oe

'm lying in bed, st

to know it's Jasper. I feel his presence fill the r

eathing even, pretending to be

link of ice in a bag, then his he

with his weight. The proximity makes my skin prickle,

" he says, his voice a low

my head to look at him. In the dim light from

d in a small towel. "Frances said this w

reful, and places the cold pack over the bandages. The rel

trays me. The physical relief is too great. I let him hold m

e, the only sound the soft crack

patched you up?" he asks suddenl

d, novice mistake. He'd carried me back to the clubhouse and cleane

le in his voice. "Didn't cry at all, just bit

lips despite myself. "It was you

sound that vibrates through

ith a shared history, a shared language of touch and memory. My resolve wavers. This is the

ll the whiskey on his breath, see the deep well of regret

rutal pang. I miss us too. But

lling onto the bedspread. The warmth of his tou

sper," I say, my voice flat and empt

htens up, the distance returning betw

the ice pack. "You s

d, I think he's going to leave. A weak, tr

air in the corner of the room. He strips off his Cut, tossing it over the back o

doing?" I ask,

e leaving no room for argument. He crosses his arms ov

g. But not