Page 235 of Faking the Goal

"Four."

"That correction did not help your case."

I straighten the edge of the blanket near her waist. "You're hurt."

"I'm aware. I was there."

My hand stills for a moment.

I know she's teasing, but apparently my brain hasn't gotten the message that the emergency is over yet. Every time I look at that boot, I see her name lighting up my phone in the library. I hear her telling me she was being taken to the ER. I remember the fucking terror of not knowing how badly she was hurt until I saw her sitting on that gurney.

So, yes. Maybe I'm fussing.

I don't particularly give a shit.

"You can complain about me all you want," I tell her, pulling the desk chair closer to the bed. "I'm still taking care of you."

Her mouth twitches. "Bossy."

"Correct."

That earns me an eye roll, but she sinks farther against the pillows anyway.

A moment later, she looks toward the boot and releases another miserable sigh. "I can't believe I've basically been sentenced to house arrest for a week. This could not have happened at a worse time."

"You're not under house arrest."

"The doctor told me to stay off my foot, avoid stairs, limit walking, and rest. That sounds suspiciously like incarceration."

"He told you to take it easy."

"Exactly. Prison."

I sit on the edge of the bed beside her. "You'll survive."

"You don't know that." Her expression turns increasingly offended as she apparently remembers everything the universe has personally robbed her of. "I have classes. I have photos to edit. Student Media has assignments coming up, I'm supposed to work at the café, and I still have countless of articles to finish. I can't just lie here for an entire week while everything piles up."

"None of that matters more than letting your body heal."

"It matters to me."

"I know." I soften my voice before she can mistake what I mean. "And you'll deal with it. Just not tonight. Email your professors, tell Student Media what happened. Whatever can wait, waits. Whatever can be done from here, you can do from here. But you're not limping around campus because you've convinced yourself the world will collapse if Taylor Lewis takes a few days off."

"You are so fucking annoying." Taylor folds her arms carefully, avoiding her sore ribs. "Fine. Let's say I cooperate with your ridiculous rehabilitation dictatorship. What exactly am I supposed to do in here for a week? Stare at the ceiling? Count the little bumps in the paint? Because I'm telling you right now, if you expect me to stay still with nothing to do, I will die of boredom."

"You survived falling down a staircase, but boredom is what takes you out?"

"Yes. Put it on my tombstone."

I shake my head. "Relax. I'm not leaving you in here with nothing to do."

"Oh?"

"I actually have something for you."

I walk to my closet and reach behind one of the boxes on the upper shelf. I've been hiding these there for over a week, waiting for the right time to give them to her. This isn't exactly how I pictured it happening, but considering she's now trapped in my room with strict instructions to sit her ass down for several days, I suppose the timing worked itself out.

When I turn around with the stack in my arms, Taylor's expression changes immediately.