Page 115 of Spearcrest Knight

“I would hardly describe you as a damsel in distress,” he murmurs.

“Really? Then why did you beat up Luca’s face?”

He’s silent for a moment. “Did you hear what he said?”

I shake my head. “No. But everybody heard you yelling at him to—” I put on a fake scream “—never speak about me like this ever again!”

“Right.” He licks his lips and winces, probably at the taste of Luca’s blood. “Well, I wasn’t beating up Luca’s face to save you. I was beating Luca’s face because it was long due a beating.”

“Right.” I gesture at his hands. “Well, even if you didn’t fight for my honour, I suppose I should still help you with this. Put my first aid training to good use.”

I lead him away through the trees. He follows me, asking, “Does that makemethe damsel in distress, then?”

“Maybe. Just try not to swoon into my arms.”

“I make no promises.”

I take him to the small Spearcrest infirmary. The doors are open even out of hours because the nurse’s office and the cabinets are all kept locked, but there’s a first aid kit there, and a sink for Evan to wash his hands in. The emergency light is on near the door, a low silver glow, giving the room a ghostly atmosphere.

After forcing him to wash his hands and splashing disinfectant on the cuts, Evan sits on one of the clean white beds and I drag a chair over to sit in front of him. The cuts on his knuckles are disgusting and still seeping blood, but Evan doesn’t say anything as I dab disinfecting wipes over them.

His face is a little pale in the low light, and one of his knees bounces up and down, but those are the only indications of his discomfort.

Once I’ve made sure all the cuts have been properly disinfected, I dress them. Evan winces slightly as I start wrapping the bandages around his hand.

“How did your Lit exam go?” I ask.

“Trust you to be thinking about that right now,” he says with a low, scratchy laugh. “Hopefully alright. I answered all the questions. I even filled out the entire answer booklet.”

“That’s a lot of writing,” I say, securing the bandage with some clips.

“Yeah, my hands were killing me by the end.”

“Those hands?” I say, taking his wrists and lifting his hands. “You mean those big, strong, manly, athletic hands?”

“Haha, you’re so—” His voice catches. He’s quiet for a second, then he speaks low and soft. “I’ve missed you.”

My heartbeat stutters, sudden heat pluming in my chest. It’s probably the disarming mix of the drinks I had earlier and the intimacy of tending his injuries. I busy myself tidying everything away and say over my shoulder, “Come on, you literally see me all the time.”

“But it’s not the same.” He sighs. “It’s not like it was, before, you know… Before everything. Before Christmas. I miss being around you. Spending time with you. In a nice way, not in an angry way.”

I put the first aid box away and return to the bed, sitting down next to Evan. “Well, Iwasangry at you.”

He turns his head to look at me. There’s no smirk on his face, no amused glint in his eyes. Just raw, exposed emotions, bloody and messy as the cuts on his knuckles.

“I was angry at you, too,” he says.

We’re shoulder-to-shoulder. The heat from his body flows into mine.

“But I didn’t do anything wrong,” I say softly.

Either Evan is more drunk than he seems, or his system is still pumping with adrenaline. Words come tumbling out of his mouth, seemingly without passing through a single filter on the way out.

“I wasn’t angry because you did something wrong. I know you didn’t do anything wrong. I was angry because I saw you with that guy from your job and I was jealous because you like him instead of me. And I know that’s not fair because of—well, everything—but it made me feel like shit that you like someone else when all I want is for you to like me.”

I swallow hard. I don’t want to feel sorry for Evan—he doesn’t need my pity. But the truth coming from his lips is unexpected and more painful than I anticipated.

I turn away, looking down at my legs, picking at my tights.

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