“Of course not.” My dad leans over, peering at me. “But you do look like Frankenstein’smonster.”
I narrow my eyes at him for a moment, which is weird because I can’t feel about half my forehead. I’m pretty sure the doctor is trying not to laugh.
“Your only child is in theemergency roomgettingstitches,” I say. “And you’re being pedantic about literature?”
My dad sighs, then smiles. Then starts laughing.
Then he doesn’tstoplaughing, and he’s taking his glasses off and wiping his eyes with one hand because he’s still holding mine with the other. There’s a slight hysterical edge to the laughter, which I guess is only fair.
“I’m so glad you’re all right,” he says. “I was so worried.”
When I walkinto the waiting room forty-five minutes later, I’ve got a giant bandage on my forehead, dried blood in my hair, and on my shirt and pants. I’ve also got a hefty printout about wound care and another hefty printout about concussion protocol even though they said I “most likely” don’t have one. My dad is carrying my winter coat, which also has some blood on it.
Naturally, Javier is there.
He stands back as Paloma wraps me in a big hug, pulls me into the light so she can see better, and then frowns over my injury.
“Another victim of Google Maps,” my dad says, which obviously doesn’t explain anything to anyone.
As we walk out and into the parking lot, Javier falls in next to me. He looks the same as the last time I saw him—coat open,hands in pockets—but I can feel him studying my face as we walk.
“I know—I look like Frankenstein’s monster,” I say, because all the adrenaline wore off long ago and my dad’s car is still in a ditch on a dirt road somewhere and I’m exhausted. I’ll have feelings tomorrow. Right now all I feel is a little hollow, like an indentation waiting to be filled. “That’s my Halloween costume next year sorted, I guess.”
He clears his throat and looks forward again. “Right,” he says. “That’s a good one.”
“I’m a believer in using what you have,” I say, andthenI remember last Halloween. When we traded pictures. And I sent him a mildly slutty one that he never responded to. God, I’ve never taken a hint in mylife. “And I’ll have a cool scar along with a new respect for dirt roads.”
He laughs softly, and we walk in silence after that. It’s cold and windy when we leave the hospital through its sliding glass doors, and inanely, I wish I’d worn my scarf today.
“Hey,” he says suddenly, and when I glance over, he’s—intense. All dark eyes and sharp cheekbones. Did he look tired like this the last time I saw him? Did he have stubble? “I’m glad you’re okay.”
He stops walking, and so do I. We’re next to a bench and a flowerbed full of dead plants. Our parents are up ahead, leaning into each other as they head for the car.
“I was worried.” He takes a half step closer. “I don’t know what?—”
He cuts himself off, looks away, and I’m tired and bloody and he broke up with me a couple days ago, so I say nothing. Just let him talk.
“I would hate it if something happened to you.” His voice so low it’s almost a whisper. “I don’t want that.”
Javi’s got this intense look in his eyes, his hair blowing over his face and his coat collar up like a Victorian vampire or some shit. But we’re in the parking lot of a hospital, fluorescent lights buzzing above us, and whatever Javier thinks he’s saying to me right now, I’m out. I’m tired and hurt and gross and I’m just—out.
“Yeah, that would’ve sucked,” I say, turn, and follow our parents to the car.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
JAVIER
No oneat the rental cabin is awake when I drop off Gerald’s car in the morning, so I put the keys under the door mat and get back into Wyatt’s waiting truck. I probably owe both him and Silas a fruit basket or a spa retreat or something for getting up before dawn to help me pull Gerald’s car out of a ditch. I can’t do much to make Madeline feel better, and God knows I can’t make her like me back, but I know people with trucks.
“Back to yours?” he asks, already reversing.
“Yeah,” I say. “Thanks for helping me out.”
“All I did was follow Silas’s instructions. Exactly how many cars has he driven into ditches?”
“There are questions I don’t ask.”
“I heard some story about him and a football,” Wyatt says.
