I chewed on my lower lip and noticed the rough red skin on the side of my hand where I must have scraped it when I fell.
“I just got—er—” I smoothed the blanket down over my chest and stomach, looking for something to do with my hands.
“Britta.” My name on his lips felt so oddly intimate. It was quiet, a little gravelly, like he was thinking. “It takes time to reach your goals, but you’ve been doing great, and this . . . If you’re not eating enough or pushing too hard, it’s dangerous, even in short bursts like this.”
“I know,” I mumbled. My current surroundings made that clear.
He reached for my hand, paused, and then his warm palm was covering mine. “Promise me you won’t do that again.” His expression made me believe he was genuinely worried. “Or promise me you’ll get some help.”
“It was stupid, I just . . .” What? I didn’t want to admit I’d kissed someone who, funny thing, didn’t think I was pretty enough to be seen with in public.
Before he could respond, the doctor entered after a quick rap on the door. “Ms. Colby, I’m Dr. Flynn. Glad to see you’re awake.” He was a young guy, early thirties with dark skin and an easy, high-wattage smile. “And you are . . . ?”
“My brother,” I answered quickly, flashing Wes a tiny shrug.
“Ah, good to meet you.”
“I’ll let you talk to the doctor alone.” Wes stood, and I worried he’d leave. “I’ll be back, okay?” He searched my face, but he withdrew his hand, its impression lingering in my brain.
24
“WHAT HAPPENED WITH your client?” Cord and I sat at our regular table at the bar. “You said it was handled, but do we need to bring in legal?”
“I asked Pearl to give them a heads-up, but I think we’re fine.”
I’d spent the rest of the morning at the hospital with Britta. She never explained why she’d made such a sudden turn, and I hadn’t pressed her on it. It was strange to be physically near her. Strange but comfortable. Strange but wonderful. Around noon, she told me her friends were coming to visit, and I bowed out, promising to message her later. I oscillated between shaking her hand and leaning down to kiss her cheek, but that crossed a major line as her coach—not that I hadn’t already crumpled the line and thrown it across the room. I just gave a short wave.
Cord waited for me to say more, adopting the casual posture that he always used to wait me out.
“She’d been pushing too hard and ended up falling. Bruised, but otherwise seems to be okay and is getting some help.”
“Lucky she had the wherewithal to get on the FitMi app to message you.” Cord’s pull on his beer was deceptively casual.
“She texted me.” I mimicked his casual tone, glancing down at my phone, the screen blank. “We should see about building instant messaging into the FitMi system.”
“We’re beta testing it in the fall. But you gave her your personal number?” His eyebrows rose, the Cord Matthews equivalent to a dropped jaw.
“We chat a lot. It’s easier.” I leaned forward, my forearms on the marred and dull surface of the wooden table. “Don’t give me shit. I know it’s against policy.”
“It’s just that you were so insistent on the policies for coaches when you wrote them. What’s different about this girl?”
“Why do you assume something is different about her?”
“I’ve known you for ten years, and you like rules. When you bend them, it’s always for a woman.” Cord leaned in, his voice lowered, not that anyone in the bar would care. “Listen, I’m just asking what’s up. Are you . . . You’re not fucking her, are you? I know you know that’s a terrible idea.”
“No, I’m not fucking her.” I narrowed my eyes. “I just gave her my phone number. I’d never met her in person until I found her unconscious in a stairwell.”
Cord held out his palms. “Don’t get pissed. I had to ask. I know you get along well with clients, but you’ve never given them your personal information. What’s the deal?”
“I like her. She’s . . . cool.” She made me laugh, she made me get lost talking about nothing, and she had a great smile. Even battered and disoriented under those flickering lights, she had smiled at me when I found her in the stairwell—this tiny, confused smile—and it floored me. It was the warmth I’d imagined all those times we chatted. All morning at the hospital, I had to keep inventing reasons to look out the window or at the TV to stop from staring at her because I wanted to memorize her features. I liked everything about her, and knowing she had been going through something terrified me more than getting information about a relative stranger should have.