Page 47 of The Kiss Principle

“Done. You got it.”

“Wonderful. Now stop bothering me; I’ve got to go accidentally tell this bitch we bought a villa in Tuscany.”

“You bought a villa?”

“God, no. Duncan is way too cheap. But she won’t know that.”

The call disconnected. In the silence that came after, Zé’s ragged breathing seemed to take up space in my head. He was wiping his cheeks now, trying to get himself under control. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“Let’s get you in your room,” I said.

“I can—”

Whatever he saw on my face made him stop.

I kept an arm around his waist as we shuffled into his room. I sat him on his bed.

“Clothes?” I asked.

“My joggers,” he whispered, face turned down, but he pointed to the dresser. “Bottom drawer. A tee.”

The joggers had split at one seam, of course. The tee showed a shark eating a surfboard. I threw them on the bed, and he flinched.

“Do you want help getting dressed?”

He shook his head.

“Where is your cane?”

“Fernando—”

“Where is your fucking cane?”

His voice was even smaller when he said, “In my car. In the trunk.”

“Keys.”

I thought, maybe, he was going to argue. Going to try to tell me he didn’t need it. Maybe say something stupid like,I’m fine. But he pointed to the dresser again, and I scooped the keys off the top.

In the doorway, I paused. “Do you understand what’s going to happen if I find your ass anywhere but on that bed when I get back?”

He nodded.

I found the cane in his trunk. He needed this. He was supposed to be using this. And instead, for weeks now, he’d gone without because—why? Because he’d thought I’d fire him? I stood there, holding on to the car, as black spots whirled in my vision. I couldn’t get enough air. My heart pounded. Sweat broke out across my chest and back. What if he’d hurt himself? What if he’d made it worse? What if it wasn’t the fall that messed up his reconstruction? What if it was a month of pushing himself? And then, more clearly, I thought, What about PT? Maybe he’d gone on the weekends, maybe, but I knew he hadn’t.

When I got back to his room, he’d managed to pull on the joggers and the tee. The wet towel hung from the headboard. I put the cane next to him and stepped back.

He still wasn’t meeting my eyes, but he opened his mouth.

I spoke first. “I’m going to tell you a few things, and I don’t want to hear you talk.” I struggled to master my voice. “We’re going to Kennedi’s on Monday, and she’s going to look at your knee. She’s an excellent orthopedic surgeon.”

Zé’s head came up. “No—”

“What did I say about not talking?” He shrank back at my shout. A few more long moments passed as I fought for control. “After that, you’re going to PT. Regularly.” I could hear myself,how short and shallow my breaths were. Once more, I tried for control, but it slipped away. “You could have gotten hurt! You could have hurt Igz! What the fuck were you thinking?”

He wiped his eyes again, but I couldn’t tell if he was crying. The silence grew and grew.

I left and shut the door.

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