“I'll let you go, Sera,” she said with the dripping warm tones of a mother. “Call me later?”
“Yeah. Love you, Mom.”
“Love you more.”
The phone clicked away, which left us with an awkward silence. Sera crossed her arms over her chest and gazed up at me. She wore a pair of loose sweats and a black, fitted shirt that went all the way to her wrists.
“Sorry.” I tucked my hands into the front pockets of my jeans. “I won't stay, I just . . .”
The words stuck in my throat. I wasn't good at this. I could win the award for the most nervous tongue on the planet. It didn't make any sense at all that I was here. Sera and I weren't even friends. At least, not by definition. Which, at the moment, I couldn't actually define anyway.
“Where's Ava?” she asked, saving me from myself.
She sniffled, clearly trying to clean her face off without making it obvious. Her left cheek had become more bruised in the hour or so that had passed, and the tears made the skin an angry shade of red. By morning, she'd have something of a black eye.
“I took her to Mav's. She's going to stay the night there.”
“So you could come here?”
I nodded. She softened, then scooted back and motioned to the bed next to her. First, I reached just past her, grabbed a pillow, and tucked it under my left arm, like my arm was a wing.
“Splint your injured side like this when you have to cough or take a deep breath. I've had so many fractured ribs it's not even funny. It helps.”
She blinked. “Oh. Thanks.”
“Fractured ribs can turn into lung issues pretty fast. Injures the lung tissue a little if it's severe enough, so you have to cough. It sucks but . . . pneumonia is worse.”
This time, a hint of a smile found her. “Thanks.”
Maybe it was the coach-like tone I'd used. Or the severely awkward way I just tried to teach her something as a means to get a conversation rolling when I had no idea what I wanted to say.
Or why I was even here.
Following a hunch based on the amusement in her eyes, I asked, “You already knew that, didn't you?”
Her widening grin broke the tense air. “My dad is a doctor. He's already given me the lecture.”
“Oh.”
“Have a seat, Mercedy.”
She reached to the side where a mini-fridge lingered beneath the bedside counter. When she peeled it open a few water bottles waited inside. She tossed me one.
“Thanks,” I said.
Underneath all her forced bravado, she looked exhausted. The lid cracked when I twisted it off, and the cool drink helped settle me. But that sober air had returned and I didn't know what to do with it.
She spared me the pain of finding a discussion point.
“I'm surprised you came.”
“Me too.”
My response had been immediate, and I mentally berated myself the moment it slipped. Her amusement curbed my embarrassment.
“Why did you come?”
My brow grew heavy. This is where women and I didn't work well. “I'm not sure,” I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck. “I was worried about you, for one. You didn't look great back there. And . . . I didn't want to . . . I don't know.”
She softened, and for some reason, it eased my tension. When she reached out and put a hand on my arm, something deep inside me twinged. Like a rope being cut free. No one touched me unless they were family, and even then it was awkward. Like I carried an invisible wall around me and everyone sensed it there, so they didn't get too close. Normally, that was fine. I preferred it that way. But lately . . .
For her to make it so simple to touch me made me wonder if I complicated things too much.
“Thanks,” she said, then her hand slipped away. I wanted it back.
“I went into work after I dropped your dinner off,” she said, and I sensed that conversation was a calm place for her. She picked at the edge of the water bottle label with her fingernail. “Bert gave me the rest of the week off. There's no way I can lift a tray right now and Dagny wanted some extra hours. Besides.” She waved a hand toward her left cheek. “People are going to ask and I don't want to deal with it. Although, I could make up a superhero story or