Everything feels strange and I have no idea how much time has passed. I remember the deer, then pain, and then nothing. Later, Daryl...sitting by my side, holding my hand, and Carl talking to me, pain clouding my thoughts.

More nothing.

When my eyes open, it's the first time I've felt awake in a long time. There's early morning sun shining through lace curtains and, when I try to move, I'm struck by the soreness spreading over my entire abdomen. I wince and let myself rest again, sucking breaths, when I notice something I swore was a dream.

Daryl sleeps with his head on his arms, propped against the mattress, his mouth hanging open as he snores softly. His hand rests near mine and I see, in the crook of his elbow, a bit of bloody gauze held on with medical tape. A transfusion? Must be, but...

I lift the blankets and realize, for the first time, that I'm only wearing a bra and pants. There's a large pad taped to my side and a small spot of redness right in the middle. I...got hurt? And Daryl...did he see my list? Did Rick or Shane find it and realize that he was the only person with compatible blood? Or Carl?

I hear him grunt and I startle, tugging the blanket back over my chest, and he blinks a few times as he wakes. His eyes fall on me, he blinks again, and then he sits up abruptly, eyes wide.

"Hope," he says.

My brain still feels foggy. "Daryl?"

He lets out a long breath. "You scared the shit outta me, you know that?" he asks. He scoots his chair closer. "How're you feeling? I can get Hershel."

"Who?"

He frowns a bit, then his lips part. "Shit, right. You..." He shakes his head. "I'm a dumbass. Do you got any idea what happened?"

"No...the last thing I remember is this deer..." My eyes widen. "Oh, Daryl, we saw this deer, and—"

"I know. I would've shot it, right?" he says. I frown a bit. "You were pretty out of it."

"I...I told you already?" I press my hand to my forehead. "This...I'm so confused."

Daryl gives me a brief rundown of what happened, or at least what he understands from what he's been told. I learn that we're at a farmhouse belonging to a man named Hershel and his family. I was shot by a man named Otis, who died on a run with Shane to get supplies for the surgery that saved my life. There are a few other people at the farm: Otis's wife Patricia and Hershel's two daughters, Maggie (brunette) and Beth (blonde). Daryl admits there's a teenage boy somewhere, but he hasn't met him and hasn't cared to change that.

"God..." I whisper, staring up at the ceiling. "That's...that's a lot."

"You in pain at all? Should probably let Hershel know you're awake."

He gets up, but I reach out and grasp his hand. He looks back at me, eyebrow raised, and I beckon him closer. I don't expect him to do so, but he does, and my heart races. He's here and, from the sounds of it, he's been here almost the entire time, and I'm all warm inside.

"I want to give you something," I admit. Be brave, I tell myself. "Is...that okay?"

"Huh? I mean, sure, but..."

I kiss him on the cheek, short and sweet, and release his hand as he flinches a little. He touches his face, staring at me in mild disbelief.

"The hell was that for?" he asks.

I look at my lap. "I, just...thank you doesn't seem like enough," I say. "But, thank you."

He looks away, nodding once. "Yeah, no problem."

He leaves in a hurry and I sink back onto the bed, groaning a bit as I press my hand to my face. I didn't just ruin things, right? I usually go from hand-holding to hugging and then maybe a kiss, but this time I just...wanted to. I wanted to so very badly. Too fast, too...weird.

The bedroom door opens and an old man with balding white hair and suspenders enters. He smiles softly at me and I return it. He sets a glass of water and two white pills on the bedside table.

"Are you Hershel?" I ask.

"I am, and you're Hope," he says. "It's good to meet you, officially." He sits down at the bedside and reaches over to press the back of his hand to my forehead. "Daryl said you might be having some pain."

"A little," I say, even though it's a solid six out of ten. I've had some period cramps that have hurt worse, but a lot that have hurt way less.

"Your fever's gone down," Hershel says. "That's good, but I'm gonna need you to rest for a bit longer."

There are rapid footsteps and Carl appears in the doorway. He's wearing his dad's sheriff hat. "Daryl said you were awake!" he says.

I smile. "Hi, Carl."

He rushes to my side, pressing his hands on the bed, and Hershel smirks. "He insisted on staying with you. He was very brave," he explains.

I'm surprised that he's here without Rick or Lori, but it warms my heart nonetheless. Hershel leaves and Carl comes closer, still giving me with a strange look. Happy, but also not.

