The Token 2 (New Adult Dark Romance) by Eros Marata

Author:Eros, Marata [Eros, Marata]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tamara Rose Blodgett
Published: 2014-01-16T16:00:00+00:00

~ 7 ~

Bryce again.

One-two-three, he huffs through his leg extensions and for the first time, my mind wanders during a session. It could be because Doc Matthews is pressing for protocol.

I have big decisions to make about radiations, chemotherapy and the rest.

I don't like “the rest.” I know the counteractives will make me sicker than the actual progression of the tumor's growth. They'll screw up the things I want to gain from the short life I have left. I can't allow it. So I'll go in and sign a novel's worth of release forms.

They don't want to be responsible for my decision.

My phone chimes with a text just as Bryce finishes his set.

He stands and grabs a terrycloth hand towel from a peg that reads Bryce, and he gives me a penetrating look that's part glare, part inquisition.

“You're not all here today, Miss Mitchell.” He wipes sweat off his forehead then drags the towel up his forearms.

You're not all here...

True. Definitely not all here. I don't answer with the whole truth. “I have a doctor's appointment, and I'm... thinking too hard.”

“Huh,” he says, staring at me.

“Headaches,” I supply, and Bryce's brows cock to his hairline.

I sigh. “Y'know, migraines.”

He nods, and my shoulders drop as my mind skitters across things like another therapist taking my patients when I'm gone. I shove the thought away, latching onto the conversation at hand.

“Yeah, my mom gets those once in awhile,” he says.

We stand awkwardly for a moment. Then Bryce asks, “Am I about done?”

I am.

I push through my emotions. “Yes, you've got almost full extension now.” I narrow my eyes, thinking about how hard he must have worked to finish his sessions early. My brows arch. “I guess you were doing your homework?”

Bryce grins. “For this? Yeah.”

I hear the part that he doesn't say—not for school.

“Listen, Bryce—”

He gives me the hand. “Nah... don't need a lecture about my future from my physical therapist.”

I smile. “Okay.”

Bryce nods and turns away. No limp anymore. He pivots back, and I see the light bulb of a question on his face.

“Yes?” I ask.

His eyes travel to my hand. The left.

“Is that why you do this?”

I don't look at it, but I feel the subtle tremble. “Yeah.” I give him steady eye contact.

“Can I see it?” Earnest. Young. Leave it to a teenager to go where adults fear to tread.

“Okay.” I don’t want to show anyone—ever.

I hold out my hand, and he towers over me. Bryce was a lineman on the football team before he wrecked his knee, and I feel the acute disparity in our sizes.

He’ll play again. We made sure of it—together.

Bryce's large hand opens my left hand. My fingers slightly curl, but the pinky sticks straight out, frozen. The twisted pucker scar on my palm is just off center. He runs a finger over it, and my entire hand convulses.

His eyes sweep to mine. “Why does it do that?”

I swallow hard. “It...” I collect myself as he hangs on to my hand. “There was nerve damage from the wound.

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