56. Sydney
fifty-six
sydney
The time between finding Oliver on the floor and now are blurry. I rushed to his side, dropping so hard the impact seemed to rattle up my spine. He was curled in the fetal position to protect himself, but there was already so much blood.
A wound on his head, across his eyebrow. Another on his jaw.
The paramedics showed up with the police, and after the apartment was cleared, they came up with a stretcher. He didn’t wake up when they put a neck brace on and slid him onto the stretcher, and he still didn’t after we got downstairs and was loaded into the ambulance.
The police take my statement before we leave. One breaks off to talk to Elle, my downstairs neighbor. The officer says a detective is going to meet us at the hospital to interview Oliver, too. But then I’m shuffled into the back of the ambulance and the doors close, effectively ending the conversation.
Now, I sit in the waiting room while a doctor examines Oliver. I have his phone and wallet, and that’s it. My hands won’t stop shaking. I double over and try to keep breathing, but my chin keeps wobbling. I sway between needing to throw up and wanting to pass out.
It would be easier if I could lose consciousness for a while.
I use his phone to call Penn. Then my dad. Both go to voicemail, which isn’t terribly surprising. Dad was off on a mission to do with my mother, while Penn was busy trying to either save Carter or get fucked up in a brawl.
They’re busy, which means it’ll just be me…
I should call his parents.
With shaky hands, I find his mom’s contact info. I hover over her name, debating… then do it. He seems close to his family. Maybe. I don’t actually know—all I know is that his grandmother calls him Gabriel, and she seemed to love him fiercely. Even if, in her words, he didn’t visit home enough.
“Hi, baby,” his mom’s warm voice greet me. “What are you up to?”
I clear my throat. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Ruiz. My name is Sydney. Um, Oliver is in the hospital?—”
“What? Is he okay?”
“Yeah.” I pause. “Well, I think so. He… he’s being looked at right now.” A lump forms in my throat. “He was unconscious when paramedics brought him in.”
“Which hospital?”
I tell her. She says she’ll be there soon, and we hang up. I don’t have any more information for her—I don’t know that they’d give it to me anyway. We’re not related. I’m not his family.
I slowly fold over again, that feeling of not doing or being enough intensifying.
“Sydney Windsor?”
I shoot upright, and white spots pop in front of my vision. “Yes?”
A nurse stops in front of me. “Oliver is awake, honey. He’s asking for you.”
“He’s asking for me?”
“Yes. You can follow me.” Her expression is entirely sympathetic. She leads me into the emergency department and down a hallway, to a curtained-off bed with a chair at its side.
Oliver lies shirtless, the blankets pooling around his waist. There are already deep black and blue bruises across his torso. His face is swollen, his cheekbone cut. He’s got stitches closing a cut on his jaw and another on his eyebrow.
Tears flood my eyes, and I slap my hand over my mouth to cover an upcoming sob.
Don’t lose it , I tell myself.
His eyes crack open. “Hey, mi nena .”
The nurse closes me in. One blink and the tears spill over.
He lifts his hand. There’s an IV attached to it, inserted into a vein on top of his hand and taped down. His normally warm, bronze skin tone seems too pale.
I step forward and grip his hand. His fingers are cold.
“I’m okay,” he says on an exhale. “Just a few bumps and bruises.”
I choke on a laugh. “You look awful .”
“And you look worried.”
“Because I am.” I tighten my hold. “I am worried.”
“Even seeing me?” He laughs but abruptly stops and groans. “Don’t make me laugh. They say I have a fractured rib.”
My knees go weak. I sink into the chair and lean forward, burying my face in the edge of the bed.
“You shouldn’t have told me to run.”
“Then you’d be in the bed next to me.” He touches my hair. “And how would that make either of us feel, huh?”
The fact that I couldn’t hold my own against someone like that… it doesn’t really make me feel good . The opposite, in fact.
Oliver’s phone buzzes in my coat pocket. I fish it out and scan the text from Penn.
“Penn and Carter are on their way,” I tell him. “I told my dad, too. Left him a message anyway. And I talked to your mom.”
“You talked to my mom?” Shock .
“I don’t know if that was the right thing to do, and I’m sorry if that was overstepping. But I just wanted you to have family—why are you looking at me like that?”
