Page 79 of The Preachers' Promise

“We will, won’t we?”

I like the idea of us having something that’s the same. Something just between the two of us. It feels as if the longer we spend together, the more things bind us.

“How long am I going to have to stay here?” I ask.

Cain purses his lips. “The doctor wants you to stay twenty-four hours for observation.”

I snort. “Not going to happen.”

Ophelia curls her fingers around my bicep. “You took a pretty bad blow to the face. You might be concussed.”

I glance at Cain. “What about your father’s men? They’ll be expecting to meet us at Verona Falls.”

“Yeah, but they can wait,” he replies. “Let’s give it another couple of hours, just in case.”

Ophelia nods. “That sounds like a good compromise.”

Malachi joins Cain and elbows him in the side. “Come on, let’s go find some coffee and something to eat. There must be a cafeteria around here someplace.”

“Coffee and a sandwich sound good,” I mumble, though I’m not sure how easy it’ll be to eat with a fractured cheekbone. I imagine I’m going to have to chew carefully for a few weeks.

“Sorry,” Cain says. “Liquid diet only for a few days, then soft foods for a month, the doctors said.”

I groan.

Ophelia doesn’t get up out of her seat. “Can you bring me something? I’ll stay here with Roman.”

Cain smiles at her. “Sure thing. We’ll see you guys soon.”

They both leave the room, and I’m alone with Ophelia again.

There’s something I want to ask her, though saying the words out loud fills me with a familiar sense of shame.

I force them out. “Did the doctor ask about the marks on my back?”

“No. They work for my father. They know when not to ask questions.”

I relax a tiny fraction. With everything that’s happened, it should be the least of my concerns, but I hate the thought of strangers speculating and gossiping about me. I want to tell them to mind their own goddamned business, but it looks like I don’t need to.

I catch Ophelia staring, her lips folded in on themselves, twin lines between her eyebrows.

I narrow my remaining good eye at her. “You’re looking at me strangely.”

She ducks her head. “I’m sorry. It’s just every time I look at you, I’m reminded of what my father did, and it hurts.”

I squeeze her hand. “I hate that it bothers you to look at me.”

Her eyes well with tears. “I’m so sorry my dad did this to you. I don’t blame you if you hate me now.”

I frown at her, confused. “Hate you?”

“I deserve it. You asked me to stay away from you and the rest of the Preachers, and I didn’t listen. I practically forced myself on you, and look what happened.” She touches the tips of her fingers to her lips.

“I could never hate you. I love you. There’s nothing you could ever do that would make me hate you. Even if your father dismembered me, limb from limb, that I love you would be the last thought I ever have.”

She barks out a sob. “You’re a little crazy, you know that?”

“Yeah. I think we’re all a little crazy around here.”