Page 28

Chapter 27

Merci

Sunlight floods my room when I finally open my eyes. It’s way too bright to be early morning. A quick glance at my phone confirms this, 11:47 a.m. glaring back at me.

My hands throb like a motherfucker, each heartbeat sending sharp little pulses of pain throughout my fingertips. The rest of my body aches as if I got hit by a truck.

A whole goddamn fleet of them, actually.

But there's a solid warmth pressed against my back, an arm draped over my waist, and, for a moment, I let myself sink into that feeling of safety.

Until everything that happened yesterday comes rushing back.

The fight. The closet. My complete fucking meltdown. The way I fought against Zach, my nails tearing into his skin . . .

Oh, God .

I carefully roll over, biting back a whimper as my bruised ribs protest. Zach's still asleep, his face softer somehow, the usual tension gone from his features. But one glance at his chest causes my stomach to lurch, bile creeping up my throat.

Angry red lines crisscross his skin where my nails tore into him. The hospital had cleaned and bandaged most of them, but seeing the uncovered ones, crusted with dried blood . . . .

"Don't." Zach's voice rumbles low, gravelly with sleep. "I can hear you spiraling."

"I hurt you," I choke out, tears spilling down my cheeks. "I'm so fucking broken, Zach. All I do is hurt you."

Those steel-gray eyes open and lock onto mine. "You're not broken."

"Really?" I hold up my bandaged hands, where the hospital staff pulled splinters, removed the remaining fragments of broken nails that didn’t fully rip off, then cleaned the open wounds. "Because this feels pretty fucking broken to me."

He pulls me closer, tucking my head under his chin. "Then we're both broken. But with you. . . " His forehead creases, facial features pinching together, as if he's struggling to find the right words. "With you, I feel whole. "

I swallow hard, trying to push down the lump in my throat, but it doesn’t work. Tears begin streaming down my cheeks and I take a shuddering breath.

Just as I’m about to respond, someone knocks on the wall outside my doorway.

"Hey, you two decent?" Jackson's head pops around the corner, his eyes quickly scanning the room. "Because I've got coffee and bagels, but I don't want to walk in on anything traumatizing."

I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand, attempting to pull myself together. "We're clothed, asshole."

Jackson, Connor, Viktor, and Eli file in like some kind of support group. Them being here, bringing breakfast, checking on us . . . It's so fucking normal.

I never had anything like this before.

Viktor unwraps a bagel, then immediately takes a bite before passing it to Zach.

"Hey, that's my job." I reach over and snatch it from his hands, wincing at the pain in my ribs. But, boundaries need to be established. "New official taste-tester, remember?"

"Force of habit." Viktor shrugs, licking cream cheese off his thumb with zero shame as he flops down into my desk chair.

I break the bagel in half, my stomach growling, then give one part to Zach. "Sorry for the dramatics yesterday. Didn't mean to turn the arena into an episode of Jerry Springer."

Jackson snorts, passing out coffee like we all do this every day. "Are you kidding? Those dickwads had it coming. Besides, you're family now. We handle shit together."

Family.

I almost choke on my first bite at the fucking irony. Two months ago, these assholes helped Zach kidnap me and were totally cool with his murder plans. Now they're bringing me breakfast and crashing my room like it's their second home.

Connor clears his throat as he looks at Zach. "But we do want an explanation. Why didn't you register how scratched up you were?"

Holy shit.

They’ve been Zach's best friends for years, and he's kept this from them? Well, except for Viktor.

But the others . . .

After finding Zach's hand under the blanket, I interlace our fingers. What the actual fuck am I supposed to say here?

Zach’s grip tightens fractionally as he finishes chewing. “Besides the shit I’ve got going on with my arm . . . I have brain damage. Happened when I was a kid. It’s why I’m . . . off. Why I didn’t register the pain.”

Eli sputters, nearly dropping his cup of what smells like hot chocolate.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Jackson’s face turns red as he slams his coffee cup down on the top of my dresser. "How many times do I have to say you're like a brother to me? Stop hiding shit."

"That goes for both of you." Connor points between us, cup in hand. "You're our brothers. We protect each other."

Zach tenses and his eyes narrow. "Are you planning on sharing what's been eating at you lately?"

Connor waves him off. "It's nothing important."

"Hate to break it to all of you," Viktor pipes up, a mischievous glint in his eye, "But Alexei already knows about Zach's condition. Why do you think he started eating his food when I had the flu freshman year?"

