Page 224 of The Fall
“Concussed but stable,” Dr. Lin says. “He’ll need monitoring.”
Hayes crosses to me and lowers his voice. “Blair’s on his way. Coach is ripping him a new one.”
“Is he?—”
“His knuckles are hamburger, but he’s fine.”
I nod and close my eyes. The door opens and closes; Hayes is leaving, and the door closes behind Dr. Lin as she follows him. I’m alone.
The silence that rushes in to fill the space is heavy, broken only by the dull thudding inside my skull. Every beat echoes the sight of Blair’s fists, the sound of bone on bone.
He did that for me.
I slow my breaths and try to still the spinning world. The door opens and closes again, and I peek through barely-open eyes.
Blair is there, changed into street clothes but still dripping sweat from the game. He skipped showering. His fury is banked now, replaced with worry, and his eyes, still blazing, move over me from head to toe.
“Hey.” My voice sounds strange to my own ears. “What did Coach say?”
“Nothing good. It will be reviewed by the league.”
“Shit.” I stand too quickly.
“Don’t.” He crosses the room and reaches for me, then hesitates, his gaze dropping to his hands. His knuckles are split and smeared with Zolotarev’s blood and his own.
“I’m okay,” I say.
His hands hover at my waist before settling. He’s trembling. “You went down hard.”
“I’ve taken worse.”
“I thought—” He stops, shakes his head. “When you went down like that… I just reacted. I couldn’t stop myself.” Heswallows. “And if you were hurt worse… I wouldn’t have stopped.”
For all his strength on the ice, this is where he’s vulnerable, in the places where fear finds him. I want to protect him from everything that hurts, even the things inside his own head. His breath hitches against my shoulder, quick and quiet, and I wrap my arms around him, holding him steady.
The man who threw punches for me minutes ago now needs me to be his anchor.
His fingertips graze my temple where my headache throbs. “Dr. Lin says you’re under observation.”
I nod. “Twenty-four hours.”
“Dizzy?” he asks.
“A little. It comes and goes.”
“I’ll take care of you,” he says. “Let’s go home.”
Forty-Four
The dark is absolute,a choking black that soaks me, seeps through blood and bone.
Images flicker: headlights punching holes in the night, shrieks splintering metal, the wild scatter of shattered glass. The horizon keeps flipping, sky-then-ground, sky-then-ground. Someone’s screaming, a man’s voice cracked wide open. The chill is everywhere, grabbing my legs, dragging me down. I taste the ocean.
I wake fighting for air, jerking upright, my lungs locked tight. It takes one huge breath to crack the seal, then another. Sweat rolls down my neck. My heart is trying to pound out through my chest. There’s a sticky, half-lost taste in my mouth, and my throat is raw, as if I’ve been screaming.
For a second, everything’s missing—where I am, who I am, what year this is.Gasping, not able to breathe, not able to breathe, falling?—
I blink and the room comes together in seams of shadow and blue-washed light. Silver from the patio door, moonlight feathered across the pool water. Blair is on his stomach, head turned, one arm flung out, the other tucked beneath his pillow. The sheet is at his waist, but his back is bare.
