Page 7 of Facing the Line

“Too late,” she says, looking woozy. All the color drains from her face, giving her skin a gray tinge. That’s a bad sign.

“Hunter.” I put my hand on the back of Hadley’s neck—not thinking about how silky her hair feels. “Does your sister by any chance pass out at the sight of blood?”

I apply a little pressure, forcing her to bend over and put her head between her knees.

Hunter shrugs. “I don’t know. We haven’t lived together for a long time.”

“Breathe through your nose,” I tell her, my voice soft but commanding. “Close your eyes.”

She complies, and I glance at Hunter. “Can you get gloves and the dustpan?”

He nods and hops up. I assess my patient.

“You still with me?”

“Uh-huh.” Her voice is faint but sends a thrill through me.

It’s her. I found her.

She’s Hunter’s sister,I remind myself.Focus!

“Okay, you’re doing great.” I shift my attention to my roommate as he sweeps up the broken glass. “Do we have any orange juice?”

“Yeah, I think so. Jasmine made mimosas to go withGuardians of the Galaxy. No gloves in here, though.”

I shake my head. I like Cooper’s girlfriend, and I’m thrilled for him. They are genuinely great together. Their love of sci-fi movies is just one thing they have in common. But why mimosas withGuardians?

Hadley raises her head, capturing my attention. Her color is good, so I don’t protest.

“How do you feel?”

“Better.”

“Hunter, grab her some juice. I don’t want her to move yet, but that will help.”

“And a plastic cup,” he says under his breath as he finishes sweeping the glass.

“Close your eyes,” I tell Hadley. She tips her head back, leaning against the wall behind her, and I’m mesmerized by the long column of her throat as she swallows.

God, I’m going to make a terrible nurse if I get this distracted every time I have a gorgeous patient.

But it’s not anyone, my brain argues.It’s Cinderella.

Hadley, I correct. To redirect my attention, I grab her hand and inspect the cut. Along the pad of her index finger, it’s ugly but not deep.

“When you can stand, we need to flush the wound and?—”

“Nope,” she cuts me off, her voice stronger. “Don’t tell me about it or I’ll get woozy again.”

“Got it.” Hunter hands me orange juice—in a yellow plastic tumbler from a local pizza place—and I keep Hadley’s injured finger covered with my own.

“You can open your eyes and drink this.”

I have to keep my reaction hidden when her gaze meets mine. It’s like an electric current jolts down my spine. Does she feel it, too?

“Thanks,” she mumbles, sipping the juice. Hunter hovers nearby, his features drawn.

“Hunter, you wanna see if we have any Bandaids?”

---