Dirty Little Secret

“Love you too,” I whisper, my voice barely audible and my heart lodged in my throat.

Before either of us can say anything else, Dr. Gardner steps into the room.

“Okay, Stella, the good news is, it’s not broken.”

“And the bad news?” she asks, her voice raspy.

“It’s a fairly severe sprain.”

“What does that mean?”

“Since it’s so swollen, we’re going to wrap it and set you up with a pair of crutches. Until you can follow up with an ortho, I’m going to suggest you follow RICE—rest, ice, compression, and elevate, okay?”

Stella nods.

“All of the aftercare information, along with your follow-up appointment, will be in the discharge paperwork. So, hang tight and we’ll get you wrapped and on your way.”

As soon as the doctor closes the door behind her, Stella bursts into tears. “How am I going to get around campus on crutches?”

“Hey, no.” I slide her phone into my pocket and wrap her in my arms. “Don’t cry.”

She pulls out of my embrace and wipes away her tears. “God, I don’t even know why I’m crying.”

“It’s been a rough day, Luna. You’re hurting and tired. But I’ve got you.”

“You’ve got me?” She blinks up at me through tear-soaked lashes.

“Always. Once they discharge you, I’m gonna bring you back to my place and nurse you back to health.”

Her lips tip up in a weak grin. “That sounds kind of dirty.”

I tsk her. “We can role-play when you feel better.”

“Thanks, Samson.”

“Always, Luna.”

Chapter Thirty

Stella

“Do you need anything?” Samson asks, for what feels like the millionth time. “Water? A snack? Something for the pain?”

“Samson.” I try to rein in my exasperation, because I know he’s only trying to care for me; but for the past day and a half, the man’s been treating me like I’m made of glass. “The only thing I need is for you to sit down beside me and to relax.”

“Are you sure? Because if you need a new ice pack or a blanket—”

“Positive.” I cut my eyes at him and pat the mattress beside me. “Now sit.”

He glances longingly toward the kitchen, like he’s considering making a break for it to refill my water. But finally, he relents and crawls into bed beside me.

“Are you sure you’re up for tonight?”

“You mean dinner?” I clarify.

“Yeah. Do you think you should stay home? Well, here?”

I warm at the thought of calling his house home. Maybe one day…

“Do you not want to go?” I ask, indecision rippling through me. On one hand, my ankle hurts—a lot—but on the other, tonight’s a special night for my mom and I know it would hurt her feelings if we both missed it.

“I told your brother I’d be there, but that was before you got hurt.”

I angle my body toward him, well as much as I can without moving my leg. “Tonight’s too important to miss. If it was just a run-of-the-mill Sunday dinner, I would consider it, but we’re celebrating her tonight and I need to be there. We need to be there.”

“Fuck. I know.” He inhales deeply, holding his breath a beat, before slowly exhaling. “I just… getting the call that you were at the hospital, it rattled me, Stella.”

Forget being warm, this man has reduced me to a puddle of goo. “I’m sure it was scary, but aside from some tenderness and discomfort, I’m fine, Samson.” I grab his hand and bring it to my lips, kissing my way across his knuckles. “Plus, you’ve taken really good care of me.”

“Okay, we’ll go.” He nods to himself. “But only if you agree to sleep here again tonight.”

I grin up at him. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Four hours later, we’re idling in the parking lot behind 1885—my parents’ favorite restaurant. “You sure you’re up for the walk?”

I cut my eyes at Samson, glaring. “It’s less than a block. We are literally on the other side of the building.”

He glances toward my crutches, which are laid across his back seat and holds up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Sorry.”

“Ugh, I’m being a snot. I’m sorry.”

He grins. “I love you anyway.”

My heart races and then slams to a stop. “You what?” Is he really doing this right now? In what universe does this seem like the time to tell me he loves me? Maybe I misunderstood?

“I love you,” he says, his voice strong and clear and his words so full of intention that I can feel their weight.

“Samson,” I whisper his name, trying to process this development.

It’s not that I don’t love him, because I do. Oh my God, I do. I have since before I was old enough to give a name to my feelings. But I never imagined him telling me like this.

I never imagined him confessing his love for me in a parking lot, moments before facing my parents. My parents, who have no clue we’re even together.