"You okay, bud?" I ask.

"I'm sorry," he says. "That bullet would've hit me, but you moved me out of the way. It's my fault you're hurt."

I blink a few times. "Carl, it's no one's fault, and I'm okay." I pat his arm. "I'm just glad you're safe."

"Daryl was really worried about you too," he adds. "He gave blood three times. He shouted a lot too."

Three transfusions? That's way too many for anyone to have in a day, at least safely, and now I wish he was here so I could ask what the heck he was thinking. "Is he okay?" I ask. I glance at the door. "He seemed fine, but—"

"He was kinda dizzy and tired for a bit, but Hershel says he's fine."

I hear rapid footsteps and then T-Dog appears at the bedroom door. "Carl, your—" He stops dead when he sees me, but the shock disappears with his smile. "Hope! Hey, you're up!"

"Awake. Not sure about the...up part," I say. Relief fills me when I see that his arm is bandaged up properly. He must've gotten the help he needed. "Are you okay?"

"You're asking me?" He laughs. "I'm fine. They got me stitched up and good as new."

"Oh, thank God," I breathe. One less thing to worry about.

He nods, then his smile falls, eyes widening with remembrance. "Carl, I was gonna say—"

I hear a door slam somewhere and just as suddenly, Lori's at the bedroom door too, nearly colliding with T-Dog as she forces herself to stop. I blink at her and her shoulders slump, relief flooding her expression.

"Your mom's here," T-Dog finishes, jerking his head at her. "So is everybody else."

"Carl..." Lori starts.

Carl runs to her, wrapping his arms around her middle, and Lori just sighs as she returns the embrace. She looks up at me as she does so and I give an awkward wave.

"Sorry, mom," Carl says. "I couldn't leave her, and Shane was with me. Daryl too."

"I know, just..." She rests her hand on his head. "You really scared me."

"Sorry."

Lori smiles a little and again, her attention turns to me. "Everyone's here now, if you need anything."

"Thank you," I say. "Everything's okay with...everyone else?"

"We're all fine," T-Dog assures me. "Biggest stressor was worrying about you."

I cringe. "I'm sorry..."

"Don't be," Lori says. She grips Carl's shoulder, eyes darting to him briefly. "Never be sorry for what happened. Please."

I nod, sheepish. I guess I shouldn't be apologizing for an accident, even though Lori seems far more emotional about it all than I would expect. I think briefly of what Carl said, about me "saving him," but it doesn't feel right to take credit for that. I didn't see the gunman. I was just being cautious without any intent of saving anyone.

"Carl, let's go see your dad, okay?" Lori murmurs.

Carl waves goodbye as Lori ushers him from the room. T-Dog looks at me again, lips briefly pursing as he swings his arms, catching one hand in the other.

"Uh...so, yeah, if you need anything, we're here," he says. He points his thumb over his shoulder, starting to move. "Glad you're alive."

"Thanks, T," I say, smiling softly.

He nods and takes his leave as well. Once he's gone, I remember the pills and water Hershel left, and I force myself to scoot over enough to grab them. With that done, I lay back down, staring up at the ceiling. I didn't realize moving could be so tiring. I'm exhausted and achy and my eyes are already starting to droop again.

I reach down and touch the gauze pad, wincing at the soreness. A gunshot wound...I scoff a bit at the thought. I live the majority of my life in Canada, with no gun injuries, and I spend less than half a decade in the States and bam! GSW to the abdomen.

Correlation, not causation, because it's an apocalypse, but the thought still crosses my mind.

I close my eyes and try to rest. I'm tired, sure, but I keep hearing noises throughout the house, making my fear of missing out start to kick in. I push myself up and, once again, remember that I don't have a shirt.

It hits me that I've probably been shirtless for a while, and that means Daryl saw me like this. I groan into my hands, cursing my luck. The first time I'm half-undressed in front of a man and it's like this? God is testing me.

There's a soft knock on the bedroom door and a girl with short brunette hair peeks her head in. I guess this must be Maggie, Hershel's older daughter. She's holding a stack of clothes.

"Hi," she greets. She walks closer to me. "I thought you could use some clean clothes. They're some of mine."

She looks to be about the same height and build as me and I'm grateful for her generosity. "Thank you," I say as she sets the clothes down on the bed. "Um, quick question, what's going on out there?"

