“Come ‘ere.” I gestured for AM to come closer. I needed her closer. “I’m sorry, Sunshine. So sorry.”
My apology broke a dam of tears she must have been holding back, and she ran over to the bed, collapsing to her knees. I stroked her head as best I could with my mangled hand. “No, I’m sorry,” she sobbed. Noah cleared his throat. He looked more pained than if he’d taken the butt of an MK19 machine gun to his gut. He pointed to his watch and held up two fingers. He wanted me to check my signs every two hours.
“AM, stop crying. You’re breaking my fucking heart.”
“I’m breaking your heart?” Her head shot up and her eyes glittered, part with rage and part with fear. I understood everything she was feeling because that was exactly how I had felt last night.
Between her crying and my aching body, I felt lower than an ant’s belly. Broken and bruised, I wanted nothing more than to sink into AM’s bed and have her soothe me, but now that I was here, I realized what a stupid mistake that was. I had to get out of here before I did more damage to AM. For the first time in my life, I wanted to think. Somehow I managed to sit up and signal for Noah to help me out of there.
AM’s face went still at my movements.
“Don’t look like that, AM. I shouldn’t have made them bring me here.” I struggled to my feet. “It was wrong. I’ve done you wrong.” Noah threw a blanket over my nearly naked body. There was no way I could bend over and put on clothes. Noah bent down to help me put some shoes on, but I shook my head no. There was a limit, and I’d reached it. I stood up as straight as possible and looked at AM. “This is wrong,” I repeated.
“No,” she cried.
I tried to shut out the sounds of her choked sobs, but they tore into me with more force than any of the fists that I’d endured last night.
Chapter Twenty-Three
BO
NOAH GOT ME HOME AND THE four guys took turns calling me names at every two-hour mark. Douche bag, asswipe, dickwad, fuckstick. Noah gave me a Vicodin, and I soaked in the jet tub installed in the bathroom attached to Finn’s bedroom. The heat of the water and the pain killers eased the pain.
After I’d proven to Noah that I didn’t have a concussion, I went over to AM’s apartment, but she wasn’t home. I had no idea where she was. I weaseled my way inside the security door by flirting with a resident and then popped AM’s disgustingly easy locks with a credit card.
After inspecting the hole I’d made, I called and asked Finn to bring over supplies for repair.
“Your fist?” Finn asked when I let him into the apartment.
“Yup.”
Finn shook his head. “They just don’t make walls like they used to.” He set down a bucket that contained a bunch of tools and pulled out what looked like a tiny saw. “Do you want to learn to do this or do you just want me to fix it?”
I looked at his tools: knife, hammer, power drill. “Is this a joke? Of course I want to fix it.” Not only would I get to use tools but I’d be able to brag to AM about it if I could bring myself to face her again. After running away like a chicken this morning I realized I had a lot of groveling and explaining to do. I was a mess, wanting to be with her and knowing that if I stayed I’d end up breaking her heart or worse. Patching this hole up was the least I could do. Whatever rip I’d torn between us wasn’t reparable.
Finn looked at my bruised and swollen fingers and shrugged his shoulders.
“Cut the hole into a square with this knife and then cut a square of this drywall to make the patch,” Finn instructed. He handed me the knife, which I clumsily grasped, and I went to work. The sheetrock crumbled as I sawed my way around the hole I’d punched. Bits of it clung to the back of my hand and other pieces fell to the ground to dust my boots and the carpet.
“You enjoy flipping houses, Finn?” I asked as I finished creating a square in the wall. I’m sure Finn could have fixed about ten houses by now but he stood patiently while I fumbled with the tools. I held up the partial piece that Finn had handed me and marked the sides with a pencil.
“Yeah, it’s okay. Here, score the front and the back and then just break it off,” Finn told me, running the knife down the pencil line I’d made. I broke the shorter piece off.
“This is cool,” I told him. “You go to school for that? Is there like a construction school?” I repeated the cut on the other side.
“The ‘on the job’ school, you mean? I went to State and got my business degree and worked summers at my dad’s construction company.” Finn leaned against the wall and watched me construct my little square patch.