“It’s a little funny.” I touch her face gently. “We lasted what, four days after our first kiss?”
“Three and a half.”
“Even better.” I let my hand drop but keep my eyes on hers. “Let me drive you to the hospital. You can get your car later.”
“What about your shoulder?”
“It’ll heal. That’s what you keep telling me, right? Everything heals with time and proper protocols.”
“You never follow protocols.”
“I’m following one right now.”
“Which one?”
“The one where I don’t let you drive when you’re exhausted and emotional and probably shouldn’t be alone.”
She leans into my hand for just a second, closing her eyes. When she opens them again, there’s something softer there. Something like surrender.
“Fine. But we’re taking my car. Your truck is stupidly high.”
“Deal.”
We leave the closet to find Jake standing at the far end of the hall, aggressively studying his phone like it holds the secrets of the universe.
“Jake,” Marnie says, all business again. “Document the shoulder extension. Three weeks minimum.”
“Already done.” He doesn’t look up. “Also deleted the last ten minutes from my memory.”
“Jake—”
“Selective amnesia. Medical condition. Can’t remember anything that happened after Roman went looking for you.”
“That’s not a real condition.”
“It is now.” He finally looks up, and there’s something knowing in his expression. “But it doesn’t matter. Everyone knows anyway.”
“Knows what?” Marnie asks.
“That Cap’s been destroying himself since Monday. That you’ve been ignoring his texts but answering everyone else’s. That something happened and you’re both being idiots about it.” He shrugs. “Supply closet was probably not the smartest solution, but at least you’re talking now.”
“We weren’t talking,” I say.
“Yeah, I noticed. My trauma noticed.” Jake shudders dramatically. “I’m billing you both for therapy.”
Marnie’s phone buzzes. She checks it, and her face changes completely.
“I have to go. Mom’s asking for me.”
“I’m driving you,” I tell Jake. “Can you handle my ice protocol?”
“Sure. Try not to make out in any more closets between here and the hospital.”
“No promises,” I say, and Marnie shoves against me.
As we walk to her car, she says quietly, “This doesn’t change anything. We can’t do this.”
“I know.”