Maggie glances towards the window. "We're setting up a memorial service for Otis."

Otis, the man who shot me, but also died trying to make things right. I haven't even gotten the chance to thank Shane for his part in all this. Mixed feelings swirl in my chest and I nod slowly. Maggie looks back at me.

"Did you need anything? We're making some breakfast and I can bring you a plate," she offers.

"Please," I say. "I...wouldn't mind talking to Hershel again, about my care?"

"I'll get him."

She steps out of the room, shutting the door behind her, and I take the moment of privacy to get changed. It hurts whenever I move too much but I push through, only letting out a few whimpers and stopping once to breathe and not cry. When all is said and done, I'm in a loose green tank top and a pair of jeans, ready to take on the day.

A wave of vertigo washes over me, so I sit back on the bed waiting for it to dissipate. Two knocks sound out and, yet again, Hershel enters. It feels like I've got a revolving door of visitors cycling in and out, although I know I asked specifically for him.

"You wanted to speak to me?" he asks.

I nod, lifting my head. "Yeah. Um...when can I go outside?"

Hershel raises an eyebrow. "I'd prefer if you stayed in bed until you got some strength back."

"For how long?"

"We'll have to play it by ear." He comes closer, rolling up his sleeves. "Let me check your blood pressure."

I obey, holding out my arm and letting him do what he needs to do. He nods a bit at the reading on the cuff and I fidget in place while he takes it off. He stands back.

"You need to rest as much as possible," he starts. "However, once you're a bit stronger, I'll have you go on a couple of short walks per day. That could help you heal. Keep the blood flowing."

I nod.

"No heavy lifting, and I'll need to keep checking on the wound and changing the dressings. Let me know if and when you need to bathe so I can give you further instructions."

Again, I nod. "So...you said I can go on walks?"

"Short walks," he reiterates, giving me a stern look. "I can understand wanting fresh air, but don't push yourself. If you reopen those stitches, Daryl's in no condition to give you any more blood, and I won't have that."

That does help slow my roll. "Right...I'm sorry." I fidget again. "I'm just...I'm worried about becoming dead weight. Sophia's still missing and we need all hands on deck."

Hershel purses his lips in thought. "I heard you were a vet student?"

"Yeah. University of Saskatchewan."

"But you dropped out?"

I blush a little. "I...didn't really think it was the best for me, but my parents wanted me to follow in their footsteps and I didn't hate the idea, but..." I shake my head. "Not important. I had a quarter-life crisis, as I call it."

"I see. Well, I happen to be a veterinarian," he says, and my eyes widen. "Maybe, in your downtime and if I'm not too busy, I could show you a few things. That way, you'll be better equipped when your group gets back on the road."

Refreshing my skills with an actual veterinarian? Perfect! "I'd love that, thank you," I reply.

I try not to linger on the "back on the road" thing, but it makes sense. We're guests here and from what I've heard, Hershel and his people have been very accommodating. I'm just glad that, even if I'm stuck like this, I've got something I can do to keep helping everyone.

Hershel gets to his feet. "Rest a bit more. Maggie will bring you breakfast and I'll see about getting you outside for some fresh air."

----------

I eat breakfast in a chair by the window, watching Otis's memorial from afar. There's a wheelbarrow full of stones and everyone takes a turn putting one on a pile. Hershel stands with a book in hand—a Bible if I were to guess—as he speaks.

I almost don't recognize Shane and it takes me a second to pinpoint where he is. He's shaved his head and he wears overalls that are too big on him. He limps forward and sets a stone on the pile.

I need to thank him. He risked so much for me and honestly, I didn't expect it of him. From what I've seen of him so far, he seems like a needs of the many kind of guy.

I finish my breakfast and set the plate aside, returning to bed, and I allow myself to doze off.

I wake to the sound of stomping footsteps as Daryl walks in, looking pissier than usual. I frown a little, pushing myself up slowly. A dull ache radiates in a hoop around my middle.

"You okay?" I ask.

He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. "Hershel doesn't want me out there looking for Sophia. Says I'll pass out or something."

"You donated a lot of blood. It's just for safety," I say. He stares at me and I avert my eyes. "Sorry, I just...don't want you getting hurt too, you know?"

He moves to the side of the bed, where the armchair he was sleeping in this morning still is, and flops down. "Looks like we're both stuck at camp today, then."

