Page 20 of Broken-Hearted

He makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a sniff. If I hadn’t just pushed him down a hill, I’d think he was sniffing my hair as he rests even more of his weight on me.

I’m rambling my way through yet another apology when two things occur to me.

One, shifters heal fast. A twisted ankle or sprain is nothing to recover from. And two, the foot that Nathan is hobbling on has changed.

I wrench myself away from his side and point an accusatory finger at his ankle. “You’re hobbling on the wrong foot.”

He looks down. “Am I?”

“It was yourleftankle.” I glare.

He whistles between his teeth. “Guess I forgot.”

And he starts walking perfectly normally.

“I can’t believe you did that.” I jog to catch up. “You could’ve broken my back with all that weight you were resting on me. You’re like 6’3. I’m 5’3 and a quarter.”

His right cheek dimples. “A quarter?”

“That quarter counts. Don’t try to change the subject, Blackshaw.”

“Well, you let me carry you before when you pretended to twist your ankle, so you can hardly talk. I just leaned on you.”

I snap my mouth shut because he does have a point.

He turns to look at me, and his expression is more serious than I’d expected. “You don’t trust me to keep you safe.”

“What?”

He nods. “That’s what the push down the mountain?—”

“It was more of a hill you said,” I remind him.

“I did.” He closes the distance between us, still serious. “You don’t trust I can keep you safe.”

“I didn’t say that.” I turn to walk away before he can see my guilt. It’s not that I don’t trust him. I don’t want to be responsible for someone else getting hurt.

Not again.

It’s been near-miss after near-miss. I don’t want the next attack to be fatal.

“But you think it,” he calls after me.

I keep walking. I’m not even sure where I’m going—not that I ever did—but as long as it’s away from the road and not towards it, I couldn't care less.

“Clara!”

I walk faster.

I gasp when he grips my wrist and twists me to face him.

My head is spinning when he steps in, caging me against the tree. I’d yell at him for it, but he looks strangely hurt.

“You don’t think I can look after you,” he says softly.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then whatareyou saying?” he growls.

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