Page 60 of Pucking Curves

I’m not sure if she’s talking about the pain or Micah, so I just nod.

“I’ll send him right in,” she promises, gently squeezing my arm before she leaves the room.

I smooth the blankets over my lap, praying he’s calmed down a little. Archer said that they were okay, but I’m not convinced. I know Micah too well. He’s the most stubborn person I’ve ever met in my life. And, for some reason, he refuses to let go of the past and let me grow up. He’s too busy blaming himself to realize that he was never at fault to begin with.

I wasn’t out on that pond just because of him. I was out there because I’m stubborn too. Because I hated my school. My classmates didn’t like me much, so I had no friends. I just wanted to go back to the way things were when life was easy, and our parents were happy. I was convinced Micah coming home would fix everything. That wasn’t his fault. I was just a dumb kid doing desperate, dumb kid things.

Micah taps on the door, and my heart gets lodged in my throat. Worry carves lines around his eyes and mouth. He’s as pale as Archer was, his eyes brimming with anxiety.

“Hey,” he rasps, stepping into my room. He sounds…nervous. Like he’s afraid I’m going to yell at him or tell him to get lost. The big idiot. Even when he’s infuriating, he’s still my brother. He’s still my hero.

“Bet you didn’t think we’d ever be here again, did you?” I ask, giving him a tiny smile. It wobbles on my face. “At least I’m awake this time.”

“Don’t even joke like that, Wren,” he rasps, his whole body trembling as he stomps across my room. “Jesus. I thought we were going to lose you again.”

“I’m okay,” I promise, reaching out for his hand.

He grabs mine gently, clinging like I’m a lifeline. His shoulders shake as he drops into the chair beside the bed, his eyes locked on my face. “I’m sorry,” he groans. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Micah,” I say softly, shaking my head. “It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t Archer’s fault, either. I was standing in the middle of a driveway, not paying attention.”

“The fucking driver wasn’t paying attention,” he growls, anger burning in his gaze. “He could have–”

“Well, he didn’t. I’m fine.”

“You were unconscious for an hour.”

“Forty-nine minutes.”

He rumbles a growl, clearly not mollified.

“I’ll be fine,” I say. “You’ve had a concussion or three in your life.”

“Not like this,” he mutters.

I sigh, shaking my head. “You’re so stubborn.” I narrow my eyes on him, determination filling me. “Well, so am I. If you blame yourself, I’ll never forgive you, and I’ll never speak to you again.”

His face visibly pales. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do,” I say far more bravely than I feel. “You’ve spent the last twelve years of my life feeling responsible for something that wasn’t your fault. I refuse to stand by and watch you spend the next twelve feeling guilty for this.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, glaring at me.

I glare right back.

He breaks first, bowing his head. “I’ll try to let it go.”

“Try hard. You need to talk to someone, Micah. I’m serious.”

“I know.” He blows out a breath. “I’m already talking to Emilia. Have been since I upset you at the game.”

“Are you serious?” I cry softly. If I could get out of this bed right now, I’d strangle him. “You’ve been talking to her for almost two weeks already, and you’re still being a pain in the ass?”

“Well…yeah.”

I laugh despite myself, which only makes me groan.

“Fuck. I’m sorry. Don’t laugh,” he whispers, cringing. “I hate seeing you in pain.”

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