I glance at the window. "How is everyone?"

He shrugs. "Fine. Setting up tents."

I slump a bit. "Wish I could help." I have my own tent to set up, although maybe I'll be sleeping in here for a while. It's comfortable, but it feels wrong when everyone else is outside.

Daryl shakes his head. "Rest, for fuck's sake," he says. "You got shot. No one's expecting anything of you."

"Still..."

"Still nothing," he retorts. "Your only job is getting better, a'ight?"

If I had any doubt about what Carl said about Daryl's worry for me, it's gone now. I didn't expect this from him but hey, maybe he wants to make sure the blood he donated doesn't go to waste.

"You don't have to coop yourself up in here," I say, fiddling with the blankets. "Feel free to do something else."

"Like what?"

I shrug. "I read when I'm bored. You could try it?"

He snorts a bit. "Yeah, good one."

We fall silent. Daryl glances out the window, then back at me.

"Hershel told me you'd need help getting outside," he says. I nod and he gets to his feet. He stoops, grabbing my backpack and swinging it onto his shoulder. "Let's go outside then."

"Oh, really? But I'm not—"

"I'm gonna carry you, so you better hold on."

A little thrill shoots up my spine and I internally kick myself. It's like there's a devil on my shoulder, teasing me that I find being told what to do kind of hot, while the angel scolds me for letting the thought cross my mind.

He pulls the blankets off, gets one arm under my legs, the other wrapping around my back, and lifts me with a short grunt. I wrap my arms around his neck and he glances down at me, our faces just a little too close again, and I swallow.

"Are...are you sure I'm not too heavy?" I squeak.

I swear the ghost of a smirk crosses his lips and he lifts me a little higher. "Nah, you're like a feather."

I flush and my fingers tighten against his neck. "Shut up," I mumble.

He exhales, one of those short breaths I've come to know as his special brand of laughter, and he heads out of the bedroom. It takes some weird maneuvering and him kicking open the front screen door, but we emerge outside onto the cutest little farm I've ever seen. I gawk at it as he carries me down the steps, eyes wide. Large golden fields, a dirt road, a little grove of trees, an old barn—it's lovely. Daryl hefts me again and I bite back a tiny cry of pain at the sudden movement. Daryl glances at me and I give him a smile that I hope doesn't look strained.

"Almost there," he mutters.

He carries me through camp, past tents and makeshift clotheslines, and I don't see anyone. They must be off doing other things and part of me is glad, because I'm not sure they need to see me being princess-carried.

We reach the tent I recognize as his, with a folding canvas chair outside it, and he sets me down on it as carefully as possible, then puts my backpack beside me. He disappears inside the tent for a second, then reemerges with another chair and his crossbow. He sets out the chair, then grabs the rag from his back pocket before sitting down, crossbow on his lap, and starts cleaning it.

I sit, glad to be out in the fresh air, and watch him.

"I brought your stuff," he says. "Books're probably in there."

I lean down and unzip the backpack, checking the novels. "I could read out loud if you like?" He shrugs. "So...yes?"

"It's up to you."

I smile and pull out one of the novels I grabbed from the C.D.C. I was shocked they had it, but it was one of my favourites growing up. I clear my throat as I flip to the first chapter.

"When I left my office that beautiful spring day, I had no idea what was in store for me. To begin with, everything was too perfect for anything unusual to happen."

----------

Time passes by and I read until my voice gets tired. Daryl cleans every inch of his crossbow and occasionally comments on what I've read aloud.

"So where does the red fern come in?" Daryl asks as he squints, looking down the shaft of his arrow.

"Patience..." I say. He frowns a bit and I can't help it, letting out a teasing sigh. "It's said to be an old Indigenous legend. A little boy and girl were lost in a blizzard and froze to death. In the spring, they were found holding hands, and a red fern had grown between their bodies. Only an angel can plant the seeds of a red fern, plus the ferns never die. When one grows, that spot is considered sacred."

Daryl thinks over the story, nodding a bit. "So is this one of those books where the dog dies and you cry at the end?"

I gape at him. "Don't spoil it for yourself, Daryl." He looks at me, amusement curving his lip, and I let out a fake, exaggerated huff. "Well, for the record, I did cry when I first read this. A lot. I honestly don't know why I chose to read this when I know it'll make me cry."

"Just gotta feel something sometimes."

