Page 143 of Slapshot Baby

"Why didn't you call me before going to the hospital?"

"I'm fine. I just got dizzy."

"You needed a blood transfusion and you're telling me you got dizzy."

She looks away. Her fingers fidget with the sleeve of my hoodie.

"What really happened, Ava?"

"The hospital called me in. My blood work came back off, so they did a transfusion. It's a routine thing."

"A routine thing that left you so exhausted, you practically passed out on your couch."

I keep my voice level. Flat. Because if I yell the way I want to, she won’t be able to handle it tonight.

"I was tired, that’s why I passed out. Besides, the blood transfusion happened so fast. They brought me in and I was in the chair before I could think about it."

I snort. "A blood transfusion doesn't happen in five minutes, Ava. You drove there. You sat through it. You drove home. That's a lot of time to pick up your phone."

Her eyes slide to the wall. "I didn't want to pull you away from training. I wanted to handle it on my own."

What I hear is: Because I don’t trust you enough to let you handle it.

My teeth grind together.

"You can handle things on your own, nobody's questioning that. But you’re choosing that over me."

Her jaw works. For a second she looks like she's about to snap at me.

Part of me wants her to. A fight would be better than this evasion. At least in a fight I'd know what I'm dealing with.

She pulls the hoodie sleeve over her fist and presses it against her mouth. Her eyes fill.

"I didn't want to worry you."

"That's not your decision to make."

"It is, actually."

"No. You're my girlfriend, you had a medical procedure I didn't know about. The only reason I'm sitting in your bedroom right now is because you passed out."

Her eyes are glassy. She pulls the hoodie tighter around herself.

"I didn't want you to drop everything and rush over here."

"I did drop everything. I did rush over here. The only difference is I did it panicking instead of prepared."

Her chin drops. She swallows.

"Kai, I'm really tired."

The hollows under her eyes are purple. Her skin has lost its warmth. Her hands are gripping my hoodie to hide how badly they're shaking.

The fight drains out of me.

I stand. "I'm running you a bath."

Her bathroom is small with white tiles and a clawfoot tub. I turn the faucet, test the temperature against the inside of my wrist, let it fill.