Page 132 of Kingmakers, Year One

I saw plenty of injured students hobbling over here after the challenge.

“Patched ‘em up and sent ‘em off,” Dr. Cross says grumpily. “That’s why I’m tired—only finished with the last of them an hour or two ago. I was just settling down to sleep when you so rudely interrupted me.”

“Sorry,” I say humbly.

Dr. Cross is checking Leo over for broken bones and particularly nasty scrapes and bruises. He presses Leo’s right side, causing Leo to wince and groan and mumble something incoherent.

“Those are broken,” Dr. Cross says matter-of-factly. “And this needs to be stitched.” He points to an ugly gash on Leo’s forehead.

Gathering the necessary supplies, he washes his hands carefully at the industrial sink, then rolls over a steel trolly bearing antiseptic, bandages, ointment, nylon thread, and a wicked-looking curved needle.

Watching Dr. Cross attempt to thread that needle is one of the most nerve-wracking experiences of my life. His hands are shaking so badly that I can’t see how he’s ever going to get the thread through the near-invisible hole, let alone how he’ll stitchup Leo’s flesh. But after three attempts, he manages to line up the needle and pull the thread through.

He mops Leo’s cut with iodine, then, without bothering to anesthetize the wound in any way, he jabs the needle right through, pulling together the edges of the torn skin.

That wakes Leo up real quick.

“Ow, Jesus!” he cries, jolting awake.

“Hold him down so he doesn’t squirm around,” Dr. Cross says dispassionately.

Gently I push Leo back down against the pillows, saying, “Hold still, this will only take a minute.”

It takes a lot more than a minute because Dr. Cross is painfully slow, but I’ll admit that the stitches are surprisingly even when he’s done, and the cut looks clean and closed.

“Why’d you bring me in here?” Leo murmurs to me.

“Because you were a damn mess,” Dr. Cross says before I can respond. “Those ribs are broken, boy, which I can’t do anything about, so you just behave yourself for the next six weeks and don’t be falling down any more stairs.”

Leo smiles at Dr. Cross’s unimpressed tone. “She pushed me, Doc,” he says.

“If she did, I’m sure you deserved it.” Dr. Cross snips the end of the thread and sets down his needle. “Now . . . you can sleep here tonight. Just you, boy, not the girl. I’ll check on you in the morning. But you, young lady, tell the rest of the hooligans that I’m taking out my hearing aid and going to bed, so I don’t plan to respond to any more banging on the door.”

“Right,” I say. “No problem.”

While Dr. Cross is cleaning up his tray and washing his hands once more at the sink, I take the opportunity to squeeze in a few more words with Leo before I’m kicked out.

“Are you really okay?” I ask him, taking his hand and searching his eyes for the lingering effects of concussion.

In reply, Leo seizes me behind the neck and pulls me into him, kissing me hard.

His lips are swollen and split, and I can taste blood in his mouth.

But I also taste Leo—that sweet, warm breath that I’ve felt on my face a hundred times when we laughed and talked with our heads close together.

He’s warm, so incredibly warm, despite the rain and the chilly night. His lips are soft and full, yet firm and strong against mine. It’s been a long time since his morning shave—the hint of stubble on his upper lip rasps over my skin in delicious contrast to his tongue, which slips into my mouth, massaging my own.

I’m kissing my best friend. After all this time, I finally know what it feels like to kiss Leo.

It feels shocking, and enlivening, and absolutely fucking wonderful.

It feels like two puzzle pieces clicking together. It feels like finally remembering something you forgot. It feels like coming home.

For all the times I imagined it . . . this is better.

This is exactly right.

Leo releases me, only enough that I can look into his eyes from a few inches apart.

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