"Ooh, very deep, Mr. Dixon. Well done."

He rolls his eyes at me and does his little breath laugh. After a second, he speaks up again.

"I know an Indian legend. Wonder if you've heard this one," he says. "You know Cherokee roses?"

"I'm guessing they're flowers?"

"Must've strained your brain on that one, huh?" he asks. I raise my eyebrows and he continues. "Yeah, they're flowers. The story is that when American soldiers were moving Indians off their land on the Trail of Tears, the Cherokee mothers were grieving and crying so much 'cause they were losing their little ones along the way from exposure and disease and starvation." He squints at his bow again, then looks up at me, shrugging. "A lot of 'em just...disappeared. So the elders, they said a prayer; asked for a sign to uplift the mothers' spirits, give them strength...and hope. The next day, Cherokee roses started to grow right where the mothers' tears fell."

I dog ear the top corner of the book and close it, resting it on my lap. "That's...sad."

He nods a bit, looking out towards the woods. I stoop to put my book back, noting that my knife and machete were also left inside. I look at Daryl, then the trees.

"You know, Hershel did say...that I needed to take short walks," I say. When I look back at him, his stare is intense. "Maybe...we could go for a walk?"

"You sure you're up for it?"

"Let's see how much I can handle, okay?"

He nods. He swings his crossbow onto his shoulder as I reattach my knife to my belt, sheath and all. Daryl keeps his hand near me as I stand up, closing my eyes when that familiar ache spreads through my stomach.

"You sure you're up for this?" he repeats.

"I've got this."

I take a step and wobble, but he's there, holding me up. I take a few deep breaths.

"Okay, I've...almost got this."

"Here, hold on to me. We'll go slow."

He maneuvers my arm over his shoulder, then slips his around my waist. I won't complain about this, not for a second, not when he's willingly doing it. I'm almost giddy.

Maybe I'm a little more touch-starved than I thought.

We head out, slow, careful steps as we move to the trees. It's shadier once we pass the treeline, not as hot, and we fall into a rhythm. He makes sure I don't trip and I'm there to keep him steady.

"The second you feel dizzy, we're going back," he says.

"Same goes for you, triple pint," I retort.

"Shitty nickname."

"I know...I tried."

He snorts a bit. We keep walking.

After only a short while, he stops, frowning at something off to our side. I try to look past him but he's already turning us both.

"Look," he murmurs. His grip tightens around me, just a hint.

He leans closer to me, pointing, and I see it. There's something white through the trees, peeking through the green, and we move towards it in silent agreement. We push through the treeline and into an overgrown field, now clearly able to see that the white is the siding of a dilapidated house with a faded red roof. Daryl lets go of me, swinging his crossbow off his shoulder.

"Hey, we're supposed to take it easy," I warn. We're already massively pushing it by being out here.

"Sophia could be in there," he says. I purse my lips and he looks back at the house. "I won't be gone long."

I sigh. "Okay, but only if I can sit down by the front door and keep watch."

He nods. Again, his arm surrounds me and we head to the front doors. There's a rocking chair right out front and he helps me into it. I lean back, pressing my hand to my side as I let out a small cough, and he frowns.

"You good?"

"Starting to ache a bit. I'll be fine."

He nods, hefting his crossbow once more before he kicks open the front doors and disappears inside. I let my smile drop and slump back in the chair, more than relieved to be sitting again. I've been downplaying my pain, I know that, and I can't let Daryl know or else he'll throw me back in bed and I won't leave the farmhouse for days. I'm already restless and that'll just make it worse.

But, again, there's the angel on my shoulder, reminding me that I went through something traumatic and I have to allow myself to heal or I won't be useful to anyone. I tilt my head back, closing my eyes, and I take the deepest breath I can before letting it out slowly.

I'll just rest my eyes. Rest my eyes and forget about the steadily worsening ache in my entire body.

"Hope."

I jolt awake, but it's just Daryl standing in front of me. I look around, disoriented.

"That doesn't look like keeping watch," he comments.

I flush. "Sorry...sorry..."

His eyebrow lifts, but he doesn't say anything else. He reaches out his hand, grasping mine and pulling me back to my feet. The world scissors for a second and I hold on tight, desperate not to collapse. Things slowly straighten out as he speaks.

"We should get back. Found something in there. Found a couple things," he says. "Cupboard with blankets and some open food tins. Shouldn't be too old."

