Page 40 of How Much For A Broken Heart?

“What about the ones I couldn’t save?” I murmured, my voice cracking. “The shipments I couldn’t divert…”

Doc Jen placed a hand on my shoulder, and I tore myself away. I didn’t want her understanding or gesture of comfort. I didn’t deserve it.

She tried again to touch me, and this time, I stepped back, the wall the only thing holding me up. “You’ve done more than most, August. You can’t carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

But her words did little to wash away the guilt surging within me. What about other children? The ones still out there, still suffering? The thought was overwhelming, a tide of helplessness and regret threatening to drown me. My belly ached, my throat tightened, and I felt nauseous, the walkway spinning around me, and for a second, I thought how easy it would be to find another part of this walkway where no one would see me jump.

My fingers found a raised doorjamb, and I glanced up, the sign on the door indicated a bathroom, and I was so sick, my body rebelling against the emotional turmoil. I shoved it open, then slammed it shut, locking it against Doc Jen, and I barely made it to the sink before I vomited, the violent heaving straining my already injured body. There was the sharpest of pains in my side and a wetness spread across my gown. My stitches had opened, the wound exacerbated by my hasty movements.

“Fuck,” I cursed, pressing a hand to my side in a futile attempt to stem the bleeding. I leaned against the sink, my reflection in the mirror a pale, haunted version of myself.

I’d survived a gunshot, but the wounds that ran deeper, the scars that weren’t visible, those were the ones that felt impossible to heal, and they hurt.

Fuck, they hurt.

As I stood there, blood seeping through my fingers, the bathroom door was heaved open—some force used, the wood slamming back into the wall—and an avenging angel rushed to my side, a pissed Doc Jen peering in.

“You’ve opened your stitches,” Ryder stated as he reached me.

“You don’t say,” I snarled back at him, pressing my fingers to the blood, feeling it wet on my skin. I pulled my hand away, saw the scarlet stain. What if I pressed harder? Could I make it bleed more? Then it would be easy to lie down here and?—

“Fuck’s sake, Navy,” Ryder snapped, and lifted my arm over his shoulder, dragging me out.

“Get him back in bed,” Doc Jen snarled.

Jeez, was everyone angry at me? I chuckled, but the sound was more like a groan as Ryder near carried me back to my room, mumbling under his breath some nonsense about idiot frogmen.

“I’ll show you, idiot,” I tried to say, but it was a rumble in my throat that never left my lips.

“Whatever, Navy, you stupid asshole.”

He heaved me toward the bed, but then, as I thought he might shove me down and leave me, his touch gentled, and with my head tucked into his neck, he placed me down and helped me back onto the white sheets. He knew how to balance his strength with care, and for a moment, I didn’t want him anywhere near me even as his steady hold ensured I didn’t collapse onto the mattress. Behind him, Doc Jen issued orders, a flurry of motion as other people entered the room. The pain from my wound flared, a sharp reminder of how fragile I was. Ryder appeared to sense this, his grip tightening to take more of my weight.

Once I was on the bed, he didn’t let go. Instead, he made sure I was properly positioned, adjusting the pillows to provide better support. His help was unhurried, each action deliberate and considerate.

“Okay, how does that feel?” he asked, his voice laced with concern, ignoring Doc Jen trying to get to me. It was as if he knew I needed time, and he stood by the bed, ready to adjust anything if needed.

I let out a breath. “You can go,” I managed to say, despite the discomfort, and he nodded. That was about all the thanks I could manage; all the apologies wrapped up in that single command. Then, he left the room, and Doc Jen fussed, and there was a bright light, then darkness.

I fucking hated the dark.

Chapter Fifteen

RYDER

Twelve days had passed since we’d made it back to Kingscliff.

I’d found a space in a room set aside as a library, which was where I took any downtime—the parts of my day that I couldn’t spend with August. It had a view of the ocean and the path leading to the pebbled beach. People walked down there. Only people we knew—this place was locked down tighter than a maximum-security prison—but I’d found out a lot of things from just watching. Like Zach could spend two hours staring out at sea, or that his sidekick Kai always came to find him after a while, then they’d bicker, and it was typical for them to end up in a scuffle. Or that Ethan and Josh liked to meet out there and kiss.

A lot of kissing.

And hugs.

I sighed, watching now, as Ethan pressed Josh down on a bench and hugged him tight.

I needed a hot and dirty fuck, which is what I assumed happened when a laughing Ethan tugged Josh into the building.

Restless, I closed my book, a biography of some guy I didn’t know and didn’t care about enough to stop staring out of the window. I wanted someone like Ethan had with Josh, a man who knew what I did, accepted it, loved me in spite of it, and could give awesome blowjobs—not that I knew if Ethan or Josh gave awesome blowjobs, but…

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