His gaze is intense. Dropped into the middle of an inferno intense. “I just… thank you.” He blinks, and his expression switches to contemplation. Moving on to the next piece of information to digest. “What was your dad talking to you about at the game?”
“He asked if Mom called me.” I glance away. “She didn’t.”
“And he needed your phone?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t really in a position to fight it. If it’s going to help find her, then who am I to argue?”
“Okay.” He shifts. “How about you climb up here with me while we wait for the cavalry to arrive?”
I stare at him.
He frowns. “Will you do it if I say it’ll make me feel better? Or… if I say you seem utterly exhausted?”
I am exhausted. Maybe that’s why I shed the coat and fold it over the back of the chair, carefully toe off my boots, and climb onto the narrow cot with him. He makes room for me, though, and barely grimaces when I settle my head on his chest.
“There,” he breathes. “Much better.”
I curl around him and breathe in his spiced cologne. It clings to him even now, penetrating through the cloying antiseptic smell all hospitals seem to have. But I’m not sure it’s better for him—I’ve got to be hurting him like this. He doesn’t say a word about it. His arm, coming around my back, rests on my shoulder.
Like I might move away? No chance of that happening.
I may as well be superglued here.
I fall asleep. I must, because when I resurface, there are voices drifting over me.
“She’s sleeping,” Oliver whispers. “Just leave her be.”
“Is this the girl who you took to the rage room?” a woman asks. “Abuelita told me about her. She’s pretty.”
Oliver sighs.
“And you look like shit,” a man says. Wait. Younger. Boy? “Did you go through a meat grinder?”
“There were two of them,” Oliver replies. “I’d like to see you put your jiujitsu classes to the test.”
The boy scoffs.
“Fractured ribs,” the woman says. “Concussion. Contusions. You could’ve been seriously hurt.”
“I know, Mom.” His hand on my shoulder squeezes, although I can’t tell if it’s a reflex or he’s trying to wake me up.
Either way, I stir. No use pretending to sleep any longer.
“You with me, Sydney?” Oliver asks in a low voice.
I open my eyes and blink up at him. I touch my mouth, suddenly afraid that I might’ve drooled on him. That would be peak embarrassment.
“How long was I out?” I clear my throat and start to sit up. What I need to do is get off this bed. But in my haste, I forget that his mother and… brother. Younger brother.
They’re both staring at me.
I hop off the bed and straighten my shirt. My face heats.
“Mama, this is Sydney. Sydney, my mother and brother, Felix,” Oliver says.
His mother is gorgeous. Light-brown hair, tanned skin, green eyes. He pulls some of his features from her, like his smile that she unleashes on me without warning. She stretches out her hand to shake mine. My gaze drops to it, and then the glint of gold on her wrist.
My heart stops.
I stare at the bracelet.
In the back of my head, I knew he said he gave it to her. Maybe, deep down, some part of me thought he was lying. That he didn’t give it to her for her birthday, or… I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter what I thought.
The bracelet is right there, nearly smacking me in the face.
I shake her hand and tear my focus away from it.
“Nice to meet you,” I manage. “Sorry it’s under these circumstances.”
“It’s my pleasure, Sydney.” She pats my hand with her free one. The damn bracelet shifts along her wrist.
Felix’s handshake is a lot shorter. Not nearly as warm. Which is fine by me. I retract myself as soon as I can, stepping away inch by inch until my back is touching the curtain. I slide my shoes back on. My jacket is behind Felix, and it can stay there for all I care.
Oliver eyes me.
“I should find Carter and Penn,” I blurt out. “See if they’re…”
I don’t bother finishing the sentence. I was just caught sleeping on him by his mother and kid brother. If that’s not awkward enough, I want to rip his mother’s jewelry off her wrist and sprint away.
It’s better I run off without the robbery part.
In the waiting room they first sat me in, I find Carter and Penn and my father. All three stand, and for a split second, I’m torn on who to go to first.
My father wins out.
I’m kind of sad I went most of my teen years without his hugs. He envelops me, his arms banding across my back, and kisses the top of my head.
After I take a breath, I slowly extricate myself.
“Is he okay?” Penn demands. “What happened?”
“He’s…” My attention is dragged to the doorway, where a man in a suit strides down the hall with a nurse. “Concussion and fractured ribs, and a lot of bruising. But otherwise… I mean, he’s awake. There’s no permanent damage.”
