Page 73 of Our Sadie

TWENTY-FOUR: Endorphins

SADIE

I’m fairly certain that I’ve just skinned each of my knees like I did as a kid. Not that I was overly klutzy back then. But becoming destabilized at the wrong moment can lead to circumstances like this. And because the best my left hand can do is hang there like a triangular dinner bell, and because I of course fell on that side, my knees hit first.

So now my white leggings are bloodstained and possibly ruined.

Fantastic.

“I’m so sorry,” Zach is mumbling over and over. Along with, “Can’t believe I did that,” so low under his breath that it’s coming out like a mantra.

But this wasn’t his fault. I know better than to brace myself on a moving object, even if that object in this case was him. His complexion is pale and his lips devoid of any color. Also, his expression is that of someone who’s lost their beloved pet by inadvertently running them over.

Brittleness mixed with devastation.

“I’m fine, Zach,” I say as Dom and Jerome appear over the threshold that leads out to the quaint and old-timey wooden porch. “I just need a couple of band-aids.”

Together, the two other mens’ gazes flow from my face to the crimson stains oozing down my shins. It’s not like I can hide my clumsiness. Yet what I find most baffling is when Zach goes from apologizing to me to apologizing to them.

“I’m sorry. It was an accident,” his voice is both gruff and a little shrill.

“It’s not like you threw me to the ground,” I protest, because that’s how he’s acting. “I fell, that’s all.”

It happens all the damn time.

Zach is biting his cheek and blinking rapidly. Like he’s growing more upset not less. I don’t want him to feel that way, so I clutch at his forearm.

“I’m okay. This is minor. Nothing.” At his brows winging upward in the center, I clutch at him even more fiercely. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Dom and Jerome’s eyes flick back and forth between us before they apparently arrive at the same conclusion. The correct conclusion.

“They probably have first aid supplies,” Dom surmises, his chin aimed behind him back inside. “I’ll go buy some.”

Jerome nods, his manner as even-tempered as ever. “Let’s get her to those picnic tables.”

Those tables were likely covered in a half-foot of snow not long ago, but today with the sun out and shining, their surfaces are mostly clear and available for use. Removing my boots, Jerome and Zach each peel my leggings up, careful to lift the fabric when they reach the scraped skin. It’s tender and stings, but it’s not that bad.

It’s not like I haven’t had far worse.

---