Page 56 of Turmoil (Elite of Elmwood 1)

His expression was deadpan as he glanced sidelong at me. “Wait until Brock hears about this.” His voice suggested Brock would raise hell when he found out.

My head started to pound, and I wondered if it was wise to give up figuring out just why Brock had taken an interest in me. There was always tomorrow. “I have a brilliant idea. How about we don’t tell him,” I suggested, pasting on a false smile of hope.

Grayson adjusted his hold on me as we turned the corner, the door to the nurse’s office in sight. Despite my protest about being carried, he was all but lifting me off my feet. “No, fucking way, Li’l J. You can lie to Brock if you want to, but I will not be the one he loses his temper at.”

“What is his deal? Why would he care?” So much for being patient. Headache be damned.

“You’re not the only one who is trying figure shit out,” he replied disconcertingly, darkness edging into his eyes.

“Well, let me know when you do. I’d like to know.”

He shook his head, a partial smile on his lips. Opening the door with his free hand, Grayson helped me into the office, and I slumped with relief into a chair next to the door, keeping my injured leg extended. I stared at my foot, knowing it was swollen under my boot and sock, unable to believe how I got here.

Had someone really shoved me down half a flight of stairs?

FML.

Fuck Elmwood Academy.

Chapter Sixteen

To my surprise, Grayson stayed with me while Nurse Shelly examined my ankle, asking questions while she poked and prodded. I nearly kicked the woman more than once, and if she pushed down on my ankle one more time, I would do more than kick her. Was it necessary to use so much pressure? Just looking at the red and puffy area, it was clear to see something was wrong. I’d be sporting one wicked bruise over the next week or so.

“Well, I don’t think it is broken.” Nurse Shelly told me what I already expected. “Most likely a bad sprain, but you will want to probably get X-rays to make sure there isn’t a fracture.” Her eyes darted to Grayson every now and then in a mistrusting manner.

My fingers clenched tight against the edge of the hard seat, Grayson scowling over at me. I understood her uneasiness. He was like a dark, foreboding cloud hanging over the room.

“I’m going to wrap it up. I want you to elevate the foot for this period and put ice on it. I can give you something mild for the pain,” she offered.

“I would appreciate it.” I’d take anything until I got the chance to raid my mother’s medicine stash for the good stuff when I got home. Maybe mix it with a shot of vodka.

Grayson’s lips twitched as if he could read my mind.

“It is going to bruise over the next few days.” She set my foot gently down to inspect my elbow and tsked her tongue. “Did you hit your head?” she asked, scanning for any other unknown cuts or bruises.

Tomorrow, I was positive there would be all kinds of aches popping up. “No. I don’t think so.”

“At least not today,” Grayson added. “She could have been dropped as a baby. It’s still a topic of debate.”

I scowled up at him and flipped him off when the nurse went to get the pills, ice pack, and wrappings.

He chuckled, if you could call it that.

She came back minutes later with her supplies. Grayson helped me stand up, and I hobbled on one foot over to the recovery chair where Nurse Shelly wrapped up the ankle and gave me a glass of water and two little white pills, which I gladly took and swallowed.

“Can I call someone to pick you up?” she asked when she was finished. “I’m not sure you should be driving.”

I shook my head, staring miserably at my foot. “No, I have a ride.” I was not calling my mother. Not only did I not want to explain what happened, but she was probably at the hospital with Steven to pick up Carter. They didn’t need extra stress, and knowing Carter, any attention taken away from him would come back to haunt me. It wasn’t worth it.

“Well, you can stay here for the remainder of the day, icing your foot, but you, Mr. Edwards, need to get to class.” She glanced at Grayson sternly through her wire-framed glasses.

Grayson didn’t budge from his lounging position against the wall. His long legs stretched out as he tapped away on his phone. “Sorry, Ms. Shelly. No can do.”

“Grayson,” she said more firmly. “Ms. James does not need a guard dog.”

His intense brown eyes lifted. “I’m not leaving. Call Principal Wallis if you must, but I’m not leaving Josie’s side. I can make up my classes later.”

I shifted uncomfortably on the recovery chair at the sudden tension that dropped into the room. I couldn’t believe he’d talked to her like that. I’d been told that rules didn’t apply to the Elite, that they did and said whatever they wanted, but there was a difference between being told and seeing it firsthand.

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