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He keeps asking me that, and I keep replying I’m fine, but he forgets. He keeps asking if I’m okay, when he’s the one hurt.
But okay that’s not entirely true. He hurt me, too, and I bet he can see it on my face. I’ve never had much of a poker face, and from the start he was able to read me like an open book.
The problem is, he keeps forgetting the lies I’m telling him, about everything being fine.
“Hailey.” He strokes my back, his voice rumbling in his chest under my ear. “What’s wrong? Why won’t you tell me? Why won’t anyone tell me?”
“You hit your head,” I whisper, horrified that I’m once more caught on the cusp of tears. “You slipped—”
“Not what’s wrong with me, dammit. I know I hit my head.” He lifts a hand to the bandage wrapped around his head. “I mean with us. What’s wrong with us?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.” His voice cracks on that one word.
I lift my head and take a good look at him. His eyes are closed, his brow furrowed, his jaw tight. He looks like he’s in pain, which he probably is, despite the medication they’ve given him.
“I missed you,” I tell him, and I hope he hears the truth in my voice. If I can’t tell him everything, and can’t lie either, then I’ll have to lie by omission.
He blinks, as if having trouble focusing on my face. “You did?”
“Yes.”
“Why? I’ve been right here, all along.”
My throat closes up. He makes it sound so simple. So perfect. Makes me feel like a heel for walking out.
Remember what happened, I tell myself. It wasn’t like that. Remember the facts.
He cheated. You left before he hurt you worse. You ended it on your terms this time, unlike last time. It’s what saved your sanity.
But now here I am, questioning my sanity and my decisions.
Bad, bad idea, being here, with his pale green eyes on me, and on top of that raw sexiness this unexpected air of vulnerability and hurt that tugs at my heartstrings…
Dear God, I’m falling for him all
over again, and this can only end badly for me.
Chapter Nine
Kaden
She says we’re fine.
But she’s hiding something.
She seems okay. No bruises I can see, and she moves without pain. If she was in the accident with me, then she got off light, and that’s fucking great.
The accident…I can’t remember what happened. I hit my head.
I lift my hand to the bandage.
How…? What sort of accident was I in? Fuck, I’m sure someone told me what happened, but I can’t… can’t remember.
I rub at my forehead harder, wishing I could jab a stick into my brain and jumpstart it. Oil the engine. Do something to jog my sluggish memory.
Her small hand on my face startles me. She’s sitting on the bed, leaning so close I could kiss her. “It’s all right,” she whispers, and all I can see is her lips, soft and warm.
