try to process everything that’s happened in the last five minutes, the rollercoaster of emotions I’ve been through.
A fucking rollercoaster. That’s what it’s been like not just today, but for the past couple of months that I’ve known the Sinners.
“You can say thank you if you want.” Elias’s lopsided grin is teasing.
“Thanks,” I mutter. I know I don’t sound that thankful, but he gets the point. He knows me well enough by now to know I’m not great with touchy-feely emotions—and honestly, even the fact that he understands me that well is a little terrifying.
Silence falls between us for a long moment, and I think he can tell I’m still on the verge of losing my shit, because he moves a little closer.
“You know,” he says slowly, the tips of his fingers brushing against the back of my hand, “last time I was in a hospital was when I got hurt.”
His eyes flicker up to meet mine, and I have a feeling I know what he’s talking about. I’ve heard the story before, just not from him. And I didn’t get a lot of details, just a basic outline of what happened.
“Yeah?” I ask, holding his gaze. Focusing on him instead of on me helps clear my thoughts, and I get the sense he doesn’t talk about this often. So if he’s sharing it with me now, that means something.
“Yeah. I got hurt pretty bad playing football my senior year of high school.” He lets out a breath, tilting his head. The sunlight catches his blond hair, making the highlights in it shine like gold. “Thought it was going to kill me. Not the injury, just knowing I wouldn’t be able to play the same again.”
“That sucks.” I wince. “It was a bad injury?”
“Yeah. Shredded my ACL. Took two surgeries and a lot of rehab to get me fixed up. I can still walk on it,” he says, “thank goodness for that. I just can’t play the way I want to anymore.”
I don’t know shit about football, but I do remember him at the game—the serious way he watched every play, the intensity in his posture that not even all of the players on the field had. And even though Elias’s voice is steady and casual, I catch the lingering frustration in his tone.
It meant a lot to him, the game. Which means that by telling me about it, by letting me see his loss… he’s trusting me, just a little bit. Sharing a small part of himself.
“I know it’s not the same thing you’re dealing with,” Elias finishes, shaking his head. “But I can understand some of what you’re going through, and it fucking sucks. At least with my leg, my parents’ insurance covered pretty much everything. None of us guys wanted you to have to worry about paying for the medical bills on top of getting better. I can’t imagine that.”
I turn my palm over beneath his touch, threading my fingers through his. Even that small physical contact makes little sparks dance up my arm.
“Thank you,” I murmur. This time, it sounds a little more honest, a little more raw. “I mean it.”
It’s hard to accept such generosity. I don’t like charity. I never have. I grew up in foster care, and I learned pretty quickly not to accept favors or kindness from anyone. For one thing, most favors come with a million hidden strings attached—another lesson I learned the hard way.
And even if it’s offered with no expectations, accepting help makes you weak, dependent on other people when the only person you should be dependent on is yourself. That way, the only person who can let you down is yourself. You’re more in control that way.
But I’d be a moron not to let the Sinners do this for me if they want to. I swallow my pride just enough to let myself accept this favor, just once.
Elias nods, his light brown eyes warming. He looks pleased, not so much by the fact that I said thanks, but by the fact that I’m not shoving his offered help back in his face. I’m not shutting him out.
He opens his mouth as if to add something, but then closes it again. The room is quiet, and I can barely hear the sounds of activity in the hallways outside anymore. It all seems to fade away.
Suddenly, all I’m really aware of is how close to the bed he’s standing, leaning up against it as he holds my hand. The way