Page 62 of My Best Bet

“What?” He sluggishly looked over at me. “Press charges?” He squinted. “Against Andy?”

His words knocked the air clean out of me. I grasped the door handle for some semblance of sturdiness. “What?” my voice was barely audible. “What are you talking about?”

His knees curled up and he held his head. “I should’ve. I fucking should’ve.” He slammed his eyes shut, looking pained. “I was just a kid. You were just a kid. But I should’ve stayed withyou.” He was rambling. Was he delirious? “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Yeah, he did.

Blowing out a sigh, I bent down next to him and felt his forehead. He was burning up. His dark hair was curled at the edges from sweat. When his eyes fluttered open, they were all glassy.

“I’m not talking about Andy. I never want to talk about him again, okay? He’s in the past.” That was a hard boundary for me, especially with him. “I’m talking about the little bitches that cut Lucy’s hair,” I fumed.

“Oh.” He crouched forward and rubbed his forehead, then looked at me in confusion. “Press charges? Against five-year-olds?”

“Yes, Colt. They caused her bodily harm. They need to learn a lesson.”

“I-I didn’t know… You’re supposed to…?” He couldn’t seem to form full thoughts.

“What did you do about it?” I asked gently.

“I-I signed her up for figure skating.”

“What?” That didn’t make any sense at all. Was his brain okay?

“You said it made you feel pretty and strong,” he explained.

My mouth formed an oh. I couldn’t believe he remembered that.

“I wanted to focus on Lucy.” He shook his pale face. “I didn’t know what to do. What was I supposed to do? Tell her to punch them? Tell her to cuttheirhair off? I don’t know the girl world.” His eyes darted across my face, trying to read me. “I fucked it, didn’t I?”

My heart sunk. “Colt–”

“Oh shit. I’m gonna be…” He scrambled to bend over the toilet and purged his stomach again.

Moving quickly, I wet a cool washcloth and laid it on the back of his neck. “It’s okay,” I said as soothingly as I could. “You’re okay.”

“I fucked it,” he murmured miserably as soon as his body settled down. Leaning his elbows on the toilet, he held his head. “I’m in over my head, Mer.” His voice sounded strained.

I realized then that while he’d grown into this larger-than-life man, he was still the same Colt that I’d fallen in love with. To the rest of the world, he was a confident hockey star. But to me, he was that same boy who stormed into the wrong locker room, upset because he didn’t want to see anyone get hurt and in need of a little reassurance and comfort.

I slowly bent down behind him and hugged him, leaning my cheek against his bare back– which was burning up. “You’re okay. Everything’s going to be okay. No one knows what they’re doing. You’re trying your best and Lucy knows that.”

His body seemed to relax and my heart squeezed almost painfully in my chest.

It felt so good to comfort him, but I knew I was crossing lines I shouldn’t have been anywhere near. I was opening myself back up to heartbreak, and I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to survive it again.

“I hate being sick,” he muttered.

A pathetic laugh popped out of me, because at least some things didn’t change. “I know.”

“I feel like I'm dying.”

I patted his muscular back. “You’re not.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah, I promise. Why don’t you try to sleep in your bed, c’mon,” I said, guiding him back into his bedroom.

Now that I wasn't storming through, I took the time to study his room. Besides one framed photo of Lucy on the bedside table, it was devoid of all personality. White bedding, whitewalls, one wooden TV stand pushed against the opposite wall of the bed, and a large TV, that’s it. It looked like he just moved in.

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