Page 89 of Offside Angel

If only so I can be the one to wring Dante’s neck and end this for Mira. I want it to be me.

“Don’t argue with me, son. You should be in there with your heart.” He jabs a finger at Mira’s room. His scowl doesn’t match his uncharacteristically soft words. “You need to be the face she sees when she wakes up.”

I want to argue, but I can’t. I know he’s right. Already, I’m inching towards Mira’s door, drawn towards her.

“If you notice anything weird at all, call the police,” I tell him. “Don’t go in there alone, O. It isn’t worth it.”

Owen looks me over slowly from head to toe. His lip curls as he ambles past me and remarks with his trademark brand of withering, scornful love, “Oh, fuck off, Zane. Don’t tell me what to do.”

33

MIRA

There’s pain.

Or maybe there isn’t.

I’m not sure which option is worse. I’m not sure of anything, really.

My eyelids are cemented closed and I’m stiff all over. My back, my hips, my—fuck, my neck. I try to tilt my head and pain ricochets down my spine and makes my back and hips hurt all over again.

“Mira?”

Everything aches, but the sound of his voice cuts through the pain.

A warm hand squeezes my fingers, and I realize someone is holding my hand. Not someone—Zane.

I struggle to lift my eyelids, cracking them open just enough to singe my eyes with daylight and wince.

“Shit. Sorry.”

Zane’s hand is gone. A second later, the bright light shining through my eyelids dims. I tentatively crack my eyes open again.

It’s dark, but then his face is there. There are shadows under his eyes and he looks pale, but he’s the best thing I’ve seen in… well, I don’t know how long. But it doesn’t matter.

“Wherever I am, it can’t be all bad,” I rasp. “You’re here.”

He smiles and brings my hand to his lips. He kisses each of my knuckles like they’re precious to him. “You’re in the hospital.”

Suddenly, I hear it. The beeping of the monitor behind me. The murky glug of my IV.

The crunch of the metal as the SUV spun across the intersection…

“The accident!” I gasp, sending another sharp pain down my spine. “I’m so sorry, Zane. I asked Evan to let me drive. Don’t be upset with him. It was my fault.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“But—”

“Don’t,” he repeats, squeezing my fingers, “apologize. I just spent the last four hours praying to every higher power I could think of, waiting for you to wake up. If you think the first thing I want to do now that your eyes are open is get mad at you, then you must have hit your head very hard.”

Tears fill my eyes, and Zane gingerly leans over me to kiss them away.

This is what it means to be cared for. To be cherished.

I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to it. Part of me hopes I don’t.

“Is Evan okay?”

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