Do I go, if he tells me?
I’m not a part of Sofia’s life anymore. We’re not friends.
And while I think I might understand her motives now, it doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven her.
But she’s hurt. Possibly seriously.
And when she wakes up—oh, I hope she wakes up—I want to know why she came looking for me.
“Of course I’m going,” I tell him. “Just tell me the hospital you’re bringing her to.”
Chapter Three
SOFIA
Why is Nico here?
Though he hasn’t moved from the doorway yet, I can tell it’s him.
He’s bigger than I remember. Not heavier, but broader. Taller. He seems to take up the entirety of the doorway, his shoulders nearly spanning the width of it. His arms are crossed, showing off large biceps that pull at the fabric of his shirt, and the sleeves are rolled up, displaying well-muscled forearms.
With the lights in the room dimmed, his features are cast in shadow, but there’s enough light to see the distinctive lines of his jaw and Romanesque nose. His eyes are dark, the expression unreadable.
Unlike the Nico I knew long ago, still more boy than man, this one is confident. Authoritative. He doesn’t have to say anything for me to know. It’s all in his posture. The set of his shoulders. The lift of his chin.
The few photos he posted on social media didn’t do him justice,I decide.
Of course.
As women get older, they’re often considered less attractive. But Nico? He’s only gotten more handsome.
Not that it matters.
It’s just… he couldn’t have developed an unsightly wart on his nose? Or grown a beer belly? Maybe started wearing thick, horn-rimmed glasses that make his eyes look myopically big?
But the better question—the important one—is why is he here?
When I first opened my eyes to find him standing there, I actually thought I was hallucinating. After all, hallucinations are just one of the lovely side effects of a concussion, according to the neurologist who stopped by to see me once I was admitted.
“Sensitivity to light, nausea, dizziness, fatigue, blurred or double vision,” the specialist reeled off, like he was reciting a grocery list instead of all the unpleasant things I could experience.“Those are all pretty common with your type of concussion. Temporary memory loss isn’t unusual. Hallucinations can indicate a more serious brain injury, so if you see anything that doesn’t seem normal, let a nurse know right away.”
So with that ominous warning still fresh in my mind, when Nico appeared in my hospital room doorway like a dark, avenging warrior, I wasn’t exactly thrilled to see him.
But then I watched a nurse nearly trip over her feet as she walked past him, and I realized hewasn’ta hallucination.
I’m still not happy to see him, though.
Not on my best of days, and definitely not now. Not when my head is pounding in nauseating waves, my shoulder is aching, and my body feels like it was just used as a punching bag. Which, given the multitude of bruises all over my body, it seems like it was.
Of all times for Nico to decide to finally reach out to me, this is right up there on the list of the worst possible times to do it.
But why is he here?
And who told him I was in the hospital?
I didn’t. That’s for sure.
I was conscious by the time I arrived at the hospital, so one of the nurses was able to ask me who I’d like them to contact, rather than rummaging through my wallet and calling whatever phone number they could find. And when she did ask, I told her I’d handle it myself.
