When she says it like that, it sounds so easy. But even hearing it, my stomach is in knots and my chest is tight.
“I didn’t rescue anyone. The firefighters did that.”
“Okay, well, it was eighty-five percent you,” she says. “Be brave, Jo.” She leans over to bump my shoulder with hers.
“Ava, I’m getting a coffee. Want one?” Nora calls over my shoulder.
Ava says nothing. Then, after a beat, “Two sugars, please.”
“Gotcha,” Nora says. She squeezes my shoulder as she passes, and then it’s Ava and me outside the door.
Once she’s gone, Ava catches my eye.
“Ten minutes,” she says.
I nod. My stomach is already clawing up my throat, and if I had eaten anything, I’d probably throw it up. My heartbeat is a steady, fast melody in my chest. If it weren’t for Ava’s expectant expression, I might haul ass back to my own room.
But I can’t hide forever. And I don’t want to.
Because as scared as I am to see him, I want to. So I’ll do it scared.
—
I slip through the door, letting it shut behind me with asnick.
The room is identical to mine. Speckled linoleum tile flooring, sad white walls, a hospital bed and monitors. And in the bed, hooked up to the aforementioned monitors, an IV sticking out of his arm, is Finn.
His hair is damp from a shower, and tiny dark curls stick to his cheeks and forehead. There are small bruises dotting his neck—where the tubes were placed, I think. The bags beneath his eyes are dark and his skin is pale, much paler than Nora’s. He’s wearing a pair of hospital pants and a T-shirt. It’s the same Finn who popped into my life all those months ago, if not a little thinner and sporting more bruises. But it’s still my Finn.
Alive.
“Nora, I told you, if I’m not allowed to have coffee, you’re not allowed to drink it in here where I can smell…” Finn’s words trail off as his gaze skates over to me. His lips part, and there’s this look in his eyes, one I don’t have a word for, but it makes my stomach flip and tumble.
I clear my throat.
“Hey,” I say. It’s probably the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever said. After everything we’ve been through, all I can come up with is a measlyhey.
“Jo,” he breathes. “They told me you were okay, but last time I saw you…”
“I’m okay.”
“I tried to get back in,” he says. I remember the pounding on the door. He must have hung back as the others went for help. “But the door…” His gaze drifts down to my arm, up to my bruised neck and busted lip. “You sure you’re okay?”
“It looks worse than it is,” I say.
Finn’s lips pull into a smile, and it’s a smile I’ve seen a dozen times before.
“The nurses say I should be discharged by the end of today. Soon as my toxicology report comes back.”
Finn snorts. “Lucky you. I’ve been told in no uncertain terms that this is my home for the next week at least. If they knew exactly what Holden did to us, it’d be easier to treat, but I guess he’s not talking.” He sits up, and it takes clear effort to do so. “Makes me miss your house. At least there I had good music. And company.”
The blush that has moved into my cheeks flames hotter. I swallow dryly.
I make my way slowly across the room, lingering at the side of his bed. Without a word he shifts his legs over, and though there’s a chair to the left of his bed, I sit in the spot he made for me.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
A smile plays on his lips.
