Page 5
Her expression softens, and something unreadable flickers across her face. “I’m sorry,” she says.
“Sorry for what?”
“For what she did to you. I know how that kind of betrayal feels.”
“You do?” I ask, arching a brow. “Did someone cheat on you as well?” She lifts one shoulder but doesn’t answer my question. “Come on, Dais, I opened up to you.”
She glares at me. “Dais? My name is Daisy, not Dais.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you calling me Dais?”
I shrug. “I give all my friends nicknames. It’s my thing.”
“We’re not friends.”
The way she says it, so matter-of-factly, makes me grin. “Yeah, we are, darlin’.”
“No, we’re n—” She stops mid-word when the doctor enters, crosses the room and stops at the side of the bed where she’s sitting. I glance back at my phone and type a reply to Bennett.
Me: Yeah, have her charged.
Call me vindictive, but that will teach her for being a nasty cunt.
Chapter 3
Daisy
I wrap my bandaged hands around my torso when we step out into the frigid night air. I’m tired, I’m sore, and about five seconds away from bursting into tears.
I’m screwed. Completely and utterly screwed.
How am I supposed to look after Jonah with my hands like this?
How am I supposed to work?
How am I supposed to keep everything together when one stupid accident has the potential to derail everything?
“Well,” I say when we come to a stop. “I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure, but that would be a lie.”
He chuckles, completely unfazed by my rudeness. “Are you trying to get rid of me, Dais?”
“My name is Daisy, and yes.”
When I see his lips twitch, I roll my eyes before walking away. To my annoyance, he follows. I’m not usually this mean, but the last thing I want to do is break down in front of this man. I already feel vulnerable, and the last thing I need is his sympathy.
I grit my teeth as I try to slip my bandaged hand into the front pocket of my backpack. The bulky dressing is so thick I can barely squeeze the tips of my fingers inside, and no matter how much I wiggle them around, I can’t get anywhere near my phone.
How am I going to manage for the next week?
“Can I help you with that?” he asks, stepping up beside me.
“I need to Google the nearest bus stop, but I can’t even get my phone out with these stupid giant paws,” I grumble, lifting my bandaged hands in exasperation.
“Let me hail us another cab.”
Us? If this man thinks he’s coming home with me, or me with him, he’s got another thing coming. “I appreciate the offer, but no thanks. I just need to find a bus that’ll get me to the train station.”