Jackson throws his hands up. "Oh, for fuck's sake. Why doesn't anyone tell me shit first?"

"Because you're a dramatic bitch," Zach deadpans.

Everyone freezes, staring at him like he just grew a second head.

"Did you just try to be funny?" Connor asks, one blond brow arched. "Careful, Knight. People might start thinking you have actual feelings."

"Fuck you all." Zach's lips twitch, almost like he's fighting a smile .

Viktor turns to me, that signature insufferable smirk plastered on his face. "So . . . friends?"

I roll my eyes and huff. "Don't push it, Fungus.”

"Oh, my god." Eli's eyes dart between me and Viktor as he giggles. "They’re exactly alike. No wonder they argue so much."

Connor snorts into his coffee. "It’s like watching feral cats fight."

"And the bitchy comebacks." Jackson shakes his head. “Think I’d duct tape Kill’s mouth if he ran it as much as you two run yours.”

I narrow my eyes at Zach when he chuckles. But pain shoots through my ribs when I shift to curl into him. “Ouch.”

Zach’s lips press into a thin line as he looks me over, then turns to his friends. “Everyone out. Merci needs rest. And you're all giving me a headache."

"Look at those mama bear vibes. Our boy's finally growing a heart." Jackson ducks as the last piece of Zach’s bagel flies past his head.

"Out."

They continue to laugh as they shuffle toward the door, coffee in hand. Except for Viktor. He stretches languorously, like a cat who knows it's being annoying. "You know, if you need anything. . . "

"Get. Out. "

"Fine. But seriously, Merci. . . " For once his smirk softens into something almost genuine. "Welcome to the family"

He picks up the bagel piece on the floor then leaves, though not far. Everyone’s in the common area. Jackson's cackling about something while someone—probably Connor—tells him to shut the fuck up. The noise should be annoying, but it’s actually comforting knowing they're still here.

"How bad are the ribs?" His fingers brush my side, barely touching.

"Like I got into a fight with a fucking Zamboni and lost." I try to get more comfortable, but my body screams in protest. "Jesus fuck."

"At least nothing's broken."

"Small fucking mercies." I trace my fingers over his skin, watching his muscles twitch under my touch. "Thanks. For yesterday. For not letting me completely lose my shit."

"I take care of what's mine."

I let out a deep breath as I try to memorize how this feels. In a few months he'll be graduating, then heading off to Ottawa for training camp. "Speaking of taking care of things . . . you'll be in Canada soon while I'm just . . . here. Existing. Like some kind of really hot decoration. "

"You're more than a decoration." He leans in and kisses my forehead. "Plus, you just started Crestwood. Give yourself time to figure things out."

“Yeah, but that’s just it. I’ve never had the chance to want anything before that didn’t have to do with surviving. Now I can actually see a future, and it’s fucking terrifying because I have no clue what to do with it."

“How about taking more classes with Danica? You're beautiful up in the air. Free. It could inspire you."

A laugh bubbles up in my chest. "When did you get so wise?"

He’s quiet for a moment, gently rubbing small circles along my back. "I love you too, by the way. But you have to promise never to run away again."

My brain short-circuits. "I . . . What?"

Zach smiles when I look up and our eyes meet. "You mumbled it before you fell asleep a few days ago."

"Oh, fuck me." I bury my face against his shoulder, my cheeks burning. Fucking traitorous mouth.

But after a moment, I peek just enough to catch a glimpse of his face. “You love me?"

"Wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it."

"I love you too." The declaration comes easily, as if I’ve been waiting for me to say it my whole life. "And I promise, no more running. "

He traces his thumb over my bottom lip, his steel-gray eyes intense. "So . . . guess we need to tell our parents."

Fuck.

My stomach does a nosedive as I imagine that conversation.

“Hey, Mom, remember how I ran away because I almost killed my stepbrother? Surprise! We're dating now! Please pass the potatoes.”

Yeah, that'll go over real fucking well.

But looking at Zach—at how his eyes soften when they meet mine, at how his touch grounds me when everything else feels like I’m smack in the middle of a hurricane—I know it's worth it.

Besides, we're not facing it alone. We’ve got friends. Actual friends who show up with food after a crisis.

And yeah, we're both kind of fucked up. Hell, we've got more baggage than a Louis Vuitton factory. But somehow, together, we work.

We fit.

And that's worth fighting for.