Page 101 of The Pocket Pair

“Always,” I tell him. I dig my fingers in just a little more on his scalp, earning a groan from him. His eyes close again.

I massage his scalp, trying to memorize the feel of his soft strands on my fingertips. This might be it. The last time.

As much as I felt like Chevy and I had something more than all his fast and furious relationships (if they can be called that), in the end, maybe he just can’t do commitment. Or, at least, doesn’t think he can.

I still don’t know what changed so suddenly. If Winnie found anything out when she came back with my stuff last night, she didn’t say anything. But if I take in the evidence—years of Chevy casually dating, the lack of any significant romantic relationship ever—am I really so surprised? Maybe I’m his favorite person, but I don’t know that it matters if he can’t make a commitment that lasts longer than a week.

Winnie may have been right about her brother being emotionally unavailable. And me? I’m the glutton for punishment rubbing his head while silently crying at his bedside.

Yep. Definitely time to flee the country.

“I’m leaving tomorrow, Chev,” I whisper, and in response, he snores softly. “And though it’s dumb, I love you. I have for the longest time, and if all I ever get from you is the short time we were together, they were the happiest days of my life.”

I bite my lip, my chest aching. People get over heartbreak though. All the time. I’ll go to Costa Rica, focus on painting, get to know my family, and then …

The rest is just too hard to think about.

Though I should probably stop touching him, I keep rubbing Chevy’s head through the nurse coming in to check his vitals. Through a doctor stopping in to tell me—the person he thinks is Chevy’s sister—that Chevy’s stitches will dissolve on their own and that we need to watch for any signs of infection after they release him tomorrow.

I stay long enough to fall asleep, waking to see Winnie peering down at me, where I slumped against Chevy’s unbandaged shoulder. And once I know he’s safe with Winnie and James, I excuse myself, giving Chevy one last, likely horribly embarrassingly desperate look of longing, then head back to the loft so I can finish packing, do some more crying, and prepare to leave the country.

CHAPTER 30

Chevy

I wake to someone poking me in the shoulder. Before my eyes are even open, I’m aware of just that: Poke. Poke. Poke. Only one person in my life has ever woken me like this.

“Winchester,” I groan, trying to crack open my eyes. They’re gritty. My eyelids are heavier than normal. And the light’s weird. Things smell funny and—

My brain suddenly jolts into consciousness and my eyes fly fully open. I’m in the hospital.

The cannon—the stitches.

And … Val? Was Val here?

I squint at my sister, who looks like some kind of avenging angel in the harsh lights of the hospital, all angry face and golden hair. I shift a little in the bed, feeling the ache and sting in my chest where I received some amount of stitches earlier today.

Was that today? The light from the window is really bright. Looks more like morning. So—yesterday?

My brain feels cottony and slow, and a headache is building right behind my eyeballs. Pain meds and I aren’t the best of friends, and that’s the normal over the counter stuff. I’m not sure what they’ve given me, but I can feel the impact.

Winnie pokes me one more time.

“Stop,” I tell her, starting to swat her away until the pain radiating through my chest stops me. I groan, glancing down at the bandages and sling. “Why are you harassing me? Shouldn’t you be bringing me flowers and chocolates?”

“Not when you do stupid stuff like getting shot by a cannon and almost die.”

“I didn’t almost die.”

“No, you didn’t. But you could have. And then I’d be all alone. It’s simply not allowed.”

“Noted.”

Winnie sighs and sits down on the edge of my bed, carefully, like she thinks I’ll break. Which makes me think again of Val. There’s a chair by the bed. Did she sit there? Was she even here or did I dream it?

“Is Val here?”

“No.” Winnie pauses, and I’m not sure what kind of look it is she has on her face. “She left last night when we got here.”

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