Page 130 of Heart of Thorns

I shift again so I can put my arm around her. She wiggles closer, her cheek now on my chest. I absently stroke her arm, her side. Anything I can reach. Her body heat is very real, and I use it to anchor me in the present.

We’re safe.

The nurses do their best to not wake Briar when they take my vitals at the crack of dawn. One whispers that Briar has been worried sick, and this is the first time she’s truly slept. Judging by the dark circles under my girl’s eyes, I believe it.

I, on the other hand, didn’t sleep much. I relished the feel of her against me, but every time I closed my eyes, flames licked at my skin.

“How long have I been out?” I ask quietly.

“They had you sedated for two days, then put you back under for another four.”

Six days. In the blink of an eye.

“Is Rhys Anderson still a patient?”

She slowly shakes her head.No. “He was discharged a few days ago. But you didn’t hear that from me, you understand?”

“Of course. Thank you.”

I hope he wasn’t hurt. And I spare a thought for Ben, who Stephen framed, except I don’t have that in me right now. I hope he’s okay—and that’s the end of it.

I’ll ask Briar about it when she wakes up, but she looks peaceful. Her palm is splayed across my chest, right over my heart, like she was trying to make sure it was still beating.

“The doctor will be in shortly.”

She heads out, and I sigh. Six days—no wonder Briar was so worried. I try to zone back out, but I keep replaying the moments with Ben and Stephen. The dread and certainty of knowing I was going to die still lingers.

The next person to come in through the door, however, isn’t the doctor.

It’s my mother. My father follows close behind, but Mom’s face is a mask of worry. She stops short when she registers that Briar is sleeping in my bed, and her nose wrinkles. It’s an expression that would never be let loose in public.

“I was expecting Cynthia to be keeping you company,” she says.

Cynthia. Right. The crying girl.

“Why?”

Briar stirs at my sharp tone, and I wince. I rub her arm, but the action is also meant to keep her from scrambling away from me.

“Because she?—”

“She’s not the one I’m going to marry, Mother.” I stare at her. “And she told the nurse we were engaged. That’s not true. I’m datingBriar.”

“Of course you are, honey.” She steps up and pats my foot through the blanket. “And you’re playing football. But neither of those things are going to last forever. Cynthia comes from a lovely family. You know this. She said you two really hit it off on your date, so we’ve been making arrangements.”

Dread sucks the air from my lungs.

With sudden, vicious clarity, I realize that everything I’ve done to bend over backward for my parents has goneunappreciated. It hasn’t been viewed as a sacrifice—it’s beenexpected. The dates, me joining the family company…

But now it’s not just dates.

They’re trying to arrange my marriage, too.

Forgetdatingthese women my parents handpick. They just want to choose one and set me at the front of the altar for the wedding of this girl’s dreams. The duty of it stabs at me, hot as embers.

Briar shifts and sits up slightly, touching the bandage on her head. She looks from me to my parents, taking stock of the situation, and tries to escape.

“Stay,” I tell her. I focus on my parents again. “I am not going to marry Cynthia. I’m not going on any more dates. I would’ve died in that building, and the only reason I’m still here?—”

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