Page 68 of Quiver

“Don’t be.” Kylie leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Neither one of us does regret well.”

“I didn’t mean to make you feel—”

“I know,” Kylie whispered. “I’m okay.”

“Really?”

She nodded, and glanced at Ava, who continued to drive quietly, then back to her, but try as she might, Fletcher couldn’t manage to feel too awkward when Kylie’s eyes looked at her with such unguarded affection. Then again, maybe something about being soaked in your own blood made it easier to allude to sex with one ex while another sped toward her new lover and the emergency room. “We’re all kinds of messed up, huh?”

“You and me?” Kylie smiled down at her, eyes swirling with too many emotions to process. “We’re fire and gasoline, but that was always part of the appeal, right? When we got together, nothing and nobody else could withstand the heat.”

Fletcher nodded, the weight of her own head seeming disproportionate to the rest of her body, or maybe that was the burden of knowing Kylie was right. It had only ever been the two of them. Why did it take this exact moment to make her admit that?

Kylie glanced down, and Fletcher followed her line of sight to the spot where blood soaked through the clean shirt against her shattered skin. Maybe it was the shock or the shaken sense of self, but, for some reason, the pain didn’t register much at the moment, only a strong sense of how fitting the image seemed between them.

She stared back up into Kylie’s eyes, flecks of green and hints of fear mingled with a healthy dose of love, and she didn’t have any space left for doubt or resentment. Fletcher hadn’t given any real consideration to dying, not ever, and certainly not from a stupid injury like this, but she had to admit, if she were fated to go out, no director in Kylie’s world could’ve scripted it better or found two more fitting people to play out this particular scene.

Ava wheeled the truck with great speed into the circle drive at the emergency entrance to the University of Vermont Medical Center, but Kylie didn’t look away from Fletcher until the doors flew open and Bex practically crawled over them. Someone handed her the flannel she’d shed when looking for a makeshift bandage, and she slipped it on awkwardly, trying to keep one hand on Fletcher at all times.

There was a buzz of activity, people swarming, a backboard to stabilize Fletcher, a gurney, and then Kylie was jogging along, still clutching her hand until they reached a heavy set of doors, and a soft hand on her shoulder caused her to turn.

Ava smiled almost sadly. “She’ll be okay. Bex has her now.”

She stared at her for several long seconds, trying to make sense of the words, or even her presence in the haze, so totally absorbed in the dark eyes she anchored to, even darker and deeper than the wound she couldn’t bring herself to fully acknowledge. She turned back to Fletcher, seeking her the same way Fletcher had sought her amid the crowd and chaos.

“I’ll be all right,” Fletcher whispered.

She shook her head, not because she disagreed, but because she wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything. Of course, Fletcher would be okay. There was no conceivable world in which Fletcher wouldn’t be okay, and yet Kylie wasn’t certain the same could be said for her.

“Kye, er, Ms. Manchester.” Bex leaned forward into her line of sight. “We need to take her back. I promise I’ll find you the minute she’s stable.”

They were telling her to let go. She needed to release her, and she’d had more than her fair share of practice, but her fingers refused to disentangle themselves until Fletcher lifted her hand and gave it a tight squeeze, then did the letting go for both of them.

She watched as they pushed through the doors, and even when they slapped shut behind the stretcher, Kylie stared through the window long after they’d turned the corner, until Ava’s arm wrapped tentatively around her waist. She didn’t have the energy to jerk away even if the inclination still lived somewhere buried beneath too many other impulses, including the one closest to the surface that caused her to sag.

Resting her head on Ava’s shoulder, she began to shake. She didn’t cry, at least not in the conventional sense, though tears stung her eyes. This release came from someplace deeper, in sharp, painful gasps and clenched fists. She brought one to her mouth and bit the knuckle, stifling the scream that had threatened to rip her vocal cords since the moment Fletcher rolled over in the dirt, blood already spreading through her shirt.

“It’s okay.” Ava circled her arms all the way around Kylie and held her tightly. “She’s safe now.”

Kylie’s mind swam at the insipidness of such a comment. None of them were safe. If Fletcher could be hurt on a horse, if blood could spill from her own arrow, if she could still look through her soul with those dark eyes, her body racked with pain, and see to the heart of who they’d always been, there was no such thing as safety.

“You’re in shock,” Ava whispered.

That seemed as likely an explanation as any, if also insufficient, because what the hell was she supposed to do with that information?

“It will pass,” Ava continued in an absurdly soothing tone. “You did everything right by her.”

The laugh that escaped her lips startled them both, and Ava leaned back to search her face.

“You were fantastic. You acted fast, you took charge. You stabilized her, you kept her calm, you kept her talking. You saved her today.”

“Today.” She laughed a little lighter this time, and a strand of hair fell into her eyes. She lifted her hand to brush it out of the way but stopped short at the sight of blood coating her fingers. Her knees might’ve buckled right there if not for Ava’s arm still around her. “Oh God.”

Ava, likely sensing Kylie’s slipping grip on sanity, propped her up at the same time she began edging her toward a nearby door. “Come on. You’ll feel better when we get you cleaned up.”

The statement felt like one more in a long string of absurdities. She suspected she’d never feel completely better again, but she didn’t have any other plan, so she allowed herself to be steered into a women’s restroom they had entirely to themselves. Ava ran water into a sink, testing its temperature against her own wrist the way one might for a baby before nudging Kylie’s stained hands into the stream.

Soap and scrubbing gave her something to do with all the adrenaline still shivering its way through her system, but it did little to release the pressure squeezing her brain to the point of pain. “I didn’t do right by her.”