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“Aconcussionandabruised rib,” I repeat the doctor’s report Max’s mom Cindy just shared with me, both horrified and relieved at the news. Horrified because his injuries are my fault and relieved that it’s not worse. “Can I see him?” I ask.

She nods. “Yes, in fact he’s been asking for you.” Her gaze turns inquisitive, and embarrassment that this is how we’re meeting for the first time makes my cheeks color.

“I’m really not usually so high drama,” I blurt.

Cindy waves this away. “Love always tends to add a bit of drama to our lives doesn’t it, dear?”

“Love?” I echo, certain I’ve heard her wrong.

“Oh have you two not exchanged I love you’s?” she pulls an oops face. “I apologize; I assumed you had given what Max said to me right before I came out here.”

“What did he say?” I can’t stop myself from asking, but Cindy shakes her head.

“Why don’t you go ask him yourself?” she says with a smile. Never one for leaving questions unanswered, I do as she says and—after signing in at the desk— make my way to Max’s room. He passed out after Patrick’s tackle slammed his head against the concrete, so he can’t go home just yet. I knock softly on the door before rounding the corner to see him sitting up in the hospital bed with an ice pack pressed to his side and the lights slightly dimmed.

“Hey,” I whisper, the dimmed lighting making me feel as if I’m supposed to be quiet.

A smile slides onto Max’s face as he takes me in. “Jill,” he says at a totally normal volume, “you’re here.”

“Of course I’m here,” I say, moving toward the bed. “I wouldn’t just take you to the hospital then leave.”

“Wait.” He cocks his head at me. “It is still Thursday, right?”

“Yes, it’s still Thursday,” I say with concern. “Oh my gosh, Max, are you having trouble remembering things?”

He shakes his head. “Nah, just thought I’d better make sure given the impossible occurrence I’m witnessing.”

“What are you talking about?”

Max grins smugly. “You have class on Thursday, and my understanding is that you don’t miss class for anything.”

A blush blooms across my cheeks, but I fight to keep my expression neutral. No need for him to get a big head about me going back on my word for him. “Well, obviously there are exceptions for emergencies,” I inform him loftily, fiddling unnecessarily with the blankets on his bed.

His grin broadens. “And here I thought maybe I was special.”

“You really shouldn’t think too hard,” I reply primly, “after all, you’ve got a concussion.”

He chuckles. “So I hear.” I meet his laughing eyes with mine and my need to appear firm in both my convictions and their corresponding actions evaporates.

“I’m so sorry about what happened,” I murmur fervently. “I can’t believe Patrick came at you like that.”

Max’s brow crinkles with sweet concern and he reaches for my hand. “All I care about is that you’re okay,” he says sincerely.

“Me?” A disbelieving huff of laughter escapes my chest. “Why wouldn’t I be okay? I’m not the one who got knocked to the ground by a 250 pound left tackle.”

“True,” he relents, “but you know what they say about words and knives—‘words cut deeper than knives. A knife can be pulled out, but words are embedded into our souls.’”

Warmth seeps through my body, starting at the tips of my fingers and spreading all the way to my toes. He’s worried about me because of what Tucker said, and that is just so stinking sweet. His mom’s statement about us having exchanged I loveyou’s comes to mind then, resurfacing my insistent desire to know what he said that made her think we had.

“Speaking of meaningful words— I met your mom,” I tell him.

“Oh?”

“She seems nice. And she, uh, said something kind of interesting.”

“Did she now?” Max peers at me, one eyebrow raised in interest. I nod, then press on.