Another thing to handle tomorrow.
When I got close to the bed, panic stopped my damn heart in my chest.
Fuck.
Sprawled diagonal in bed on top of the blanket, Mila looked like she’d passed out. I was about to shake her awake when she kicked a leg out and rolled before flipping around to roll again.
Good, she didn’t faint, but now I gotta worry she’s gonna throw herself out of bed.
Checking on her was one thing. Getting close enough to cover her would push it.
But since I was already watching her sleep—fully owning the fact it was fucking creepy—I did it anyway.
I tugged the blanket from under her and barely dodged the tiny fist of fury she flung my way.
“Don’t wanna wake up,” she muttered, burying her head beneath a pillow.
“Anyone ever tell you that you’re surprisingly violent, sunshine?”
She tilted her head to peek out from under the pillow at me. “Behemoth?”
I’d liked hearing it on the video.
I liked hearing it in person a fuckuva lot more.
“Don’t worry,” she mumbled. “Still alive.”
I let her think that I was there to follow concussion protocol. “Be back in a couple hours with your meds.”
Her response was to kick her leg out.
When I returned to my room, there was another text from Cole waiting.
Cole: She good?
I thought about all that had happened at the hospital. The minimal amount she’d shared. The way she lied like a pro. The smart mouth she let slip through only to lock herself down again.
Me: No.
Me: But she will be.
Chapter 8
Always Have an Exit Plan
MILA
I’m late.
I bolted upright in bed.
A bed that wasn’t mine.
In a room that also wasn’t mine.
It was all very Goldilocks.
So long as Goldilocks had the shit kicked out of her before she’d stumbled into the bears’ lair.