Page 103 of Villainous Summer

Shame filled me.

If I hadn’t provoked Cory the way I did, if I had let things go, he never would’ve followed me that day. Heat filled my face, and I realized I was clenching my fists.

“It was my fault,” I croaked.

A shadow fell over his face.

“No. It’s his.”

I opened my mouth, but the thunderous expression on Van’s face stopped me.

“Don’t you dare take this on, Summer. He was a weak man, bent on hurting you. But he’ll never do that again. Am I pissed that you were in that position? Of course. But nothing you did to him, no matter how inconvenient, means that you deserved to be hurt.”

The doctor came in, a clipboard in her hands. She approached the empty side of the bed, looking over my vitals and comparing them to whatever was on her chart. “You are looking much better, Summer.” She beamed at me, her tanned skin bright against the white of her jacket.

She didn’t seem to be that much older than me, and I was struck with how impressive it must have been to be that successful under thirty.

I shifted and forgot the silly idea.

She poked and prodded, then declared that I was well enough to get up and walk. “Careful not to pull out your stitches. We don’t want your boyfriend having to donate his blood all over again, do we?”

With that warning, she left me alone with Van.

I glanced over at him, his cheeks flushing pink at the comment. “You donated blood?”

He shrugged, and in that moment of humility, I knew I would never love a man the way I loved him.

“But you’re afraid of needles.”

He swallowed hard. “Seeing the woman I love almost die in front of me has changed my idea of fear.”

Tears stung my eyes, and I didn’t wipe them away this time.

Concern creased his face.

“Are you in pain?” He took a step away from me, dropping my hand to head to the door. “I’ll ask Dr. Pearce to give you more medicine.”

“No,” I cried out, tears dripping down my chin. “I mean, yes, everything is sore and aching, and I’m sure once the drugs wear off, I’ll be howling, but I’m not crying over that. You love me.”

Worry transformed into incredulity, then into joy.

“I told you I do.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

My words were scratchy, each syllable rough as it came out.

He took my hand again, his expression soft. “Don’t worry about that. You don’t need to explain.”

“I do—” I coughed, then swallowed.

The pain medication was taking the edge off, but talking was difficult. I had likely stretched my voice to its limit by my thirty-odd words.

“No, you don’t.” He drew up a chair beside me, his hand gripping mine. “We have forever to talk this out. For you to call me on my bullshit and for me to call you on yours. Right now, all I need from you is for you to get better. To heal. And you won’t heal if you’re working yourself up and talking and—”

I slapped a hand over his mouth, cutting him off and raising my brows. “Let me say this and then I’ll rest.”

He frowned but waved begrudgingly for me to go on.

---