“It hadn’t come up yet, but that doesn’t mean I was hiding it from you.” I grab his other hand, bringing both of his into mine. “I spit it all out right now to call bullshit on whatever lie he had planned.”
“Actually, I heard about your sister.” Austin’s voice is still laced with vehemence. “And I came here as soon as I could to check up on you.”
“I told you last month, I am done with you.” With harsh bluntness, I punctuate each word. I release Dylan’s hands and step into Austin’s space.
“But…” he opens his mouth, as if I haven’t heard enough.
Stepping infinitely closer, a sneer pulls at my lips. I all but growl at him to scare him away. Standing his ground, Austin steps closer rather than backing away. “What if I’m not done with you?” he yells in my face, shoving me backward.
My footing slips and the railing behind me gives way under my weight. There’s nothing to stop me from falling the fifteen feet to the ground.
“Shit!” Dylan curses, racing to my side. “Stay the fuck away from us.” He holds out a hand, keeping Austin back. I watch Dylan race down the stairs with more speed than is necessary. It wasn’tthatbig of a fall, so there’s really no reason for him to overreact.
“Are you okay?” His hands roam over my chest, up my arms, inspecting me for an injury. “Call an ambulance,” he yells at Austin who looks genuinely scared and not at all proud of what he’s done.
“I don’t need an ambulance. I’m fine, really.” Even though it was a decent fall, I try to avoid a big scene.
“No, you need help.” Dylan shoots down my attempt to dismiss his concerns.
As I try to move, the pain in my ankle is sharp and nearly unbearable. I try to sit up, slide back against the base of the stairs, but it’s difficult with only one foot. “My ankle. It’s broken.” I push back, the concrete sidewalk biting into my hands.
He helps me up. Sitting next to me, he gently combs his fingers through my hair. “Your head. Did you hit it? Are you okay?” Concerned words fly out of Dylan’s mouth and suddenly I realize why he’s gotten himself so worked up.
My head injury from when I was attacked. One more concussion and I could do permanent damage.
“It hurts, but I think I’m fine.” Dylan’s eyes dart over the rest of my body. When he seems satisfied that my ankle is my only serious injury, he pulls my hand into his.
Austin cautiously walks over to us. “They’re on their way.” He slides his phone in his pocket. “I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry.” He squats in front of us, his fingers locked together in a tight grip.
His voice sounds honest and resigned. “Do you want me to call the police?” Dylan asks from my side, tipping his head at Austin.
The look Austin gives me isn’t one of shock, but one of understanding. He knows he’s wrong, but it’s not worth it. Pressing charges will only keep him in my life longer than he needs to be. “No,” I answer Dylan before directing my attention and my words back to Austin. “Just leave me alone. Leave us alone.”
The sirens of the approaching ambulance slice through the conversation. “Just go,” I say one last time to Austin.
He nods resolutely, and turns his back on us, hopefully for the last time.
“I really don’t need an ambulance. I’m fine.” Dylan stands next to me, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Yeah,” he pulls a face at me, “then stand on your own,” he jokes and relief washes over me. Knowing about Dylan’s trust issues, his inability to allow anyone in his life, made Austin’s reappearance so much more threatening than a simple misunderstanding.
Holding up my hands in mock-surrender, I say, “You win.” The EMTs come over to us, surprised that it’s just a broken ankle and not something more serious. Dylan explains to them my history of head injuries, demanding they make sure I’m okay.
The female EMT scans my eyes, asks me how many fingers she’s holding up and declares, “Pending further testing, it looks like you should be just fine. Mild concussion at worst.”
They load me onto the gurney and pain radiates up my leg like an electric shock. “You can ride with us, if you’d like,” she tells Dylan and he falls in line as they load me into the back of the ambulance. On the way there, Dylan calls Reid to make arrangements for him to bring us Dylan’s car.
A few hours later, I’m all set in a cast and pair of crutches, hobbling out of the hospital. Dylan takes me back to his place, under strict instruction to wake me up every few hours to make sure the mild concussion the doctor confirmed doesn’t get any worse.
Whatever energy I had left is quickly spent on getting situated in Dylan’s bed. “Sponge bath?” he jokes as he stands next to me.
“Maybe tomorrow, wiseass.”
Careful not to cause too much pain, he slides a pillow under my leg and gets me my meds and a glass of water. “These are just Advil. The doctor said you can’t have the strong stuff until tomorrow.”
Exhaustion takes over, and despite my best efforts to fight it, sleep wins.
“Hey.” A gentle shake at my side rouses me from sleep. Dylan is resting on one elbow, his face tired and worn out.
