"Miss, we should take you to the hospital. Get that shoulder looked at. Make sure there's no concussion."
She reached for my arm. I stepped back instinctively.
"No. I'm fine."
The lie tasted like copper and desperation. My shoulder screamed with every breath. My head throbbed where it had cracked against the wall. The split in my cheek pulsed hot and swollen against my teeth.
But hospitals meant paperwork. Questions. Hours sitting in sterile rooms under fluorescent lights that would make everything hurt worse. Hours of being poked and prodded and treated like something broken that needed fixing.
I couldn't. Not tonight.
The EMT turned to Rhys. "Sir, you should come too. Get checked out. Your knuckles?—"
"No." The word came out flat. Final. Discussion closed.
His hands hung at his sides, raw and bloodied from where my father's nails had raked his forearm. His right knuckles were split and swelling. He didn't look at them. Didn't seem to register the damage at all.
The EMT hesitated. Glanced between us. Probably saw two people who clearly needed medical attention refusing it with the same stubborn set to their jaws.
"At least let me clean those wounds. Both of you. Prevent infection."
I wanted to refuse that too. Wanted to leave this hallway and never come back. Wanted to scrub the last twenty minutes from my memory and pretend none of it had happened.
But the blood on my hands was starting to dry. Sticky. Uncomfortable. A physical reminder I couldn't ignore.
I nodded once. Short. Reluctant.
Rhys said nothing. But he didn't walk away when the EMT guided us toward the ambulance parked outside. Didn't pull back when she sat us both on the bumper and broke out her supplies.
The cold sting of antiseptic against my knuckles brought tears I refused to let fall. I focused on breathing. On the concrete beneath my feet. On Rhys's solid presence beside me, close enough our shoulders almost touched.
I wasn't fine.
But I was standing.
The café felt smaller than it had an hour ago. Emptier. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead with a hum I'd never noticed before. Someone's dropped coffee cup lay shattered near the register—ceramic shards scattered across tile in a starburst pattern of destruction that nobody had bothered cleaning up yet.
My footsteps echoed too loud. Each one sent fresh pain radiating through my shoulder. I pressed my hand against it without thinking, trying to ground the ache into something manageable.
Rhys shut the door behind us. The lock clicked with soft finality.
Silence pressed in from all sides. Heavy. Suffocating. The kind that made my ears ring and my chest tighten.
He crossed to me in three strides. His hand came up slowly—giving me time to pull away if I wanted. I didn't move. Couldn't. Just stood there trembling while his fingers caught my chin with impossible gentleness.
He tilted my face toward the light.
His jaw tightened as he studied the bruise spreading across my cheekbone. The split in my lip. The way my left eye had started to swell at the corner. His dark eyes catalogued every mark with focused intensity that made something in my chest twist painfully.
Then his thumb brushed across my bottom lip.
The touch was feather-light. Careful. Wiping away dried blood with a tenderness that didn't match the violence I'd just watched him unleash. His hand trembled slightly—barely noticeable except I was close enough to feel it. Close enough to see the adrenaline draining from his system, leaving exhaustion and something rawer behind.
He didn't look away from my face. Didn't speak. Just kept his hand there, thumb resting against my chin like he needed the contact to confirm I was real. Whole. Still breathing.
"I'll close up."
His voice came out low and rough when he finally turned toward Jenna. Not a question. Not a suggestion. A statement of fact that left no room for argument.
