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“Fucking dumb,” Rafe mutters.
Koda twists around to look at me. “Sorry I called you, Blondie. I didn’t know what else to do.” Then, grinning, “Actually, I did. I knew exactly what to do.”
I look down at our hands and move my pointer finger along his, slowly. “I couldn’t sleep anyway.”
“It worked,” Rafe says to Koda. “Finally got him to stop.”
Nash tenses. I see the breath go into his chest, so I squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back, and now my heart is racing because he’s letting me hold his bloody hand.
The car goes over a speed bump too fast, and Nash groans.
“Sorry,” Rafe says to the rearview mirror.
“Where?” I ask, finally turning to him.
He looks at me, and I can see his chest rising under the torn shirt, but I keep my eyes on his face. Then I take my hand back, zip my jacket all the way to my chin, reach up under it, and pull off the T-shirt I’m wearing underneath. It’s an extra-large and it’s black, so it won’t look stupid on him. I drop it in his lap and don’t say anything.
A moment later, he’s pulling the ripped shirt over his head. I make the mistake of glancing down at his side again, then dart my eyes to the front, and Rafe is already watching me in the rearview mirror. Nash pulls my shirt on, and everything is covered. He doesn’t say anything. He just takes my hand back and rests it on his knee, and my stomach swirls for the rest of the drive.
When we park, Nash uses his torn shirt to wipe off as much blood as he can. We don’t hold hands again. He takes the stairs instead of the elevator, and I follow him up, two at a time, while Paige catches the elevator. I follow him right into his room, and he doesn’t say anything, and now that I have a better look at his face in the light, it’s bad.
“Lift your shirt, Nash,” Rafe says.
Nash looks at me, then turns his back to Rafe and pulls my shirt up over his shoulders with one hand. There’s a massive red welt straight across his shoulder blades.
“Fuck,” Rafe breathes. He holds his phone up and takes a picture of it.
Nash pulls the shirt back down, and my heart is a jackhammer. I sit on the edge of a bed and watch him move around the room, grabbing things.
“Shower?” Rafe asks.
Nash nods.
Paige is in the doorway. “Okay. We’re gonna go. Kylie?”
I stand and walk out.
“Walk me up,” Paige says, and I follow her to four. The second we’re on her floor, she turns around. “What the fuck was that?”
I can’t process it yet, so I don’t say anything.
“This has to be more than hockey, right?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“That Declan dude has some fucking problems.”
“I’m gonna go to sleep.”
“You should check on him later.”
“Yeah.”
We hug. “Good night,” she says. “Text me.”
I nod. “I will. Night.”
I walk back down to three. On the way, I pass Nash and Rafe’s door and slow down for a second, and then I keep going.
