Page 62 of Waste of Worth

“HEY, listen,” Dino said, shifting a bit to face Karen.

It didn’t matter, as it seemed like she wasn’t interested in hearing what he had to say, instead turning back to her side. The action was clear to him. She’d turned her back; she wasn’t open to talk anymore.

Dino wasn’t having it.

“Karen, come here.”

Her cold shoulder burned, but the silence was deafening.

It cut like a fucking razor blade straight through his skin and down to his black heart.

Being injured like he was, Dino didn’t need to be throwing his weight around or moving all that much for that matter, but that didn’t make a difference to him in that moment. Right then, all he wanted was for Karen to actually hear what he wanted to say to her.

That was important to him.

It would be important for her, too.

“I’m not asking again,” Dino said.

Actually, it was more like a warning.

One she ignored entirely.

Sitting up fully, Dino grabbed Karen’s blankets and pulled them away, ignoring her cry of indignation when the cool air of the room hit her bare legs and barely dressed body. She only ever wore oversized T-shirts, or tank tops and boy shorts to bed—tonight was no exception.

Turning to glare at him, Dino let her attitude bounce right off.

He quickly slid an arm—ignoring the pain shooting through his ribs—under her body, pulling her toward him at the same time he rolled over. He clenched his teeth, letting out a soft grunt at the sharp ache settling in his side as he got her rolled to her back, and he rested overtop her angry form.

Arms crossed, she still glared.

Dino settled in, elbows on either side of her body and comfortable where he was.

At least for the moment.

“I’m here,” he told her again.

Karen frowned. “You already said that.”

“With you.”

“I’m aware, Dino.”

“Then maybe you should start figuring out what that really means, huh?”

Karen looked less than impressed by his statement. “Maybe if you talked a little more about things, I could—”

“I’m not a talker. I don’t talk.”

“No, you stew. You live in silence—in your head. You don’t let me in there, either. I don’t know what you want me to think, Dino.”

He propped his chin in his hand, contemplating her anger and how she verbalized it.

“I want you to think that I’m here, Karen.”

“You keep saying that!”

“Because it matters. It’s important,” he murmured.