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Delving into Lennon’s medical history might upset him. Better to let him tell me what he wanted, when he wanted.

“Water, please,” he said.

I picked up the cup and tipped the straw so he could sip the liquid comfortably.

“You have to go home, Vivi,” he told me.

I frowned. “Are you trying to get rid of me?” I kept my tone light, but my heart was heavy.

“No, of course not. But you have a job, and I’m sure there are consequences for missing a shift. I don’t want that for you.”

“I’ve already called the hospital?—”

“But you told me you didn’t have a lot of accrued time off. Don’t waste it on me.”

“It’s not wasted,” I snapped. Then, I closed my eyes and blew out a breath. “I want to be here. With you.”

“There’s nothing you can do for me here. Except lose your job, and I don’t think you’re willing to let me pay your rent.”

I looked away because he was right; I wasn’t comfortable with Lennon paying any of my expenses. We hardly knew each other. “I…” I swallowed the lump bulging in my throat. “I don’t want to leave you.” I don’t want to lose you. You’re the very best thing that’s happened to me in years, since before my mother fell ill.

Yesterday, I might have said that to Lennon, but now something was different. The situation between us was…off. “You don’t want me anymore,” I whispered.

“Oh, Vivi. No, that’s not true. I…” He closed his eyes, and his lashes tangled together as he squeezed them shut. “I care about you. A lot.” He met my gaze. “But I can’t be the reason you’re hurt, that you lose your job or can’t make rent. That’s not okay. You see where I’m coming from.”

Slowly, I nodded. I did see, but something deep inside me said that if I left now, this way, nothing would be right between us again. “I…”

“I’m going to be stuck here for…what?”

“Two days, possibly more,” a voice said from the doorway.

We both turned, Lennon more slowly and with obvious discomfort, to see an older woman in a white lab coat standing just inside the room. She had a small pair of silver-rimmed spectacles perched on her nose. “I’m Dr. Delancy, and I can say with a degree of certitude that you aren’t going to be leaving for a minimum of two days. I think four is more likely.”

“Why’s that, Dr. Delancy?” Lennon asked.

“Because we’re monitoring internal bleeding.” She raised her eyebrows. “And for concussion protocol. I really don’t like the initial scans.”

Lennon turned quiet. After a long moment, he asked, “Is it bad? I’ll have to let my team doctor know, so I need to be prepared for the outcome of your decision.”

I sucked in a breath as the situation formed a clear picture: Lennon might not be able to play hockey for a while—maybe ever—because he’d saved me.

I struggled to keep my breathing calm and my expression neutral, but I could now understand why he was so adamant that I leave. The attack may have cost Lennon his livelihood. Of course he needed space.

Dr. Delancy and Lennon spoke longer, but their words were white noise to me. I kept seeing him on the ground. My mind returned over and over again to the blood. To his mutterings.

He must resent me. I couldn’t blame him. I bit the inside of my cheek; the pain centered me, just as it had when my mother was alive. I made the painful decision, the necessary one: I had to go. I had to give Lennon the chance to heal and the space he’d asked for.

That also meant I had to give up the possibility of a future with him.

He might want you again, once he’s cleared to play—once the trauma of the attack fades.

I nearly snorted. Always the optimist. Somehow, no matter how bad the situation became, I couldn’t stop wishing for a better outcome.

That was over.

I wasn’t meant for a family or happiness. Best I could do was ease pain for others.

Time to take your medicine, Vivian. Take it and move on. Let Lennon live his life.