I threwmyself back into Pace’s truck, a changed woman. Changed, but not better.
Maybe horrified or scarred was the better word.
“What happened?” Pace’s voice was steady, like the professional hero that he was—used to people in crisis and probably used to keeping it cool at the sight of blood. “What’s bleeding?”
Later, I would replay his steady confidence and competence in this moment and find new ways of being in awe of him, but for now, it hovered outside my ability to absorb. My pulse beat in my hurt lip. Sound was muffled by the sound of my humiliation, deafening me. The blood was dripping, and I focused on not getting it on the seat of the truck.
I slid so low in the seat that I was practically in the footwell. “Just my nose.” I just needed to hold on a few more minutes. I just needed to keep it together until the people of the bank weren’t watching me like they probably were now.
“Are they watching out the windows?” I asked.
He hesitated. That was a yes. I let myself slip all the way down, curling up, knees to chest.
“A little.” Pace looked down at me, more worried than I’d ever seen him, and I hid my face more.
“Let’s go?” I asked from my cocoon, as I felt the blood overflowing in between my fingers. More blood than I would have thought. Freaking high altitude. I tasted it in my mouth, felt it pouring down my throat as I couldn’t help but swallow it down.
I knew that when I slid on the basically white sweater this morning, I was tempting the fates. I looked down to where there were several bright red stains. I moaned.
“Do we need to go to the doctor?” Pace’s hands hovered over me like any touch would push me off some final edge.
He probably wasn’t far off.
“Just drive. Get me away from here,” I said, voice finally breaking.
I would not cry. Not yet. Not until I was alone with my pathetic self.
“Yes, ma’am.” Seconds later, the truck sped out of the lot.
I had my head down between my knees, pinching the area between my brows. I wasn’t sure if that was the right protocol, but it’s what I was doing. If I fainted, then even better. Maybe I’d gain consciousness next year. I have often wished to be put into a coma so I could skip the worst parts of life.
Things had gone from bad to worse pretty much the moment I lost sight of Pace. As though whatever protective spell that encased me with him was shattered by the lack of proximity.
I couldn’t think about it right now. I physically could not. Instead, I studied Pace from my position in the footwell, curled up in my protective potato form. He had on a different, worn baseball hat, his jaw clenched as he swallowed. The strong lines of his chin and neck flexed. The first signs of red-blond beard were growing in, as if he skipped shaving this morning. He glanced back down at me, his pretty eyes crinkling with concern.
So pretty.
He said something, but no words got through this haze of disassociation. It was better this way.
That couldn’t have gone worse if I had intended it to.
Distantly, I heard Pace speaking into his phone, but I had transcended into some plane of existence where things were peaceful, and I had no intention of leaving.
The hum of the truck lulled me. The heat coming up from the engine warmed my shivering body.
It was only when he opened the passenger door that I realized we’d stopped. Pace caught me before I fell out of the truck.
“I got you,” he said and tried to scoop me up.
“I’m okay,” I said.
“Wait—Sophie. I’ll carry you.”
I had been so determined to prove that I was handling this—panic potato aside—that I stood up too quickly.
There was an intense pulsing at the edge of my skull, followed by a blurring of edges.
Then that was that. The very last thing I remembered was the surprisedshitfrom Pace and the feel of his muscly arms scooping me up milliseconds before I hit the ground.
