Page 156 of Jaded

Her mouth forms the barest approximation of a tight smile. “I just figured, if it was me, I’d want to have my shit.”

I huff out a sad little laugh at that. “Yeah. Me too.”

“You’re lucky,” the receptionist tells us. “We can see you right away.”

“Damn, really?”

“It’s a slow day.” She shrugs. “Everybody must be waiting until after the tournament to get into trouble.”

That makes my stomach roil—but the feeling’s short lived as a nurse pops into the waiting room. “Bennett?”

Syd and I get him down the hall and into an exam room.

“Looks like a fight.” The nurse closes the door behind us, and my stomach clenches up again.

“Yeah,” I agree in a low murmur. “Something like that.”

The nurse eyeballs me this time, and I know what she’s going to ask. “Are you his parent? Guardian?”

“No.” The muscles around my ribs hurt as the words I want to say build up behind them. But it’s not my place, not yet. Not without talking to him first. “He’s eighteen.”

She’ll talk to him herself, or the doctor will. They’re supposed to, for injuries like this.

“All right.” She gives me one last lingering glance before she turns away. “Let’s get him changed.”

She lifts a paper hospital gown, and Avery goes rigid. So I tighten my hand around his biceps. “I’ll help you, okay? Syd can wait outside, if you’d like?”

“Yeah.” He relaxes slightly. “Yeah, okay.”

I half expect a fight from Syd, but she follows the nurse out of the room. Leaving me and Avery behind.

“I can cut the shirt if you need me to,” I say, already reaching for the hem. “Or lift, whatever’s easier.”

“It’s a good shirt,” Avery grunts, lifting his arms. He groans but doesn’t lower them back down, and I whip the shirt over his head in one quick swoop.

His chest is a black-and-blue mass of bruises. I knew it was going to be like that, but somehow, it’s worse than I expected. But I don’t linger. “Pants. Tell me how much help you need.”

“I’ll unzip.” Avery’s already prying the button. “You pull.”

We get them off without too much groaning, and I ease him into the paper gown. “Hanging in, kid?”

“I’ll survive.” He winces as he leans against the medical exam cot.

“I know.” And then I say what I know I have to say. “I won’t tell them what happened, but I think you should.”

His teeth grit together.

“They’ll probably ask,” I continue, leaning against the cot beside him. “Might ask me too. But I’ll only tell them as much as you want me to.”

He nods. His gaze hangs unfocused over the floor, that one eye still sealed shut. “Okay.”

“I also . . .” I blow out a long breath, and I give him something I wish someone had given me, twenty years ago. “Next time, call me instead? I’ll come get you, no questions asked.”

His head tilts sideways, so he studies me out of the corner of his good eye. “What?”

“Next time Mary’s not there or you do something stupid or you’re drunk and need a ride or . . . whatever.” I shrug. “Point is, don’t go home if you think there’s any chance you might not be . . . safe.”

The words hang between us, heavy as bricks, weighing down the very air. Making it feel tight, hard to breathe.

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