Page 161 of No Good Fight

I fucking hate hospitals, and if I never have to step foot inside one again, I’ll be happy. Especially if I’m here because the woman I love has been hurt…again.

The doctor is still explaining what Alex will need after discharge when Alex starts trying to convince everyone in the room that she won’t need any of it.

I’m sitting beside the bed with my elbows on my knees, listening while she asks how long the dizziness is supposed to last and whether she actually has to stay out of work for several days. The doctor answers both questions patiently, then gets to the part about Alex needing someone with her while she sleeps tonight and staying close for the next couple of days.

“I’ll be fine at home,” Alex says, glancing down at the packet resting over her legs.

Her mother shifts immediately in the chair on the opposite side of the bed. “You can stay with us. Your father can get the guest room ready before we leave here.”

Alex looks over at her. “Mom, that isn’t what I meant.”

“We have plenty of room.”

“So does Ryder,” Josh says from near the window, then looks irritated that he helped my argument before I’ve even made it. Nia presses her lips together beside him, wisely choosing not to comment.

The doctor looks between all of us and then back to Alex. “I don’t particularly care where you recover as long as you’re somewhere you aren’t alone. With the concussion you were already recovering from and the additional trauma from this attack, I want someone close enough to notice if anything changes. Because it’s either that, or I’m going to keep you here for a week to recover since you’re clearly a flight risk.”

Alex nods, but I know that nod. She’s agreeing with the words while already building a version of them that lets her do whatever she wants as soon as she’s discharged.

The doctor goes through the warning signs again. Increased confusion. Vomiting. Worsening headache. Vision changes. Trouble breathing. The bruising around Alex’s ribs will hurt for a while, but the scans don’t show anything that needs surgery. Her shoulder is strained. Both wrists are raw where Preston restrained her, and the swelling around her face looks worse now than it did when we came in.

None of that is life-threatening.

I’ve heard that enough times that I should be able to unclench my jaw.

I can’t.

When the doctor finally leaves, Alex’s mother reaches toward the papers in Alex’s lap. “Let me put those in your bag so they don’t get lost.”

“I’ve got them.”

“I know you do, sweetheart. But you’re going to accept the help because we’re here and we care.”

Alex holds on for another second before giving them over, and I catch the tiny breath she lets out afterward. She’s exhausted. Her eyes have been open less and less over the last hour, but every time anyone mentions helping her, she manages to find a new supply of energy to argue against us with.

Her father notices too. He moves Alex’s water closer without saying anything, then picks up the plastic bag holding the sweatshirt and leggings the hospital cut away or removed when she came in. There’s dried blood on the sweatshirt. He stares at it for a second before tying the bag shut and setting it beside his coat.

“We’ll get you clothes,” he says.

Alex closes her eyes briefly. “Dad, I have clothes.”

“At your apartment? Because that’s gone in the fire, Alex. Or did you forget?”

“At Ryder’s.”

Nobody says anything for long enough that Alex opens her eyes again.

Nia is the first one to look away, but I see the smile she’s trying to hide. Josh scratches at his jaw and decides the parking lot outside the window is suddenly fascinating.

Alex catches on. “Oh my God.”

Her mother’s mouth softens. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You all did it with your faces.”

“I didn’t,” I tell her. “I’ve got nothing to do with them.”

Her gaze comes to me. “You’re worse. You’re sitting there looking smug.”