Page 92 of The Fighter

The pain stole my breath away, and for one terrifying second, I thought I was going to suffocate, but then the sharpness receded to a dull ache, and I could inhale again.

“Con,” he moved much more fluidly to my side now, like the athlete he was, and knelt there. “D-Do you remember me?”

“Said your name, didn’t I?” I was reduced to less than full sentences. My throat was on fire, my tongue was too big for my mouth, and my lips had to be twice their normal size.

A beeping came from somewhere near us. A phone. Tav reached for it and turned off the sound before hovering over me. Gentle fingers prodded at a particularly painful spot on my ribs. “That was my alarm to check your bandages.”

He tugged the blankets down to my knees and touched my thigh. I closed my eye, unwilling to remember the feel of the knife slicing through the muscle while Devlin raged.

Devlin. I wasn’t going to think about him now. I knew Nik would have a report on him, but that was a worry for another day where I didn’t feel like dying.

I flailed my hand, feeling ungrounded, uncertain, panicked. Tav grabbed it immediately, lacing our fingers together, and brought my hand up to his mouth. He ran my knuckles back and forth over his lips, kissing my fingers, my palm, and then sliding down to my wrist before he tickled my pulse with the tip of his tongue.

“How bad do I look?” I asked him.

He leaned his cheek on the back of my hand and held it there. “Pretty bad.”

“Am I ugly?”

“Hideous.”

“I won’t hold it against you if you want to leave and find someone else.”

“Good, I was looking for an out.”

My throat felt tight, and not from pain, but from an overwhelming sense that despite my current state, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world. Nowhere but here with Tav. My eyes burned, and I was thankful that with all the injuries, he might not be able to tell if a few tears leaked out. “I was going to tell you,” I said.

“I know. I saw the cinnamon rolls.”

That clog was a full-on jam in my throat, and I just managed to get out the next two words on a harsh rasp. “I’m sorry.”

His eyes were soft as he shook his head. “No more sorries.”

“I have said very little sorries to you.”

“And those were enough. In the future, I only want sorries when you burn dinner or don’t wipe down the treadmill after you sweat all over it or forget duck sauce when we get Chinese takeout.”

“Boring sorries, then.”

“Yeah,” he smiled. “I want really fucking boring sorries.” He dropped our hands into his lap and stared down at them as he fiddled with my fingers. His Adam’s apple bobbed and his jaw shifted. When his head lifted, his eyes were wet and red-rimmed. “I missed you.”

My breath hitched in my chest. “Me too.”

“What do you need? How are you feeling?”

“Like I was beaten and stabbed by my childhood best friend.”

Tav sucked in a breath. “Con.”

“Did he hit anything vital?”

Tav chewed on his bottom lip. “You’re alive and here instead of a hospital, so no.”

“He knew though,” I said. “He knew how to hit something vital. And he didn’t.”

Tav nodded tightly. “Yeah.”

For once, I couldn’t read Tav’s expression, maybe because my vision wasn’t great, or maybe because he’d gotten better at regulating himself. “D-do you think I should have...” My chest tightened.