“Jo can keep an eye on me,” Collette says, not looking at me.
“Is Jo here?” I ask.
“She’s … no. She’s out.”
“Then I’ll take you home,” I tell her.
“No, you won’t,” she answers defensively.
“Fish,” Evan says my name as a warning.
I ignore him. “Collette,” I say her name sternly, and she stops fidgeting. “I’m taking you home.”
Evan pushes off the wall. “Guess my work here is done.”
“Thanks, Evan. Sorry for all this,” she tells him.
“All good.” He smiles at her before his eyes narrow on me. He gives me a nod, and that nod contains an entire conversation that we’ll probably have later over whiskey. He leaves, and it’s just us and the medic, who finishes wrapping her wrist, gives her some painkillers, and tells her to rest.
“Can you walk, okay?” I ask once the medic steps out.
“I hit my head, not my legs.” She slides off the treatment table and wobbles slightly. I catch her elbow. She looks down at my hand on her arm and then up at me, and for a second, neither of us knows what to do with the contact.
“Let’s go,” I say.
The walk back to her place is quiet. It’s cold, the late afternoon light is fading fast, and the city is starting to shift into its evening gear. I keep my hand on the small of her back the entire way. She doesn’t ask me to move it, nor does she acknowledge it. It just sits there, warm through her jacket, guiding her through the crowd, and I tell myself it’s because she has a head injury and I’m being responsible, not because touching her is the first thing that’s felt right in weeks. We don’t talk. The silence between us isn’t hostile anymore, but it’s not comfortable either. It’s the silence of two people who have too much to say and no idea where to start.
We reach her building after what feels like forever. The doorman holds the door for us, and I guide her into the lobby.
“There you go,” I say, dropping my hand from her back. “Home safe.”
“Collette! Oh my god, what happened to your face?” A voice cuts through the lobby, and we both turn. A guy is walking toward us, tall, with dark hair, stupidly handsome. He’s in a suit, fresh from work, and he knows Collette because he’s already reaching for her, his hand on her arm, his face full of concern, leaning in close to examine the cut above her eyebrow.
“I’m fine, Manuel. Just a slip at work,” Collette says.
“Are you sure? That looks nasty. Do you need anything? I can grab you something from the café. Or I can come up and …”
“She’s good,” I say. Both of them look at me. Manuel notices me for the first time, and I watch him do the calculation. Who is this guy? Why is he with Collette? Should I be concerned? “Come on, Lettie, let me get you to bed.”
The words land in the lobby like a grenade. Collette’s eyes widen. Manuel’s mouth opens slightly. I realize what I’ve said, and I don’t correct it because fuck this guy and his perfect hair and his hand on her arm.
“Right, well, feel better, Collette, and we should catch up soon,” Manuel says.
“Thanks, Manuel, I’ll see you soon.” She gives him a tight smile and then walks toward the elevator, I follow. The doors close, and it’s just us in this small box going up, with the echo of ‘Let me get you to bed’ hanging in the air between us.
“What was that?” she asks, not looking at me.
“What was what?”
“Let me get you to bed?” She raises an eyebrow at me and immediately winces because the cut is right there.
“It came out wrong.”
“Did it?”
“Yes.”
“Because it sounded very deliberate,” she says.