Page 115 of Lucky Shot

I’m sucker-punched in more ways than one.

She reaches for the chair beside her and wobbles, her knuckles turning white. Here I am admiring how gorgeous she is like a prat while she’s standing there in pain.

“Good afternoon,” I say rising from my seat and moving toward her to pull the chair out so she can sit down.

“Afternoon?” Her eyes widen.

“Why don’t you sit down while I get you some pain meds? You’re overdue for them. I just didn’t want to wake you.”

“It’s okay. I’m fine. I shouldn’t be here.” She starts to stand, and I push her shoulders back down. “Hardy. You’ve wasted more than enough time on me. I have the academy to get back to. Bills to pay. My apartment to . . . I just have a lot.” I’m not quite sure why tears well in her eyes, but I can sense the overload of emotion hitting her.

Normally that’s my first cue to walk the fuck away. Instead, I squat down in front of her. The need to touch her owns me, and I give into it. I run the back of my hand down her cheek and smile reassuringly. “All of that’s handled. There’s nothing for you to worry about. You’re staying here where I can keep an eye on you and make sure you’re okay.”

“I don’t want to impose. You have a life to live and I’m impeding on it. You can’t possibly want to play nurse—”

“You’re staying, Whitney. End of story. You just got out of the hospital. You almost died. There is no wiggle room on this.”

“I have other people who can look out for me. Really.”

Like who is on the tip of my tongue, but I catch it before it’s said. I meet her eyes though, and she knows the truth. She doesn’t have anyone else. When you’re an orphan, you don’t have a family to lean on when you need help. You have no one.

And that’s more than apparent by the pain that flashes through her eyes. The acknowledged loneliness. The lasting abandonment.

Christ. I never quite thought of it that way.

And sure, Suri offered to take care of her, but she has a regular job in an office that’s an hour commute from here. I have the means, and honestly, I wanted to.

Her staying elsewhere wasn’t an option. It still isn’t.

“Again. Thank you.” Her voice is barely a whisper.

“I don’t want you to thank me. I just want you to be you. Stop apologizing. Tell me to go away. Argue with me. Something. Anything. Just so I know you’re going to be okay.” My hands fist as she stares at me from across the room. Collect yourself, Hardy. My voice is softer when I speak this time. “I don’t want you to worry about a thing.”

“But the academy . . .,” she says and looks around somewhat disoriented.

“Is fine. Martin has things handled. He’s very competent and more than willing to do more. Between the two of us, we have it covered.”

“That’s not necessary. The school is overloaded as it is with the influx of new kids and attention. You have a full schedule and a game to get ready for. I’m fine. I can sit in a chair in the office and work.”

My smile is quick and unforgiving. “You don’t have a say in the matter. You’re here, and you’re staying until you get the all-clear from the doctor to return to work.” I rise from my haunches and move toward the kitchen where her meds are.

“I need my cell in case he needs me. I need—”

“Suri accidentally forgot to give it to you when we left. She’s dropping it off at the academy later. I’ll get it for you.”

“Apparently I can’t say thank you, but . . . thank you.”

There’s a little bit of that defiance. Good to see.

“In the meantime, I went shopping to try and get you whatever it is you might need. It’s all on the dresser in there. I’m not the greatest at it, shit really, so just tell me what else you need, and I’ll get it for you.”

Talk about being massively overwhelmed as I stood in the stores and tried to figure out what to get her. Many tips were given out to the clerks. Big tips. It’s the first and only time I’ve ever thought the American tipping precedent was worth it.

“I don’t need any of it,” she says softly. “You’ve gone through too much trouble as it is already.”

“God, you’re infuriating,” I toss at her, more because I hate seeing her this way. Weak. Apologetic.

“Infuriating? Says the man who’s angry at me. You wonder why I keep asking for you to take me home?”