Page 110 of Forever We Fall

“Four,” I lie, not wanting to scare Hota.

“Be honest.” His lips purse, and his head shakes with disapproval.

“Seven,” I groan.

“You’re due for more pain meds in two hours.” She heads for the door.

“Thank you,” Hota calls after her.

She doesn’t stop or acknowledge him in any way.

“Childish,” he whispers after she pulls the door closed.

His eyes meet mine. They’re the soft, knowing ones I love.

“Thank you,” I rasp.

“Anything you need. It’s yours.”

He says it with everything he has, so I know it’s true. Just as I know I don’t deserve his devotion. Just as I know I treasure it,him with everything I have. I just hate how little of me there is left.

Hota sits in a small chair that’s touching the bed. He runs a hand through his hair, and I remember its softness on my fingers.

“How much trouble are we in?”

“Of course, you’re worried about that right now.” He reaches behind him to a small table, grabs a cup with a straw, and holds it to my lips.

I take a pull, and the water hits my belly like a hammer.

“A little bit at a time, but we have to get water in you.” He sets the cup down and faces me. “Don’t worry about school right now. Bridgeport is more concerned about the hairline fracture in your skull than anything else.”

No wonder it hurts to move my eyes.

I reach a hand toward him.

Hota’s eyes go wide. His jaw drops. Still, he shifts quickly, sliding his palm under mine.

“Thank you, Hota.”

“Fuck.” He blinks back the emotions crowding in. His head shakes. “If I’d just left with you?—”

“You did.” I swallow. “You were right there. Right behind me.”

“I would’ve rather been in front of you.” His other hand comes up and brackets my hand.

“No.” I squeeze his hand, drinking in the comfort he offers freely after I’ve forced it away for so long. “I would take the hit every time.”

“Which only makes me want to take it more.”

My throat burns with unshed tears. “I don’t deserve you.”

“No, you deserve way better than me.” He grins. “But I’ll have to do.”

“So you never actually saw Mr. Phillips hit Mr. Judge with the rock?” The cop’s head cants as though he’s found some chink in my armor.

The only chink in my armor lies in the hospital bed two doors down from where I stand. My skin itches to be by his side, like a rash for which he is the only cure.

“Kyle Orenson and Erin Britt did. They’ll verify the events.” I roll my shoulders and try not to stare at the door.

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