly washed them down with a big gulp of water. I handed the glass back to her.

"Try to rest," she murmured, leaning down to kiss my forehead.

After she left the room, Dad handed me the remote for the TV. I shot him a surprised look. "I get to choose what we watch?" I asked teasingly.

"You're not supposed to watch a whole lot of anything with your head," he told me. "But you get to choose what we listen to, considering I expect that you'll at least try and have a nap. Don't tell anyone."

I laughed. Dad was a known TV hog. He didn't let anyone change the channel if there was any sort of sports game on.

I flipped through the channels slowly, only stopping when I came upon a Harry Potter marathon. I looked up at Dad happily. This was at least one movie that we could both agree on.

I closed my eyes against his broad shoulder and handed him the remote in case I did happen to fall asleep. I felt even more relaxed when his gentle fingers ran through my hair, carefully combing it away from my face. His kissed the top of my head once, before he pulled me even closer to his side.

I didn't remember falling asleep, but I must have about halfway through the movie. When I woke up, the TV was playing The Prisoner of Azkaban. I rubbed my eyes wearily and yawned, wincing at the pressure it caused inside my head.

A hand gently squeezed my knee. I looked up, expecting to see Dad, but instead meeting the concerned brown eyes that belonged to my brother.

"Hi," I whispered hoarsely.

Tate gave me a small smile. "Feeling okay?" he asked softly.

I nodded against the pillow that someone had placed under my head. I was lying stretched out across almost half of our big sectional couch. My head was on the pillow at one end and my feet were propped up on my brother's lap at the other.

Tate was watching me carefully. He had his hand resting gently on the top of my injured foot. He didn't seem to be overly happy.

"How was school?" I asked, wanting to change the subject—anything to keep him calm.

He shook his head, smiling, recognizing my tactics, but thankfully deciding not to call me out on it. "Not so great," he admitted.

I waited for him to elaborate.

"There are a lot of rumors circulating on what happened at the party—" He paused for a second, measuring my reaction. "—None of them being anywhere close to the truth, of course."

I rolled my eyes. La Push Preparatory lived off its drama. "I guess me not being at school probably didn't help a whole lot."

Tate gave a half-shrug, looking unconcerned. "It's not like you could help it. Emma wasn't there either."

I frowned at this bit of information, trying not to feel too worried about Emma. I needed to call her, but I wasn't really sure what I would even say to her.

"She wasn't feeling good," my brother told me. "Cody said that she was still feeling the hangover. Not that I'm surprised by how hammered she was."

"Mom told me that you yelled at her."

He sighed deeply. "Yeah, well, she deserved it. Besides, she was piss drunk at the time so she probably doesn't even remember half of the conversation anyways."

"It wasn't her fault," I said automatically, like a reflex.

As I thought about my response, I wondered how true that really was. If Emma hadn't consumed so much alcohol, we would have never ended up in the woods. From a young age, it had been drilled in our brains to never set foot in the woods alone. Emma did know better; I had to keep reminding myself that.

"Brynn," Tate said sternly. "She was drunk. She wasn't supposed to be drinking and she was drunk. If it hadn't of been for you, something probably would have happened to her. You know that she was the one who caused all this crap."

"She was fighting with Max; she was hurting," I said, feeling the need to defend her. "I should have done a better job. I shouldn't have let being in the woods get to me so much. Maybe then I could have gotten us both out."

"This is not your fault," Tate lectured. "Someone should have been with you two. I shouldn't have gone off with friends and Max shouldn't have let his anger get the better of him. We had responsibilities and we blew them. But, Brynnie, this is not your fault. You did good, so, so good. Emma is lucky to have a friend like you."

"If I had just—"

His large hand covered my mouth, keeping me from continuing. "Listen to me," he said softly. "You are not at fault here, okay? No one is mad at you, not me, not Mom and Dad, not Emma—no one."

I didn't respond. I supposed that he was right. That didn't mean I thought Tate should have yelled at her, though. I knew he loved Emma like a third sister, but I also knew he thought she was a bad influence. I guess this just proved his opinion even more.

"Brynnie—"

"Can we please just not fight?" I interrupted, sounding weary and weak. "I don't want to fight with you, Tate."

My brother studied me for a moment, before he nodded, leaning down to kiss my forehead softly.

I took a deep breath, trying to keep the tears at bay, which were threatening to fall any second now. My brother was one of the most important people in my life. I couldn't stand fighting with him. I wasn't going to let some freak accident cause us to do so, either. I knew that he was just looking out for me and being protective, but sometimes he let that protectiveness overpower his good sense.

"I'm sorry if I ruined your night," I mumbled. "I'm sure babysitting your little sister isn't your idea of a good time. And goodness, the poor pack. I'm sure they pretty much hate me right now for making them go on a wild search for the second day this week."

"It was a stupid party," Tate said, a hint of anger in his voice. "Besides, watching over you is my job. You're my little sister. I'm just pissed you got hurt. And the pack could never hate you, Brynnie, don't be ridiculous. Everyone is really worried about you."

"It wasn't your fault either," I whispered, knowing Tate would be quick to place the blame on himself. We were alike in that way. "I should have told someone what was going on instead of trying to do it all by myself."

"I agree with that," he murmured. "Just promise me that next time something like that happens, you tell me or one of the other guys, okay? And I officially say that you are not to go into the woods without a wolf with you ever again. You don't have to do everything on your own, you know. I've always got your back."

He didn't need to worry; I didn't plan on doing so ever again.

I smiled at him in appreciation. "Thanks, Tatey."

Tate grumbled at the nickname before he turned serious once more. "And I swear to God, I've had enough heart attacks from you this week. Can you please take up knitting or croquet or anything else in the world that keeps you from going off alone and getting hurt? I don't like worrying about your safety all the time."

I wasn't overly surprised by Tate's emotional rant. He was the one person that wasn't afraid to voice his feelings, no matter what the situation was. I knew no matter what I said or did, that he would always worry about me. I had told him to stop, but he said it was just a reflex, something that came with being a big brother.

I was just grateful that he was able to voice his feelings calmly and without turning into a ginormous wolf while sitting beside me.

"I'm sorry," I said, knowing that was all he was looking for.

He nodded. "Good, you'd better be."

"Dinner's ready!" Mom called from inside the kitchen.

Tate stood up and offered me a hand. "C'mon, gimpy, I'll carry you so you don't break something else on those crutches."

I stuck my tongue out at him in response, but did allow him to help me to the dinner table.

Despite everything, I loved my big brother very much, werewolf tendencies and all.


Yay for family fluff. Next chapter will be up next week and boy, it's gonna be a good one! Lots of drama ;)

But I can't post it until you review. ;)

Thanks again for all the support!