My fingers graze her skin, brushing the hair back from her face. “I think you might have brain damage. You can only sayfuckandyou.”
Her eyes are the most fiery I’ve ever seen them, but she lets me help her sit up and lean against the bed. Then she fists the collar of my shirt, and—with a wince—tugs until my ear is an inch from her mouth. “Fuck you,” she growls, then pushes me back. Two middle fingers are thrust in my direction. “I hate you.”
Ah, so she remembers other words. Ibite the inside of my cheek to hide my smile. “You’re allowed to hate me, but I’m your best choice right now for a ride to the hospital.”
She scoffs. “Hell no. I’m not goinganywherewith you.”
“I have to take you, Fabes.” It feels imperative. “You hit that nightstand pretty hard. Maybe even blacked out for a second.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” she grumbles, dragging the back of her hand through the blood. “I just bumped my head. It’s nothing.”
My heart stutters at her words. They catch in my brain, sounding all too familiar. Too identical to things I heard Mia say in the past.
The world tilts around me, the energy in the room shifting abruptly. Something squeezes around my throat, fear racing through me. Ican’t breathe.
No, no, no.“You... you don’t understand.” I swallow, my chest caving in. “I need to... Ihave to... make sure you’re okay.” My hands tighten on my knees, knuckles bleached white. “I can’t do nothing. Ihave to dosomething.”
Too many times I didn’t know. Every bruise, bump, scratch—for years I did nothing. Ican’t do nothing again.Ican’t.
Her gaze searches my face. She looks momentarily taken aback before her expression softens. “Theo,” she whispers. “It’s okay.”
“I can’t do nothing.” I don’t know what else to say. Too many thoughts are fighting for space in my head. She’s hurt because of me, and I can’t run away like I did last time. Icouldn’t live with myself. Ihave to fix this the only way I know how.
She seems to hear everything I leave out. Her hands foldaround my wrists, fingers against my pulse. My grip on my knees loosens under her touch.
“Okay,” she says softly. Gently. “Let’s go.”
She let me carry her downstairs and watched carefully as I helped her into the flannel I left at her house. With shaky hands, I buttoned it down to her thighs, then scooped her up again. That time, she tucked her head against my chest—almost like she knew I needed it—until I got to the passenger side of the truck.
When we arrived at the hospital, they checked her vitals before questioning us separately. Igave the nurse every detail, probably more than she wanted to know about the room arrangement and shape of the nightstand. But I need them to have as much information as possible. There weren’t enough questions asked when Mia was younger. Not enough people searching for details.
So I told the nurseeverything.
“I need her to be okay,” I said, dragging a shaky hand through my hair.
The older woman’s eyes creased with a smile. “She’s okay. Ipromise.”
Now, I watch through the glass as Fable sits cross-legged on the hospital bed, talking and laughing with Vivian. She looks all right—just a small bandage beside her hairline—but that hospital band around her wrist has guilt gnawing at my stomach lining.
I should’ve left the second I found her. After my workout, I came over to ask if she wanted to help me coach soccer. When she didn’t answer the door, I opened it, and as soon as I heard her call my name—
The scrape of the glass door startles me. Vivian steps out and gives me a hug—a long, knowing hug, like my emotions are written all over my face.
“She’s okay,” she whispers. “You did good.”
An ache burns in my throat. “Thank you for taking care of her.”
She pulls back and turns to watch Fable down the rest of her cup of water. “You should watch out for nausea or vomiting, dizziness, confusion. Anything out of the ordinary, really. But other than that, she should be totally fine.”
“Got it,” I confirm as Fable shuffles out, my flannel swallowing her frame and two little disposable hospital shoes on her feet. “I’ll keep a close eye on her.”
Fable tips her head toward me, her nose ring glinting under the hospital lights. “And I’ll keep a close eye on him.”
A silent conversation passes between them. Then Vivian gives her a hug, whispers something I can’t make out, and waves her goodbyes.
“Sorry I forgot to grab your shoes.” I set my hand on her lower back as we walk toward the exit. “Want me to carry you?”
She gives me a look. “I let you carry me in. Ithink I can walk myself out.”
