Jake wasn’t hurt anywhere near as bad as Mom, obviously. I didn’t have that bone-deep fear that threatened to crawl up my throat like I had with her. But I was still worrying, my foot drumming out an anxious tempo on the floor.
What if his hand was fractured? Or broken? How long wouldit take for Jake to heal? Would it interfere with his US tour? I spotted Jake coming around the corner. I stood immediately, striding across the floor to meet him.
His shirtsleeve was rolled up, and beige gauze wrapped around his palm and all the way up to the veins in the middle of his forearm.
My fingers reached for him on instinct, before pulling back. “What did the doctor say?”
“Well, nothing’s broken.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, that’s good.”
“Yeah,” Jake agreed, taking his good hand and placing it on my upper back as he guided me toward the row of elevators. “I have a sprained wrist. The doctor says it should heal without any lasting damage, but...”
“But what?”
“He doesn’t want me to play guitar for the next two days. He says I’ll make the injury worse.”
“Okay.” I nodded, stepping inside the elevator. “We’ll make sure you don’t do that.”
Jake stared at me like I was missing something. I looked away and punched the button to go down. “Lucy, yourlivestream. I don’t feel that bad, so I can definitely sing, but—”
“You’re worried about the livestream?” I asked, looking over at him in shock.
He wore a look as equally surprised as mine. “You’re not? It’s all I could think about the whole time I was waiting for the doctor.”
I blinked, struck. The whole time I’d been waiting, I was thinking of him, and meanwhile, the whole time he was waiting, he’d only been thinking of me?
“The café performance iseverything,” Jake emphasized. “It should be your first thought.”
“No, my first thought’s you, actually,” I snapped, upset he’d put himself second. “Jake, you’re hurt. You could’ve broken your hand, and it would’ve all been because of my livestream plan, and I—”
“What?” Jake sounded as angry as I did. “No, absolutely not. This isn’t your fault.”
“But what if it is?” I asked, the words tumbling out of my mouth.
Fury and helplessness coursed through me. All I wanted to do was to be there for what mattered, and instead, I was failing Mom and the café—and I’d caused trouble for Jake in the process. Nothing hurt more than hurting the people you cared about.
A lock of hair flew into my eyes. Why had I left it down this morning? I should’ve known better. I ripped a spare hairband off my wrist and pulled my hair back tight.
I put Jake in danger. And I took the one thing he loves most in the world—music—and made it a fraction harder for him. It’d be a while before he played guitar again. Or piano.
All because of today.
He only came back down because of me.
And he shouldn’t have.
“Everything’s been a disaster since I’ve gotten involved.” And gotten Jake involved. Being there for people shouldn’t come with consequences. But maybe they did, and that’s why so many things fell apart. What did that mean for any future relationship we had? What if I ended up holding Jake back? Would he resent me for this in a week or two, when he still couldn’t play?
“Nothing’s turning out right and being protected like it’s supposed to. The café. The livestream. Jake, you can’t even play guitar. I called you down here just to get your wrist sprained.”
“You know that’s not what happened,” Jake argued, gesturing wildly to underscore his words, trying to get me to understand. “You’re not seriously blaming yourself for—”
As Jake moved his hand for emphasis, the end of the long bandage around his wrist came undone, fluttering in the air like a ribbon.
The sight pulled me out of my spiral.
Deep down, I knew nothing bad that happened was directly because of me.
