Page 76 of When We Were Young

“Fine. But I want it noted that I didn’t ask you to do this.”

“It’s noted.” I fight to hold back a smirk, and I fail. The best part, though, is the hint of a smile forming on her face. Even getting that tiny thing out of her feels like a win.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Lizzie

Iswear to God, every nurse who has walked into this room has gawked at Holden. I’m more than convinced their coworkers sent a few of them in to ‘grab something’—a roll of tape, a washcloth, you name it—out of the cupboards to check him out.

They’re all young, pretty, and probably much more pleasant than I am. At least, right at this moment.

And I’m a hot mess in old cutoff shorts, a T-shirt with paint splatters, and a tear at the neckline. While their hair is long and straightened with perfect highlights or up in cute-looking messy buns, my hair is just… messy.

When yet another nurse comes in under the guise of grabbing a gown out of the closet, I lose it. I hear the annoyed huff that escapes me, and then mutter under my breath, “For fuck’s sake. This is absurd.”

“Lizzie!” Holden scolds me, but there’s an amused air to his voice, and he chuckles.

The nurse apparently isn’t done, and when I glance up, she’s standing there staring in our direction. I’m sure it’s at him and not me or us. Unless she’s staring at us thinking, Why is he here with her?

“Do you need something else?” I ask her.

I sound like a total bitch, and I hate it. But I broke my arm, I’m in pain, and the man who crushed my heart a decade ago is, of course, the one who came to my rescue.

Without even glancing at the girl, Holden twists his body to face me.

“You okay?” This time, there’s a softness to his voice, and I don’t know if that pleases me or scares me. Maybe it’s both. I don’t have the emotional energy to unpack that right now.

The nurse walks out of the room, and I turn my head away from him. No, I can’t handle him being sweet and tender to me, not when I’m like this. A tear escapes and rolls down my face. Its friends quickly follow.

“Hey? What’s going on, Lizette?” He scoots his chair closer to the gurney I’m on.

I don’t stop him as he wipes away one of my tears with his thumb, nor do I correct him for using my full name. Lizette, the name I never wanted anyone to call me again after things ended with him. It was too hard to hear it and not think about him.

“Come on. Tell me what’s going on,” he urges.

I refuse to look at him as the tears continue to come.

“I’m tired, and my arm hurts, and it’s broken, and they haven’t given me any pain medicine, and I don’t want to take any because I have to go home and take care of Simon, but it really hurts, and all these nurses are coming in here and gawking at you like you’re a piece of meat, like they’ve never seen an attractive man before.” After the words rush out of my mouth, I suck in a breath. That might be the longest run-on sentence ever.

“Hey, look at me.”

I reluctantly turn my head in his direction, but I can’t bring my eyes to meet his, and they remain downcast.

“Come on, please.”

I slowly drag my eyes up until they meet his, but before he can say anything else, a voice comes across the intercom in the room.

“How can I help you?” a woman asks.

“Yes, the doctor said he was going to get pain medicine for her if she wanted it, and no one has offered it yet. Could somebody please bring her something?”

It strikes me that he used the call bell for me. To get me help.

“Yes, sir. We’ll be right in.” Her saccharine voice makes me roll my eyes.

When I hear the intercom click off, I can’t help but mimic her, “Yes, sir. We’ll be right in,” in a high-pitched voice.

Holden chuckles. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, thinking people are coming in here to look at me. And even if they were, I don’t care. But I did notice that you said I was attractive,” he teases.