Page 48 of The Silent War
I remembered the way his jacket had been shoved over my chest. His voice steady when mine wasn’t. How he blocked me from the sparks and debris.
If it hadn’t been him, I might not have made it out.
My throat felt raw when I whispered, “Thank you.”
His head snapped up. His eyes locked with mine. God, he looked tired.
“Don’t,” he said, he looked down. “Don’t thank me for breathing.”
“Bastion—”
“You don’t owe me anything,”
I looked down at the blanket, my hand trembling as I pulled it closer. “I could’ve died. If you hadn’t?—”
“Not while I’m breathing.” He cut me off before I could finish the sentence.
Something inside me cracked. Gratitude and guilt tangled together, so much it hurt. What were the chances my ex-boyfriend would find me.
I lifted my uninjured hand and touched his arm.
He went still, like my touch startled him more than the crash had. That was when I noticed the bruising under the gauze, the way the wrap was already darkened through, the shards still caught beneath his nails.
He had bled for me.
“You’re injured,” I said softly.
“Doesn’t matter.” His voice stayed rough, but he shifted enough that my hand could rest against him. Like he needed it, even if he’d never admit it.
The guilt twisted sharper. “You smashed through a glass window. You could’ve been killed. You’ve seriously hurt yourself.” The words came out sharper than I intended, the first real crack in my voice.
His mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “Better me than you.”
“Is your elbow even okay? Your hand?”
He shrugged. Didn’t answer.
“Show me,” I demanded, surprising myself with the force of it. “I mean it, Bastion.”
He held my stare for a long second, “I’m fine.” He spoke softer, but that didn’t change what I swore.
I stared at his hand, the bruising covering his wrist. The sight gutted me.
“You’re impossible,” I murmured, but my fingers tightened on his arm.
His eyes softened even as his jaw stayed locked. “Doesn’t matter,” he repeated, quieter now.
He leaned forward slightly, his other hand moved. He was about to reach for me, only to stop himself. Pulling back as he thought I’d push him away.
That hurt more than my arm.
I lifted my hand from his arm and touched his face instead.
His jaw tightening under my hand for a second.
“Why do you always do this?” I asked quietly.
His eyes locked on mine. For once, he didn’t look like the controlled Crow everyone else feared. He looked like my Bastion.
