“This really isn’t necessary,” I complain as Koen eases me out of the SUV. We’re in the parking garage under his building.
“I don’t remember asking if it was,” he grumbles, clearly annoyed that I’m not letting him help me.
He picks me up again and I howl.
“Put me down. I can manage fine on my own.”
“No.”
I blow out a frustrated breath, wrapping my arms around his neck to better support myself, in an attempt to keep at least part of my weight off of his injured arm.
Koen nods at the man at the desk, guarding the elevator, he stands to watch us pass, eyeing me with curiosity.
The elevator doors close and I think I stop breathing, suddenly hyperaware of Koen’s hand under my thigh. He’s so warm. My hoodie is still in my dance bag; I didn’t get a chance to pull it on before we left, and my bare arms are frozen. Heat radiates off of him like he’s my own personal oven, and, as subtlyas I can, I shift closer, resisting the urge to snuggle deep into his hold and bury my face in his neck.
The doors slide open after what feels like an impossibly long amount of time, and I’m swiftly carried down the long hallway I know leads to his room.
We stop outside his door, and I struggle uselessly in his arms while he has to let go of me with one hand to open it.
“I can just stay in the guest room…”
With one hand, Koen keeps me pressed against him as he crosses the dark space to deposit me onto his bed. He eases me down slowly, taking care to ensure my ankle is safe and I don’t accidentally hit it against the frame.
“We don’t have a guest room.”
I frown. Looking around the space for my options. Remembering how we passed a relatively comfortable looking sectional back in the living room.
“The couch, then?” I propose, with a weak smile he just returns with a look of utter exasperation that almost makes me laugh.
Koen sits down next to me on the bed, pulling my ankle up so it’s resting in his lap. Carefully, he pushes up my leg warmer to further inspect my injury. His hands are steady, clinical in their examination, as he palpates my swollen ankle, but my skin burns everywhere he touches.
“Swollen, but not broken. A mild sprain.” He nods, looking up at me, expecting relief as though that’sgoodnews. But his eyes widen when he catches the look on my face. I glance away immediately, embarrassment blooming in my cheeks, wanting anything other than to cry in front of himagain.
“Hey.” His thumb drags my chin back, forcing my eyes up to his, holding them fixed with his penetrating stare. “You’re okay. Nothing’s broken. A couple days off of it and it’ll be good as new.”
Still on the edge emotionally, my lips tremble, and hot tears burn at the corners of my eyes, though I fight them off, refusing to let them fall. “It’s not fine. I need to practice, I can’t afford?—
“Briar,” he cuts me off, his voice flat and stern. “It’s a sprain, not the end of the world.”
“I can’t get hurt. I can’t—behurt,” I correct, glaring down at my ankle like it betrayed me on purpose. “Do you have any idea what even a couple days off means?”
His jaw tightens, and when he speaks, there’s a sharper edge to his voice. “It means you have a chance to heal. Rest.”
I shake my head, unfamiliar with the concept of rest, having been hustling nearly nonstop for longer than I can remember. “I have to be ready for the showcase. You don’t understand. If I’m not ready, they’ll take it away, they’ll—” My heart jumps with a jolt of anxiety and I pull my knees in, hugging them to my chest, curling in on myself out of instinct. “That showcase iseverything. I can’t lose it.” The admission has me biting my lip and I look up at the ceiling, blinking the brewing tears away again before they have a chance to fall.
“The world won’t end if you take a break.” Koen’s tone is harder, but his eyes soften when I look back at him.
“But it might,” I whisper, dropping my gaze to stare dejectedly at my ankle.
“You have to schedule in time to rest, for recovery, and you need to eat to fuel your body properly.” His eyes flash and I feel my cheeks burn, knowing I skipped lunch again today.
“Speaking of needing to eat…” He rises. “I’m going to get you some ice. You’re going to stay here andrest.” His eyes flash with warning and my lips twitch. “And then I’ll figure out dinner.”
53
FAMILY DINNER
KOEN
