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She sighed in exasperation, dropping her hand on her lap and laying back on the bed. Its top was half raised, so she was only partially supine. She closed her eyes, wincing as he pushed her hair back and probed as gently as he could. It wasn’t as bad as the excess blood made it look. He cleaned it out with antiseptic lotion, feeling for her as she bit her lip at the stinging sensation the cream had given her. As he reached for a pack of steri-strips, he took a deep breath, trying to steady his heart rate. He’d been swamped by the emotions that hit him when he’d seen her sitting on the ground while blood poured down her face. He raised his hand, with the steri-strips clasped between his thumb and forefinger. She opened her eyes at that moment, looking directly into his. He pressed the first steri-strip to the wound with a shaking hand. He felt trapped by her gaze as she reached up and wrapped her fingers around his wrist.
“I’m okay.”
“Huh?”
“I’m okay. It’s just a little cut.”
He gave himself a mental shake. “Yeah, I know.” He quickly finished treating the head wound and moved back, away from her. Attempting to dredge up a scrap of professionalism, he moved to the foot of the bed. “You said your ankle hurt?”
“Yes. I think someone stepped on it.”
Suppressing the flare of anger that hit him, he carefully removed her football boot. They’d definitely targeted her, and he couldn’t be sure stomping on her foot hadn’t been deliberate. He went through a preliminary check. “It’s not broken, but it needs to be strapped.” He didn’t speak as he wound the strapping around her ankle and foot. He couldn’t make himself look at her as he packed up the first aid kit once he was done.
“Rafe.”
He felt her eyes boring into the back of his head.
“Rafe, please.”
He flicked a glance at her, gritting his teeth at the pleading look in her eyes.
“Tell me what’s going on.”
“Nothing’s going on.”
“Bullshit. Are you sick? Have you got some sort of diagnosis and you don’t know how to tell me?”
“Of course not. I would tell youthat.”
“Oh, so it’s definitely something. But it’s something you won’t tell me. So, it’s me.”
It was a logical conclusion and indisputable. He didn’t know how to respond.
“What have I done?” her voice was thick and he turned to her quickly.
“Nothing. Don’t think that.”
“What else should I think?” She sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. “If I’ve upset you or offended you in some way, I didn’t mean it. Please don’t be mad at me.”
“You haven’t and I’m not.”
She pushed to a standing position, balancing carefully on one foot, her eyes glistening with tears, causing his heart to tighten painfully in his chest. “Then what is it?”
“Nothing for you to worry about, honestly. I’m sorry I’ve upset you.”
She hobbled over to him and wrapping her arms around his waist, rested her head on his chest. He returned her embrace, just holding her quietly for a long moment. He felt torn between the need to break away before he did something reckless and the need to hold on to her forever.
She broke first, leaning back to look up at him. “I get that it’s something and I get that you don’t want to tell me. But please, I love you, Rafe. It upsets me to think you’re upset and can’t talk to me about it. But, you know, I’m here if you change your mind.”
He felt an almost overwhelming urge to kiss her as she stood in the circle of his arms, looking up at him with her eyes soft and damp. He settled for pressing a kiss to her forehead before resolutely pushing her away. “I love you, too.” And there was the issue. He did love her. If he didn’t, if he valued the friendship less, he could just say, “Hey, let’s shag,” they’d have some fun and then whatever happened, happened. But his connection to her, the friendship, set up this terrible conflict that gnawed at his guts.
He’d come to Blessed Inlet as a scrawny seven-year-old, his mother dead of a drug overdose, his father in prison. His grandmother, while doing right by taking him on, wasn’t particularly nurturing. He’d felt terribly lost and alone, until Mikayla had burst into his life, her fierce generosity overcoming all of his fear. She was determined to be his friend and that was all there was to it. That friendship had formed the basis of his life, her family welcoming him with open arms, helping his Abuela find work, offering a safe haven for him whenever he needed.
Mikayla heaved a sigh, obviously realizing that the conversation was over. She limped back to the bed, bending down carefully to pick up her shoe. “We’d better get going. You don’t want to miss the flight.”
“I don’t think I should go.”
“Huh? Why not?”
