Page 142 of The Prince of Broken Crowns

I hurriedly wipe the tears from my eyes, loathing how weak I feel. “I’m not even sure why I’m crying. I think I’m just exhausted.”

“That’s why you should rest.” He slides his palms down my arms, and his hands settle on my waist. “I want to call a doctor to come check on you. With what happened yesterday, I think it’s a good idea.”

I waver at the idea of him paying for a doctor. “How much did you have to pay Drew to get my freedom?”

He hesitates. “What does that have to do with a doctor checking on you?”

I narrow my eyes at him—he’s acting so suspicious. “I don’t want you to do another favor for me.”

“It’s not a favor,” he stresses. “It’s a necessity, Maddy. We need to make sure you’re okay.”

I arch a brow. “Do you have to pay this doctor?”

He drags out a pause while raking his teeth along his bottom lip. “Yeah, but it’s not a big deal.”

“It is to me.” I blow out a breath. “Look, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but I need to pay you back, or I won’t like myself very much. And I want to like myself. I’m pretty cool,” I joke, forcing a smile onto my lips.

He doesn’t return it. “I get what you’re saying, but?—”

“No, you don’t,” I cut him off in a soft but firm tone. “And I don’t mean that in a mean way. It’s just facts. You don’t know what it’s like to be poor and have people do things like buy off your father’s debt.”

His lips tug downward. “I know I don’t completely understand it, but … I know this is going to sound kind of fucked up, but money doesn’t matter to me. So doing it didn’t affect me at all.”

“Look,” I start to say while placing a hand on his side. He winces from my touch, and I frown, my gaze lowering. “Are you hurt?” Horror lashes through me. “Did Drew hit you?” I lift up the hem of his shirt, but he promptly steps away before I can get a good look.

“I’m just a little sore from my run yesterday.” He’s lying—it’s written all over his face.

“It’s your side, not your legs,” I point out. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” he insists, but he’s shifty.

“If you want me to hear you out with the money thing, then be honest with me,” I stress, crossing my arms.

He remains silent for a moment before releasing a quiet sigh. “Drew shot me.” As my eyes widen, he quickly adds, “It was a very tiny graze. It barely left a mark. It just made my muscles sore.”

God, I am the worst person ever. I sent him into that mess without thinking about this possibility. But I should have.

“Let me see.” It’s not a question. I step toward him and lift up his shirt without asking. A piece of gauze covers his side. “Can I look under it?”

“If it’ll make you feel better,” he mumbles, his muscles tense. “But I’m being serious; it isn’t that bad.”

Carefully, I peel the tape back and peer under the gauze. The wound itself is small and barely a scratch, but the splatter of bruises around it has me concerned.

“Why is there so much bruising?” I ask, peering up at him.

He’s staring down at me. “He punched me, too. But like I said, it’s not a big?—”

“Stop saying it’s not a big deal.” I step back and rake my fingers through my hair. “You were shot because of me.”

“Maddy,” he starts to protest again.

“I have to go,” I talk over him as I start for the door, totally disregarding that I’m still wearing his clothes. “I need to clear my head.”

“Wait.” He rushes after me, but I hurry out of his room.

The instant I do, the people roaming around the hallway glance in my direction. The whispering starts next.

“Can you just wait a second?” River follows me out and places a hand on my arm.

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