Page 65 of Dash

Slowly, like I’m broken, I climb to my feet and use the wall to anchor myself.

I rinse my mouth until I can no longer taste acid and bile then I dry my face. I look pale as fuck in the mirror hanging over the basin.

I look like shit.

I grip the edge of it, forcing calm into my body.

“Okay… you’re okay. He’s okay. And fuck Riot.”

When I feel strong enough, I return to the cubicle to find Riot sitting at the side of the bed.

He lifts his gaze, and I walk to the opposite side like I have every right to be here. I take Dash’s hand in mine, needing his touch.

“Are you?—”

“If you ask if I’m alright, I swear I’ll put you in the bed next to him,” I snap. “I’m fine, and I don’t care how tired you think I am, I’m staying. If you want me to leave, you’ll have to physically drag me out of here.”

Heavy silence stretches for a moment before he asks, “Do you want a coffee?”

Relief floods me. “That would be amazing.”

He stands, and I see a flicker of something in his eyes. Respect?

“Oh, and make sure you call Ivy in the morning. She’s worried about you.”

Of course, she is. Ivy worries about all of us.

“I will. And don’t get me a boring flat white. I like a little personality in my coffee.”

He rolls his eyes before he steps out of the cubicle.

As soon as we are alone, I sag against the edge of the trolley, my body spent, my legs weak. All I want to do is sleep, but I’m not leaving him.

So, I pull the chair close to the bed, dropping the rail so I can lean my head on his stomach.

I grasp his hand in mine like I’m tethering him to me, and then I close my eyes.

FIFTEEN

DASH

My brain feelslike it is trying to crawl out of my ears. There is a constant pulsing in my temple and when I try to prise my eyes open, pain stabs through my skull.

I suck a breath in through my nose before I try again.

Stark fluorescent lights burn the backs of my eyes for a second before everything adjusts and comes into focus.

The uncomfortable trolley I’m lying on, the ugly curtain pulled over to give the illusion of privacy, and her, slumped over the side of my bed, gripping my hand like she’s scared I’ll disappear if she lets go.

Her hair is pulled into a messy knot she makes look effortless. Strands have escaped, sticking to her face, which is pale.

Her forehead is scrunched, even in sleep, as if her fear is chasing her through her dreams.

She looks fucked.And I want to wrap her in my arms, make it right.

“She ain’t moved all night.”

Shit, my heart fucking jumps against my ribs. I didn’t realise Riot was sitting in the back corner of the cubicle like a fucking shadow.

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