Carter and Penn exchange a look.
“Did you see his mom and brother?” I ask them.
Dad shakes his head, but he moves toward the door. “I’m going to talk to the nurse. I’ll be right back.”
When it’s just the three of us, they both crowd in close. I hug them both and, in a low voice, tell them exactly what happened. I glazed over it for the police, and I’m sure I’ll answer for that later. I kept the details vague because I just—I didn’t want to have to relive absolutely everything.
If I told them about Bear, then I’d have to explain how I got in that situation with Bear in the first place. And how Oliver hurt him at a fight, which would open that up for questioning.
No, we’ve been skating on thin ice for a while now.
Dad returns with news. “They’re discharging him. He volunteered you three to stay with him and make sure he follows concussion protocol…”
He narrows his eyes at me.
I keep my eyes wide and innocent. “Um… we’re on okay terms, Dad.”
His gaze flicks to Carter. “And the captain of the Seawolves?”
Carter straightens. “Yes, sir. We’ve put our rivalry aside because we both care about your daughter.”
“Uh-huh.” Dad grimaces. He’s no doubt recalling the spectacular practice interruption that happened not too long ago. “Fine. Oh, Sydney, here’s your phone.”
I take it from him. “Did it help with…?”
“Unfortunately not, kiddo.” He sighs. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry for getting your hopes up.”
“It’s okay.” I force a smile. “I’m kind of not expecting her to come back, you know?”
He pats my shoulder. But there aren’t really words to answer me. Not without lying or agreeing—and neither option sounds particularly helpful. So he leaves it at that and heads out. I spot Oliver’s mother and brother leave soon after.
Eventually, a nurse wheels Oliver out, and she motions for us to join her. She hands me a pamphlet on things to watch out for with concussions, as well as a list of things not allowed.
Screens, in particular.
He has my coat on his lap. He hands it back, allowing me to shrug it on as we walk toward for the elevator.
We’re all silent until Penn pulls his car around. Oliver slides into the front, while Carter and I pile into the back.
“Ollie’s house, then?” Penn asks.
“Yeah,” he grunts. “There’s room for all of us.”
As soon as we’re on the road, I lean into Carter. He smells faintly of booze, which confirms he was at a party. However, there’s no sign of bruising on his face.
“So, did Penn rescue you in time?” I ask him.
Penn chuckles.
Carter snorts. “Sure. If by rescue you mean he burst into the party, yelled my name on repeat until everyone was convinced he was going to punch me, and dragged me out.”
“Sounds exciting.” I smirk at him. “Maybe now they’ll just think you two are dating.”
He scoffs. “Yeah, right. He shoved me into the car?—”
“He protested the whole way,” Penn interjects.
“Just as the FSU hockey team arrived.”
“Minus Ollie,” Penn says. “Obviously.”
“So eventually, I saw reason,” Carter concludes. “But we stayed and watched the melee until the cops were called.”
“Because who doesn’t like to spectate?” Penn laughs. “It wasn’t just me—you were watching, too.”
“I’m not disagreeing.”
“Fighting gets our blood hot.”
I roll my eyes.
“And then we got your voicemail,” Penn says. “That kind of killed the mood.”
“Well, I’m glad you rode in to save the day,” Carter mutters. “Although I’m sure I’ll hear about it from the guys tomorrow. That I got a heads-up or bailed or… something along those lines.”
I take his hand. “I’m glad you didn’t get beat up.”
He stares at me, then huffs. “I can hold my own, dream girl.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I glance at Penn. “You both can, but then I’d be dealing with two injured guys.”
“And that would definitely steal my limelight,” Oliver says.
Exactly.
Soon enough, we’re pulling into Oliver’s driveway. I hop out and hurry up the walkway, easily picking out the fake rock with the key in it. I unlock the door and turn around, only to find the three of them staring at me.
Oliver’s smiling, but the others are just confused.
“Thief,” Oliver teases.
Teases!
I nearly faint from shock. As it is, I don’t want to be the center of attention. I just open the door and stand aside for them to maneuver Oliver in. Not that he really needs help walking… in fact, he seems to be more disgruntled that they’re helping at all.
Or hovering.
I almost laugh to myself, but I refrain. He’ll get used to them being insufferable soon enough. It’s nice to have something to focus on other than myself.
