Stay With Me (She's With Me #2) - Jessica Cunsolo Page 0,36
out with you, k-bear.” His tone is serious and thoughtful. “It’s nice to talk things through with you.”
“I said it before, and I’ll say it again: I’m fantastic,” I joke, and he rolls his eyes at me, still smiling.
“I think all the blood’s rushing from your head to your hand.” He nods at my swollen finger.
“Probably, but it doesn’t make my statement any less true,” I tease. “I like talking to you, too, Mason. That’s why we’re bestest friends.”
An unknown emotion passes over his face briefly before he masks it, smiling at me, but not genuinely.
“Yeah,” he says. “Bestest friends.”
It takes about an hour, but we finally see the doctor, and after looking at my X-rays, she tells me I dislocated the middle knuckle of my middle finger and it has to be realigned. It takes her about one-point-three seconds to pop it back in. I have to keep my middle finger taped to my pointer finger for about four weeks, visual evidence of my complete failure. But in my defense, I can’t feel that bad about dislocating my finger from punching Ryan. The doctor said it happens to lots of people who punch hard objects, even if she did add that it was usually walls or inanimate objects. Still, I’m counting that as a win. My status in the cool kids club hasn’t been revoked just yet.
8
Urgent care was shockingly fast and by the time Mason drops me off, it’s almost two in the morning. Sticking my head into my mom’s dark room, I announce that I’m home from hanging out with my friends and slip off before she wakes up enough to question me. I’m too tired to tell her about my finger right this minute. I’ll explain later, when I’ve come up with a good enough lie. After sending Aiden a text, quickly brushing my teeth and slipping into my pajamas, I take my sleeping pill and crawl into bed, sinking into the warmth and softness of my sheets.
Aiden calls me not even two minutes after my head hits the pillow. I tell him what happened with my finger, and he seems more amused than anything.
“Guess that means I have to teach you how to throw a proper punch when you’re feeling better,” he says, his voice laced with amusement.
“I know how to throw a punch, Aiden,” I complain. “Ryan must have, like, a metal plate in his jaw or something.”
“I can assure you that he doesn’t.” I can almost hear the smirk in his voice over the phone. “But when you’re better I will teach you. It’ll make me feel better.”
“Make you feel better?” I ask incredulously. “How will it make you feel better? I’m the one who’s gotta change the tape on my fingers every twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”
“Well, if you’re going to keep going around punching people despite my protests, I’d rather you not hurt yourself every single time.”
“God, I’m never going to live this down, am I?”
He chuckles, a beautiful deep melody to my ears. “Give it a couple of days. It’ll pass.”
“How are the twins?” I ask, turning onto my back and staring up at the ceiling.
“They’re having lots of fun here at Julian’s, but poor Bubba’s started hiding when he hears their voices—they’re having too much fun terrorizing the poor dog when all he wants to do is sleep.” He chuckles. “They’re excited about Christmas but wondering how Santa will know that they’re going to be staying at Mason’s over the break instead of at home. I assured them that Santa knows everything and guaranteed them that they’ll still get their presents no matter where we are.”
“Have you heard from Anna?” I ask. “My calls are going straight to voice mail.”
“Yeah, Julian said she’s fine—she just unplugged for a while to relax. But they’re coming to Mason’s tomorrow.”
“I’m glad Anna feels better,” I reply, then, after a pause, softly add, “And I’m glad Greg is out of your life. You shouldn’t have to spend it always looking over your shoulder.”
It sucks, I should know. Aiden always understands the deeper meanings. “I know,” he says quietly. “It’ll get better, Thea. I won’t let him hurt you.”
I turn my head to look at my closet, the door wide open, and stare at the shoe box with my memories and reminders inside, recalling the conversation my mom had with Agent Dylan. The connection on the phone crackles with our silence.