The fight. The closet. My complete fucking meltdown. The way I fought against Zach, my nails tearing into his skin . . .
Oh, God.
I carefully roll over, biting back a whimper as my bruised ribs protest. Zach's still asleep, his face softer somehow, the usual tension gone from his features. But one glance at his chest causes my stomach to lurch, bile creeping up my throat.
Angry red lines crisscross his skin where my nails tore into him. The hospital had cleaned and bandaged most of them, but seeing the uncovered ones, crusted with dried blood . . . .
"Don't." Zach's voice rumbles low, gravelly with sleep. "I can hear you spiraling."
"I hurt you," I choke out, tears spilling down my cheeks. "I'm so fucking broken, Zach. All I do is hurt you."
Those steel-gray eyes open and lock onto mine. "You're not broken."
"Really?" I hold up my bandaged hands, where the hospital staff pulled splinters, removed the remaining fragments of broken nails that didn’t fully rip off, then cleaned the open wounds. "Because this feels pretty fucking broken to me."
He pulls me closer, tucking my head under his chin. "Then we're both broken. But with you. . . " His forehead creases, facial features pinching together, as if he's struggling to find the right words. "With you, I feel whole."
I swallow hard, trying to push down the lump in my throat, but it doesn’t work. Tears begin streaming down my cheeks and I take a shuddering breath.
Just as I’m about to respond, someone knocks on the wall outside my doorway.
"Hey, you two decent?" Jackson's head pops around the corner, his eyes quickly scanning the room. "Because I've got coffee and bagels, but I don't want to walk in on anything traumatizing."
I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, attempting to pull myself together. "We're clothed, asshole."
Jackson, Connor, Viktor, and Eli file in like some kind of support group. Them being here, bringing breakfast, checking on us . . . It's so fucking normal.
I never had anything like this before.
Viktor unwraps a bagel, then immediately takes a bite before passing it to Zach.
"Hey, that's my job." I reach over and snatch it from his hands, wincing at the pain in my ribs. But, boundaries need to be established. "New official taste-tester, remember?"
"Force of habit." Viktor shrugs, licking cream cheese off his thumb with zero shame as he flops down into my desk chair.
I break the bagel in half, my stomach growling, then give one part to Zach. "Sorry for the dramatics yesterday.Didn't mean to turn the arena into an episode of Jerry Springer."
Jackson snorts, passing out coffee like we all do this every day. "Are you kidding? Those dickwads had it coming. Besides, you're family now. We handle shit together."
Family.
I almost choke on my first bite at the fucking irony. Two months ago, these assholes helped Zach kidnap me and were totally cool with his murder plans. Now they're bringing me breakfast and crashing my room like it's their second home.
Connor clears his throat as he looks at Zach. "But we do want an explanation. Why didn't you register how scratched up you were?"
Holy shit.
They’ve been Zach's best friends for years, and he's kept this from them? Well, except for Viktor.
But the others . . .
After finding Zach's hand under the blanket, I interlace our fingers. What the actual fuck am I supposed to say here?
Zach’s grip tightens fractionally as he finishes chewing. “Besides the shit I’ve got going on with my arm . . . I have brain damage. Happened when I was a kid. It’s why I’m . . . off. Why I didn’tregister the pain.”
Eli sputters, nearly dropping his cup of what smells like hot chocolate.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Jackson’s face turns red as he slams his coffee cup down on the top of my dresser. "How many times do I have to say you're like a brother to me? Stop hiding shit."
