“Is Claire home?”

I shook my head, wincing. “At work.”

“We’ll go back to mine, then.”

“No, I can—”

“There’s no one there,” she said, throwing me a look. “I’m not leaving you on your own.”

“No, no—”

“I’m going to wrap up your wrist and we can ice your eye. You didn’t hit your head directly so you shouldn’t have a concussion, but if I’m wrong, we’ll get a taxi to the hospital.”

Connie led me into the living room and I plonked down on the couch, nestling into the cushions. She disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared a moment later with a first aid kit, kneeling down beside me and then reached behind her for the icepack she had brought.

“Turn around and let me look at your eye.”

I waved my hand dismissively, edging away slightly. “It’s fine, honestly.”

“Alex turn your fucking head before I blacken the other one.”

I raised my eyebrow and the edges of her lips curled up in a smug imitation of a smile. With an exaggerated huff I shifted slightly so that she could press the ice pack against the right side of my face, the searing cold touch rushing through me. She held it there for a long minute before I reached up to take it from her and as she slowly retracted, I had a good mind to give the ice pack back to her, let her continue to keep her hand as close to me as possible. But then she reached across for the other hand resting on my knee, her fingers resting atop mine so lightly that I could barely feel her there, nothing more than a ghost touch. I thought of the tenderness with which she held me on the walk back, the way her eyes had widened and her lips parted, trembling, when I gasped in pain. That attention, that concern—it sent something coursing through me that I hadn’t discerned in myself in so very long. A spark of adrenaline, addictive and demanding.

“You’re gonna need to ice that a couple of times a day I’d say.”

“It’s not even that sore, really.”

“You don’t need to act the hardchaw, Alex. You can admit that it’s bad.”

“It’s really not.”

She squeezed at my fingers gently. “The pain doesn’t make you any less brave. What you did…You did a really good thing. A really brave thing. Stupid, maybe, but brave, too. You’re allowed to be sore. You’re allowed to be afraid.”

“Well, I mean…” I let my lips stretch out weakly. “Maybe it does sting just a little incy wincy bit. A tiny, minuscule little bit.”

Connie chuckled, her voice low. And then she gnawed on her lower lip, green eyes boring into mine with that age-old intensity I had long forgotten. “I’m sure McMahon will freak the fuck out when she sees you sporting that.”

My breathing stilled and I made an effort of neutralizing my expression even as my gaze dropped. “I, er—I don’t think she will, now.”