––––––––
“I will, Dad,” I say for the fifth time and shoot Mom a look.
I’m tired.
I’m sore.
I want to go back to sleep.
Mom squeezes my hand and then nudges Dad out of the room.
Jasmine leans in and kisses my forehead. “There is someone else outside if you want to see him?”
I blink, confused.
Then my mouth falls open.
“Travis?” I whisper, and despite having been shot, my immediate thought isI look terrible.
“Brook.” His rough voice sounds from the doorway, and my eyes flash over to him.
My god.
He’s so beautiful.
My eyes fill with tears, and he’s at my side a second later.
“Guess that’s a yes then.” Jasmine smiles and leaves us.
“Fuck,” he says, taking my hand, his eyes roaming over my body like he’s working out how much bubble wrap it would take to fully protect me.
I give him a smile.
“Did you hear the show?” I ask, my throat raw.
“Fuck the show, Brook.” Then he shakes his head. “I don’t mean that. I mean, I care about you. That you are alive. Are you sore?”
I laugh, then cringe. “Yes, I was shot.”
“I’m so sorry.” He drags the chair over and drops into it, looking beaten.
I watch him, wondering what he has to be sorry about.
“Trav, you didn’t do this.”
“No, but my fucking father probably did.” He grounds out under his breath. “It was my job to protect you.”
I shake my head, closing my eyes.
“No, I knew the risk.”
I feel his hand on my leg as the drugs pull me under, and I fall asleep.
When I wake up hours later, his head is on my thigh, and he’s asleep. Blinking away the sleep, I gaze at the dark circles under his eyes and lift my hand, sliding it through his hair.
Travis bolts up.
“What! Where? Are you okay?” He reaches for me.
