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of the week.
     
     
     

Chapter 6
    Jonas  
     
    The cop exits as I walk into Sarah’s hospital room. I’m shaking like a leaf. Will she even be able to look me in the eye? Or will she want nothing to do with me?
    I stop just inside the door to her room, barely able to breathe. She looks impossibly small. She’s got a bandage around her head like she’s a Civil War soldier and another one around her neck. She’s wearing a hospital gown, but I’m sure she’s bandaged under there, too. Oh God, she’s pale—though, thankfully, not nearly as pale as she was on the floor of that bathroom. I never want to think about how she looked on the floor of that bathroom again. I bite my lip to suppress a sudden surge of emotion.
    Her bracelet’s gone. They must have cut it off her. For a moment, the symbolism of her naked wrist threatens to make me lose it, but I stay strong. I’m a fucking beast now. I’m not weak like I used to be.
    “Go Seahawks,” she says softly. Her voice is gravelly.
    I’m confused.
    “Interesting time to show your Seahawks pride.”
    I look down. Oh yeah, my new T-shirt. This woman is bandaged and bruised and literally just escaped death, and she’s still got enough gas in the tank to kick my ass. God, I love her. I laugh and cry at the same time and lurch to her bedside. I hug her gingerly, not wanting to break her.
    I’ve never been on the other side of a bloody floor before. Usually, a red-soaked floor simultaneously marks the end of one person’s life and my sanity. I don’t even know how I’m supposed to react if the story of a bloody floor doesn’t have the usual ending.
    “I’m so sorry, Sarah,” I say, softly kissing her precious lips. “I’m so sorry, baby.”
    “ I’m sorry,” she mumbles into my lips.
    I kiss her again. “You have nothing to be sorry for, you big dummy.”
    “Jonas,” she says.
    “I thought I’d lost you,” I say, kissing every inch of her face. “Oh my God, baby. I thought I’d lost you.”
    “Jonas,” she says, almost inaudibly.
    “This is all my fault. I’m so, so sorry. I fucked up so bad.”
    “You saved my life,” she whispers.
    I have no idea what the fuck she’s talking about.
    “You saved my life, ” she says again. Her voice is the faintest of whispers.
    What? I’m the one who let her go into that bathroom by herself. What the hell is she saying? I have a thousand questions—but before I can ask a single one, Sarah’s mom bursts into the room, sobbing and wailing and hijacking Sarah into a sudden whirlwind of rapid-fire Spanish and hysterical tears.
    “In English, Mom,” Sarah whispers. “Jonas is here.”
    I understand Spanish fairly well, actually, but Mrs. Cruz talks so fast, I can’t understand a word she says.
    “Jonas,” Mrs. Cruz says, hugging me fiercely.
    I’m so ashamed I allowed harm to come to Mrs. Cruz’s daughter, I can’t even look her in the eye.
    “Sarah has told me so much about you, Jonas.” Mrs. Cruz touches my cheek. “Thank you so much for your donation. It was delivered this morning—ten times the biggest donation we’ve ever had. I tried calling Sarah to get your number to thank you, but she didn’t answer her phone—” Mrs. Cruz looks at Sarah and bursts into tears.
    Sarah squints at me—this is the first she’s hearing about my donation to her mom’s charity.
    Mrs. Cruz hunches over Sarah, bawling her eyes out. “ Qué pasó, mi hijita ?”
    “English, Mom,” Sarah says softly. “Some guy attacked me with a knife in the bathroom at school.”
    Mrs. Cruz lets out a pained sob. “Who? Why?”
    “I didn’t know him. He just wanted what was in my purse. I gave the police a description of the guy—I’m sure they’ll catch him. Don’t worry.”
    So, this is the version of events Sarah told the police? What on earth is going on inside that head of hers? I glare at Sarah and she looks away.
    “I’m staying here with you all night,” Mrs. Cruz says. She pulls up a chair right