Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 118125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
She grimaced with a low, uncertain sound through her teeth. Rian laid his hand to her arm, biting his lip. “Please, Nurse Hadley. For his own good.”
Nurse Hadley let out an exasperated sound, pinning them both with stern looks. “Ten minutes. I won’t have you aggravating his condition and exhausting him further. And don’t let him get worked up enough to dislodge his IV. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Rian said quickly, and Damon nodded tightly.
“Yeah. Got it.”
She gave them another skeptical, measuring look, then flared her nostrils and pushed the door open. “Clock’s ticking.”
Damon exchanged a long look with Rian, then stepped aside to let the slender, fey man enter before him.
Rian drifted in like a ghost, his hands clasped close to his chest. Damon followed in his wake; he couldn’t help the need to stay close to Rian, as if they were together in this, and he barely stopped himself from reaching up to rest a hand on the small of Rian’s back. He wasn’t even sure if it would be to comfort Rian, or to comfort himself.
But he stayed close, as they pushed the curtain aside and stopped next to Chris’s bed. Rian rested his curled hands against the edge of Chris’s bed, while Damon settled to sit on the mattress at Chris’s feet, leaning on one hand. Chris looked between both of them, then offered a weak, tired smile.
“Promise I studied for my midterms,” he said hoarsely. “You don’t have to look at me like that.”
Rian let out a chuckle, sad and barely whispered. “You know, I think you’ve earned an extension.” He rested his hand to Chris’s wrist, looking down at him with his eyes so warm that Damon... Damon wondered how he could ever have thought Rian was shallow; that he didn’t care about the consequences of anything to anyone but himself. “Do you want to tell us who did this to you?”
Chris shrugged vaguely, his smock rasping against the sterile white sheets of the infirmary cot. “Nobody did this to me. I’ve been, you know...in the gym. To make up for missing practice. Guess I went a little too hard.”
“About that,” Damon murmured. “You haven’t been missing practice to work on your art project, Chris. We’ve been talking about that.”
Chris sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes widening, his mouth crumpling as he darted a sharp look between them both. “I—I—it’s not, I don’t...”
“You’re not in trouble,” Rian assured softly, a gentle sweetness in his voice. His long, thin fingers curled further around Chris’s wrist. “We’re not upset with you. It’s okay. You must have been pretty scared to lie to both of us, but we’re not angry. We just want to know why.”
“Whatever it is,” Damon added, “we only want to help. Not punish you. No matter what’s going on, nothing’s going to happen to you for telling us.”
Chris hesitated, his eyes flickering, his lips parted.
Damon could see the moment he decided to dissemble. The moment he closed over; the moment he decided to smile, as if a smile could make them believe everything was okay.
That smile was as fake as those quick, shallow things Rian fell back on—and it hurt just as much, when Damon felt like that smile was just another retreating step pulling Chris away from him, out of his reach. Out of their reach, when right now he felt like...like he and Rian were holding on to each other while each reaching out a hand to Chris.
But Chris wasn’t taking their hands, as he said with a sort of strained pleasantry, “I really...just...look, there’s nothing wrong. I’m okay. I’ve just been studying too hard and working myself too hard, and I just...you know, I feel like I’ve been away from the team so much that I just...don’t belong there anymore, that’s all. But I’ve been trying to make up for it with extra workouts, and just overdid it.”
“You belong on this team for as long as you want to belong, Chris,” Damon promised. “But if you miss too many more practices, it’s going to affect your scholarship. And then we’re going to have to get your parents involved, and I don’t think they’re going to believe you got those bruises working out.”
“No!” Chris gasped, jerking up on the bed—then wincing, pulling his wrist away from Rian’s grip to clutch at his elbow and the IV needle that must be biting into his skin. “Please—please don’t call my mom and dad. Please.”
Rian bit at his lower lip, drawing it into his mouth and glancing at Damon, questioning; Damon inclined his head to him. A subtle nod answered, before Rian touched Chris’s wrist again more hesitantly, his voice soft, pleading.
“Don’t you think your parents will care that you’ve been hurt?” Rian asked. “Because if this keeps happening...we have to call them, Chris. We have to tell them you’re not well. They deserve to know. They’ll want to take care of you. They’ll want to protect you just as much as we do.”