"Sophia?"

"Not enough space for someone else."

My heart lifts. "So she was here? That's great!"

"Yeah. Also..." He holds up two white flowers, both with yellow centres, and he gets a tiny smile on his face. "Cherokee roses. I'm gonna give one to Carol. It'll make the RV look nice for when Sophia comes back."

I want to lean my head on his shoulder and close my eyes, but I nod instead. "I'm sure she'll like it." He nudges me a bit and we start walking, staying close. "Keeping the other one for yourself?"

He stops, studying the roses for a second, then turns to me. He reaches his hand to my face and I lean back a bit, confused.

"Hold still. Trust me," he murmurs.

I do, and he slips the flower into my hair, just behind my ear, twisting strands around the stem. His hands are gentle, skilled from years of setting traps and hunting, and he steps back to admire his work after a second. We lock eyes.

"Think it looks nicer on you," he says.

I hope he can't feel my blush as he steps back to my side.

----------

Hershel is standing on the front porch when we get back, arms crossed over his chest, lips pursed. I feel like I'm in for a scolding, like I'm some delinquent teenager stumbling home from a night of drinking. At least drunkenness doesn't hurt until the next morning.

"What did I say about pushing yourself?" Hershel asks. "Both of you."

I'm about to answer when I trip over my own feet. Daryl catches my weight as it drops, frowning at me, and I bite back a sharp cry of pain. It still comes out as a squeak and a wince. Hershel's eyes narrow.

"Sorry," is all I can say.

"Get her back inside."

Daryl lifts me up and carries me back inside, and I'm honestly too exhausted and sore to fight it, slumping against his chest gratefully. He lays me down in bed and Hershel replaces him at my side. I feel him pinch my arm.

"You're dehydrated," he says. He gives Daryl a stern look. "You're probably no better."

"I'm fine," Daryl mutters.

I can't bring myself to respond, too ashamed to argue because I know he's right. Hershel sighs. He sets up an I.V. bag and inserts the needle into my arm.

"You aren't going anywhere for the rest of the day," Hershel says, pointing at me. "You..." He continues, rounding on Daryl. "You're going to drink water, eat something, and then we'll see about turning you loose again."

Daryl just leans against the wall, arms crossed, jaw clenched. Hershel steps out of the room and, as soon as his footsteps have faded, Daryl's at my side again.

"You lied to me," he says. "I said if you don't feel good, tell me."

I don't meet his eyes. "I didn't want you to worry..." I mumble.

"You got shot, Hope!" he snaps and my hands tighten against the blankets. "What did I tell you? No one expects anything, so don't fuck yourself up 'cause you're worried about being useful or something."

I still don't look at him, my lip trembling. He's right. Hershel was right.

"I...I didn't mean to lie," I say, voice weak. "I really...thought I could handle it." I don't hear a response and when I look back, he's still frowning, arms crossed over his chest. "What about you? You donated so much blood, you can't possibly be fine."

"Feels like I've got a weird hangover. I've had worse," he says. "Worry about yourself for once."

I keep looking at him. He doesn't look at me and he's clearly frustrated enough that I can't help but want to apologize. I want to apologize for pushing to go outside, to go on a walk, for getting shot and forcing him to give me so much of himself, for...

"I'm sorry about the kiss," I blurt, rushing my words a bit. My lip trembles again and I roll onto my other side, my back to him. "I'm sorry for everything I put you through. I...I..."

"Where'd that come from?"

I shrug. God, I can tell that I'm about to cry, and it feels stupid because what is there to cry about? Daryl being mad at me? Hershel being annoyed with me? Because I'm mad at myself? Because holy fuck I'm in so much pain right now, sweet baby Jesus and Mary—

"I shouldn't have done that," I croak. "I...I don't want to hurt you."

I feel him grasp my shoulder and he pulls me onto my back. He keeps his hand there, gently holding me down as he leans over me, eyes roaming over my face. He gets closer, pushing my hair from my forehead, and his lips touch my skin. I can feel the scruff of beard on his chin as he does so. It only lasts a second, but my heart acts like it's the greatest thing that's ever happened to me. For a brief, beautiful second, I forget all about my pain.

"Now we're even," he says when he pulls back. I stare at him, lips parted, and he straightens up. "Rest. You need it."

I nod and he heads out of the room without another word. Somehow, I'm just more confused.