We go into the living room, Penn and Carter claiming the individual chairs and leaving the couch for Oliver and me. I glance at him, then away. Because how fucking awkward is this?
“I don’t have to stay,” I blurt out.
Oliver lowers himself down, but his eyes bug out at my words. Not the pain.
Probably.
“You’re staying,” he bites out.
“I could go.” I tip my head toward the door. “You know, if you don’t want me here.”
“Why wouldn’t I want you here?”
Penn rises. “I’m going to get a drink. Carter?”
“Yeah,” Carter mutters. “Right behind you.”
I glance around the living room, mainly to avoid Oliver’s glare. Why could I curl up next to him on a hospital bed, allow him to walk me to and from school every day, and balk at this? Sitting in his living room with him? Not even alone.
“I—”
“Shush,” he groans. “Just stop. I don’t know what you want me to say except sorry, mi nena . But I will apologize until I run out of breath if it just means you’ll stay.”
Oh.
“This isn’t weird for you?” I confirm. “You’re the one who wanted to walk away from me.”
He laughs and grimaces, touching his ribcage, but the laugh keeps coming. “ Pinche mierda . You know how to focus on the negative. I was ready to walk away because of how much pain I’ve put you through. I didn’t want—I don’t want to walk away from you.”
I meet his gaze. “You don’t?”
“No. You invited me up to make Mexican hot chocolate. You really can’t get rid of me now.”
I smile, and a weight lifts off my shoulders. Never mind that he’s injured and I’m broken, and there are two other guys vying for my attention. I cross the room and carefully straddle him, barely letting my weight rest on his legs.
He grips my hips, though, and pulls me down.
I brush his hair back, careful to avoid the stitches, and lean in.
Our lips touch. It’s better than expected. Like a release of pain from my bones. It all just evaporates, and it takes me a long moment to realize this is more healing than I could’ve anticipated.
Forgiveness.
I forgive him for scaring me. For acting how he did.
I kiss him and I tell him with my lips that I forgive him, and in return I ask for forgiveness back.
He cups the back of my head. It takes all of my willpower not to shift my hips and grind forward. I want to, as thrills of electricity wind through my body and spark between my legs. Instead, I run my tongue along the seam of his lips. When he opens for me, I take advantage. I slide my tongue into his mouth, tasting him. Exploring him like I don’t actually know him.
In a lot of ways, this feels like a first kiss.
Tentative but entirely focused.
His tongue tangles with mine, gently pushing my tongue back into my mouth and joining. Feeling and tasting and exploring in all the ways I just did to him.
His teeth graze my lower lip, and I groan. His hands are on my hips, and his fingers dig into my skin like he’s losing control of his willpower, too. I don’t know where to touch him that won’t hurt. My hands settle on his biceps, and I squeeze to keep myself from drifting.
Hurting him is the last thing I want.
And yet I can’t tear myself away.
Our lips slide together, and it creates this symphony in my head. A sound so crazy and musical that I just want to live here in it for a while.
Penn and Carter bring my emotions back. They beat away the numbness.
But this… kissing Oliver makes me forget I was ever numb in the first place.
“Wow,” Penn says.
We jerk apart. I keep my gaze locked on Oliver’s face as soon as my eyes flutter open, and I catch the dazed, starstruck expression before he wipes it away.
I wish he wouldn’t wipe it away. I want to see it again, to take a picture and frame it, because I did that to him. And that causes me immeasurable pleasure—or maybe it’s just that I don’t know anyone else who’s effected like that.
By me .
“We leave you for two minutes and you’re making out like teenagers,” he continues. He’s got two beers in his hand, and he drops back into his seat. “But by all means, continue.”
I smile and shake my head. “You ruined the moment.”
“Did he?” Oliver asks, leaning forward and nipping my earlobe.
Another wash of fire hits me, traveling straight to my core.
“Maybe not,” I allow.
Carter returns, glancing from us to Penn. His eyebrows hike. “Damn, what did I miss?”
“Obviously a make-out session,” Penn says. His tone is sarcastic, but his eyes gleam. “We could ask them to recreate it if you’re feeling left out.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen them go for heavy petting,” Carter comments. “Would you mind repeating?”
My face flames. “Get out of here.”
Oliver chuckles. He touches my chin, redirecting my attention back to him. His gaze drops to my lips, and I sway forward.
Before I know it, his lips are on mine again.