That hurts worse than anything Reed did.
It turns out I can't walk myself. My knees buckle halfway down the hallway, adrenaline crashing. Liam appears at my side, arm sliding around my waist, holding me upright.
"I've got you," he murmurs, and despite everything, the blood, the fire in my ribs, the shame of being carried off the mat, something warm fills my chest. His shoulder is under my arm, his hip against mine, bearing more of my weight than I want to admit. I focus on him beside me as we make our slow, painful way to the nurse's office.
Each step sends a spike through my ribs. Something's cracked, maybe broken. My face feels twice its normal size, the cut over my eye throbs with my pulse. Blood trickles from the split eyebrow, dripping onto my collar. Copper and salt with every swallow.
"He really went for you," Liam says. Very quiet. Full of guilt. "I'm sorry. He hurt you because of me."
I want to tell him it's fine, that I've had worse, that I kind of deserved it. Speaking takes more energy than I have. Instead, I lean into him a little more.
The nurse's office door is propped open. Glenn looks up from her station. She’s wearing penguin-print scrubs, round glasses, orange hair in a bun. She jumps to her feet.
"What happened?" she demands, though the blood makes it obvious. She guides me to the examination table.
"MMA practice," Liam answers.
"Who did that to him?"
"Reed Hoffman."
Glenn clicks her tongue. "That boy. One of these days, Griff is going to have to do something about him before someone getsseriously hurt. I don't even know why they allow you all to do MMA."
"They say it channels violent energy into something productive and controlled," Liam says quietly, still watching me.
She works fast: vitals, cleaning the worst of the blood, then probing my ribs. I hiss through clenched teeth. "Bruised, maybe cracked," she pronounces. "Nothing to do except wrap them. Take it easy for a few weeks." She eyes Liam hovering at the edge of the table, then turns back to me. "You won't need stitches, but barely."
"Can I help?" Liam asks.
Glenn looks at him, frowns, suspicious, looks back at me. Smiles. Shrugs.
"Sure. Basic first aid, clean the cuts, ice the swelling." She passes him a tray of supplies: gauze, antiseptic, ice packs. "I've got paperwork next door. Can you manage fifteen minutes without me?"
"Yes, ma'am," Liam says.
"None of that ma'am nonsense." She chuckles and disappears into the next room.
"I can handle this myself if you want to go," I say, even though the thought of him leaving tightens my chest.
"Don't be stupid," he replies, picking up gauze and wetting it with antiseptic. "Hold still."
He steps closer, standing between my knees as I sit on the edge of the table. His face inches from mine, brow furrowed in concentration, as he gently dabs at the cut above my eye. I wince at the sting, but don't pull away.
"Sorry," he murmurs. His breath warm against my skin.
"Nothing I can't handle, baby," I say, and the pet name comes out so easily it surprises me. He looks up, startled. Then chuckles.
He works in silence. I watch his face, lower lip caughtbetween his teeth when he concentrates as he focuses on my injuries. His eyelashes are lighter than his hair. I can't stop watching him.
"You didn't have to let him beat you like this," Liam says softly. Making fun of me. Adorable. He presses a cold compress to my jaw, fingers brushing my skin.
I manage a painful smile. "Wasn't exactly letting him."
"You knew he'd destroy you. Why did you fight him?"
His eyes meet mine. Blue and questioning. He's so close to me.
"What was I supposed to do? Back down in front of everyone?" My voice is rough. My eyes are stinging. Again. And it’s not because of the pain. It's hard for me to be taken care of.
