Though my touch is featherlight, he stirs under it, his hands reflexively squeezing around mine. I’m about to snatch my hand away from his head when those same eyelashes I was coveting minutes ago lift and I get a peek at my favorite shade of green.
“Hey.” I whisper so softly it’s more mouthing the word than speech.
It takes a few seconds for the veil of sleep to clear and the realization that I’m awake to set in. When it does, he jackknifes in his chair, causing my hand to fall from his hair and a pout to form on my lips.
“You’re awake.” His whisper-shout is full of disbelief.
“I’m awake,” I agree. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
A frown pulls at his brow, a V forming between them as his eyes dart around, his lips twisting to the side like he did something wrong. “I shouldn’t have fallen asleep.”
“Are you crazy?” An amused lilt enters my voice. “You needed sleep.” I scan his tired but handsome face and sigh. Even exhausted, he really is too gorgeous for words. “You still do if these bags are any indication.” I run a finger over the puffy skin.
Rough callouses brush along my knuckles as he cups the back of my hand, holding it against his cheek, nuzzling into my touch.
“Is that your subtle way of telling me I look like shit, babe?”
“No.” I fight another smirk. “I’m just saying they are big enough to fit the entire contents of my backpack.”
His lips twitch at the reference to my infamous school bag. The guys have taken to teasing me that it weighs more than I do.
“How are you feeling?” His gaze runs over me, taking note of my injuries. I can only imagine the Halloween-ready sight he sees.
“Like I was used as a tackle dummy.” My joke falls flat, as do his eyes, which darken from a beautiful seafoam green to the color of pine trees.
“You know I’m pissed at you, right?” His stern expression and flat tone clue me in to the fact that he’s not kidding.
“At me?” I try to arch a brow, but it hurts too much. “Why are you mad at me?” The last word comes out as a squeak.
He doesn’t answer. Instead his free hand comes up to run through his hair, the strands sticking out through the pinch of his fingers before he continues down to grip the back of his neck. Damn, he is pissed.
“What the hell were you thinking?” His hard stare pins me to the bed.
“Huh?” He’s going to have to be a little more specific. “I’m probably concussed, so speaking in riddles is not a good way to get answers.”
His nostrils flare and his chest expands with a deep inhalation.
Boo. *pouts* He put a shirt on.
Not the time, I scold my inner cheerleader.
“I mean…in what world did you think it was a good idea to get between me and a punch. Meant. For. Me?”
How is this even a question?
“Seriously?” He has the audacity to only give me a simple nod. “You’re always going on and on about how I’m yours and you protect what’s yours. Well dammit—” I smack the bed with my free hand, my IV pulling against the tape securing it. I’m so damn frustrated I want to rip my hair out, but I don’t dare; my head hurts enough without adding self-harm. “You”—I curl my fingers under his palm and poke him—“are mine. And I”—I ignore another pull of the tape to slap my chest—“protect what’s mine too.”
An amused chuckle comes from behind us as the rest of the room starts to wake.
“Careful,” E warns.
Bette snickers. They may have only been my guardians for a few years, but they have always taken great pride in having been the ones to raise me through the last—and, according to them, most important—years of high school.
“I’ll play nice,” Mase tells my brother while keeping his focus solely on me, “but it doesn’t change the fact that I can handle taking a punch better than she can.”
“I wasn’t going to let him hurt you,” I argue, the volume of my voice rising with my anger, waking those who weren’t already up.
Mase scoffs. He fucking scoffs. I so want to slap him right now.
“Baby…” He shakes his head. “He wouldn’t have hurt me.”
I make a noise in the back of my throat, causing his shoulders to bounce with suppressed laughter.
“Of course.” I puff out a frustrated breath, barely withholding an eye roll. “How silly of me to think getting punched would hurt the great Mason Nova.” I bring my palm to my forehead for a gentle facepalm.
The jerk has the audacity to laugh at me. “I’m not saying that, but…” He oh-so-gently cups the injured side of my face. “I am literally twice the size of you. The physics alone are on my side. And…”
My eyes drift closed as he trails his fingers down to curl around the back of my neck in a solid grip. His weight shifts, and I feel him push into the side of the hospital bed seconds before the intoxicating scent of his soap fills my senses above the strident smell of antiseptic.
“…based on how he hit you in your face, god only knows where he was aiming on me.”
JT snorts, and now he’s the one I want to smack.
As Mase pulls away to retake his seat, I reach up to wrap my fingers around his wrist as best I can, my thumb still a couple inches from touching the tips of the other digits. I rotate his hand until the knuckles are visible for inspection. They’re not bruised, swollen, or cut up like I would expect.
“What are you doing?” He sounds amused as I trace each bump of his large metacarpals.
“You didn’t fight him?” I jerk my gaze to his, a slash of pain streaking across my temples.
“Oh, I wanted to.” This time his deep chuckle has all my girly bits standing at attention as he twists to link our fingers. “I was just more concerned with stopping the blood coming out of your head.” The strain in his voice tells me how hard the memory hits him.
I bring my hand up to the small square bandage now covering the stitches that were required to hold the torn skin together.
“What do you think happened to my shirt earlier?” he asks, one of his dimples popping out with his smirk.
I don’t know if I should be thankful or not that my injuries were catastrophic enough to make me an unquestionable priority, but all I feel is an overwhelming amount of guilt.
This whole thing is my fault. I should have stayed away, if not because of the drama I could bring down on Mase myself then to keep Liam away. From the first time Liam tried to use me on his Instagram to incite beef with Mason, I knew he viewed me as my boyfriend’s weak spot. The way each of his jabs and barbs outside the locker room before the game and at the Alpha house were centered around me only further proved it.
What I can’t figure out is how Liam could think a fight between them wouldn’t also hurt his draft stock come April.
There’s also how he plans on using Chrissy/Tina…
“Hey.” Mase pinches my chin to lift my gaze back to his, those green eyes reading me down to my soul. “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?”
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out.
“For what?”
“For bringing”—I flail my hands in the air—“all…this on you.” Without giving him a chance to comment, I barrel on, the rest coming out like word vomit. “What if you did fight him? What if that happened and it got out and made you ineligible for the draft? Don’t say that can’t happen because we both know it could. What if I cost you everything you’ve worked for? How would you ever be able to forgive me if I was the reason you didn’t get to have your dream?”