Page 21 of Fighter
“Fractured ribs can turn into lung issues pretty fast. Injures the lung tissue a little if it's severe enough, so you have to cough. It sucks but . . . pneumonia is worse.”
This time, a hint of a smile found her. “Thanks.”
Maybe it was the coach-like tone I'd used. Or the severely awkward way I just tried to teach her something as a means to get a conversation rolling when I had no idea what I wanted to say.
Or why I was even here.
Following a hunch based on the amusement in her eyes, I asked, “You already knew that, didn't you?”
Her widening grin broke the tense air. “My dad is a doctor. He's already given me the lecture.”
“Oh.”
“Have a seat, Mercedy.”
She reached to the side where a mini-fridge lingered beneath the bedside counter. When she peeled it open a few water bottles waited inside. She tossed me one.
“Thanks,” I said.
Underneath all her forced bravado, she looked exhausted. The lid cracked when I twisted it off, and the cool drink helped settle me. But that sober air had returned and I didn't know what to do with it.
She spared me the pain of finding a discussion point.
“I'm surprised you came.”
“Me too.”
My response had been immediate, and I mentally berated myself the moment it slipped. Her amusement curbed my embarrassment.
“Whydidyou come?”
My brow grew heavy. This is where women and I didn't work well. “I'm not sure,” I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck. “I was worried about you, for one. You didn't look great back there. And . . . I didn't want to . . . I don't know.”
She softened, and for some reason, it eased my tension. When she reached out and put a hand on my arm, something deep inside me twinged. Like a rope being cut free. No one touched me unless they were family, and even then it was awkward. Like I carried an invisible wall around me and everyone sensed it there, so they didn't get too close. Normally, that was fine. I preferred it that way. But lately . . .
For her to make it so simple to touch me made me wonder if I complicated things too much.
“Thanks,” she said, then her hand slipped away. I wanted it back.
“I went into work after I dropped your dinner off,” she said, and I sensed that conversation was a calm place for her. She picked at the edge of the water bottle label with her fingernail. “Bert gave me the rest of the week off. There's no way I can lift a tray right now and Dagny wanted some extra hours. Besides.” She waved a hand toward her left cheek. “People are going to ask and I don't want to deal with it. Although, I could make up a superhero story or something. So . . . I guess that it's good I don't have to work for five days.”
“You don't sound happy about it.”
She frowned. “I'm grateful. It gives me some recovery time and time to find a place to stay.”
A heavybutlingered in the air. She didn't give it words, and it seemed out of character for her tonotvoice a thought. I looked at her then, reallylooked at her, and saw the buried fear beneath the layers of bravado. Serafina bubbled over with life and energy and gentle sarcasm, but today she seemed downtrodden. Exhausted. Maybe more than a little frightened.
How could she not be?
“What can I do to help you?” I asked.
Startled, she blinked and tucked a wild strand of hair behind her ear. For whatever reason, it seemed to be the last thing she expected me to say. My own fear kicked in next when tears sprang to her eyes, but I schooled it down. Ava cried all the time, and we'd survived all of those. This would be fine.
“You really want to know?” she asked.
I nodded, startled that I didn't feel a rush of panic for whatever I'd just pushed myself into. She wasn't Sadie. Sadie would never come back, but her legacy lived on all the same. Serafina hesitated, but I could tell that all her guards were down. Any usual social etiquette would be shoved to the side, which was exactly the way I felt comfortable in a conversation. When all the crap I wasn't supposed to say didn't hang over my head.
“Will you stay?” she asked.
