Marnie must go to get her because footsteps approach, fast, nearly running.
Then she’s there.
Standing in the doorway in sweatpants and my Puckaneers hoodie that swallows her whole with hair falling out of a messy bun, no makeup, face pale and scared and so fucking beautiful I can’t breathe.
“JuJu.” Her name comes out wrecked.
“Hey.” She crosses to me in three quick steps with her hand going immediately to my face, cupping my jaw like she needs to verify I’m real. “What did you do?”
The touch grounds me, centers me, makes everything that was spinning finally slow down.
“Got hit. S’not—” I try to sit up and the room tilts violently. Her hands are there immediately, steadying me. “I’m okay.”
“You’re not okay.” Her thumb brushes across my cheekbone and that’s when I realize I’m crying. “You have a concussion.”
“Needed you here first.”
Something flickers in her eyes but her hands stay gentle on my face.
“I’m here now.” She looks at Marnie without moving her hands from me, won’t let me go. “What do I need to do?”
Marnie explains the overnight protocol. Wake me every two hours, watch for warning signs, when to call 911. I barely hear any ofit. Too busy staring at Juliette, at the way she’s biting her lip while she listens, at how she hasn’t let go of me yet.
She came. Even though I hurt her. Even though we’re broken. She came.
“Can you do that?” Marnie asks.
“Yes. Of course.” No hesitation. Just immediate certainty.
“Good. Then let’s get him home.”
Home. The word hits different when Juliette’s the one who’s going to take me there.
She helps me stand and my legs don’t quite work right, the floor tilts, but her arm wraps around my waist, solid and sure, and I lean into her without shame.
“Easy. I’ve got you.”
I know you do. You always do.
The words are there but I can’t quite get them out with my brain too fuzzy and my mouth not cooperating. So I just hold onto her and let her guide me.
The parking garage is too bright with every light a spike through my skull. But Juliette’s there, murmuring quiet reassurances, helping me into her car like I’m something precious that might break.
Maybe I am.
She drives carefully. No music, avoiding every bump in the road. The silence should be awkward but it’s not. It’s just there, heavy with everything we haven’t said.
“I’m sorry.” The words come out slurred but clear enough. Need her to hear them. “Should have told you. About the coffee. About Sienna. Was stupid.”
“Romeo, we can talk about this when?—”
“No.” I turn my head to look at her even though it makes everything spin worse. Need her to see my face, see that I mean it. “Need you to know. She doesn’t mean anything. Never did. You’re the only one.”
Her hands tighten on the steering wheel. “You’re concussed. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Know exactly what I’m saying.” The words are coming easier now, loose and unfiltered. “Loved you from the beginning. From the first time I saw you on the ice. Did I tell you that? Don’t remember if I told you.”
“You’re not making sense.”
