Page 328 of Faking the Goal

He smiles.

It's small.

Tired.

But it's there.

"I'll let the medical staff know to stop discovering new ones."

I roll my eyes. "Please do."

He adjusts my pillow one last time before settling back into the chair beside the bed.

"Do you need anything?"

I shake my head.

"I'm okay."

His gaze lingers on me for another second, clearly trying to decide whether he believes me.

"I mean it."

He nods, though he still doesn't look convinced.

For a long moment, neither of us says anything.

I just... look at him.

Really look at him.

His hair is a mess, like he's run his hands through it a hundred times today. His jaw is rough with several days' worth of stubble, and there are dark shadows beneath his hazel eyes that weren't there before.

He looks exhausted.

When was the last time he actually slept?

"When was the last time you got a full night's sleep?" I ask quietly.

His eyes lift to mine, and he gives me a tired smile.

"I'm fine, Trouble."

I narrow my eyes.

"You look terrible."

A soft huff of laughter escapes him.

"I'll survive." He reaches over, gently brushing a loose strand of hair away from my face. "Don't worry about me." His voice drops, the smile fading almost as quickly as it came. "Besides... I wasn't the one who got hurt."

Before I can answer, he reaches for my hand, threading his fingers carefully through mine before lifting it to his lips. He presses one lingering kiss against my knuckles... then another... then another, as though every touch is an apology he doesn't know how to put into words.

His jaw tightens.

I watch his throat bob with a hard swallow, and when he finally looks up at me, his eyes are rimmed with red, glistening with emotions he's trying so desperately to keep contained.

My heart splinters seeing him like this...