Page 19

“Easy.” His hand hovers near my shoulder, not quite touching. “The doctor said no sudden movements.”

“The doctor can kiss my ass.”

He smiles. “I’ll pass that along.”

Despite everything, a small laugh escapes me. Then I wince because laughing hurts. Everything hurts.

“How do you feel?” he asks.

“Like I got hit by a truck.”

“It was an SUV.”

“You said that already.”

“You keep forgetting.”

“I have a concussion. I’m allowed to forget things.” I squint at him. “What time is it?”

“Almost noon.”

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere? Running a club? Intimidating small children? Stealing candy from seniors? Whatever it is you do all day?”

His mouth twitches. “Tank’s handling things.”

“For how long?”

“As long as I need.”

I stare at him, waiting for the punchline. When it doesn’t come, I shake my head—gently, because even that hurts.

“Stone. You can’t just... camp out in my hospital room indefinitely.”

“Watch me.”

“That’s not—” I blow out a breath, frustrated. “You don’t have to do this. Whatever guilt thing you’ve got going on, whatever obligation you feel—you’re off the hook. Go home. Get some sleep. I’m fine.”

A frown flickers across his face. “Is that what you think this is? Guilt?”

“What else would it be?”

He’s quiet for a long moment. Then he pulls the chair closer to the bed and sits down, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

“Eight months ago,” he says slowly, “I made a mistake.”

“Stone—”

“Let me finish.” His eyes hold mine, and I find I can’t look away. “I told you we couldn’t. I stepped back when everything in me was screaming to step forward. And I’ve regretted it every single day since.”

My heart is doing complicated flips in my chest. I ignore it.

“You had your reasons.”

“I had excuses cause I’m a fuck head.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “I’ve spent years keeping everyone at arm’s length. That if I don’t let anyone in, I can’t hurt them—or get hurt myself.”

“Very healthy coping mechanism,” I mutter.

“I never said I was healthy.” A ghost of a smile. “But then you almost died, and I realized—” He stops. Starts again. “I realized I’d rather have you and lose you than spend the rest of my life wondering what could have been.”