He shoots me a glare that’s plenty sharp despite how badly he’s exhausted himself. “I’mfine.”
Sure, he is. Just like he was fine all the days he collapsed at the side of the track in the training room, hair and clothes drenched with sweat, chest stuttering with strained breaths.
Back there, the guardians hauled him off and forced hydration into him—and whatever else he needed. Here, it’s only me.
But he didn’t think about that before he drove his body past every conceivable limit again, did he?
The moment the flash of resentment passes through me, shame burns it up. I know why he punishes himself like this—and what he’s running away from while he does.
As if any part of it is his fault. The only person here who could possibly have saved Griffin is me.
And I didn’t. I didn’t even get close enough to try.
So I hook Jacob’s arm around my neck, ignoring the pinch at the back of my shoulders, and support him on his stumbling feet into the living room. The other guys are somewhere else in the house, which is probably for the best.
Jacob has set himself up as de facto leader of our troop. It wouldn’t be good for morale if they saw him half-dead.
Jacob grunts with annoyance, but he lets me lower him onto the sofa. “I just need some water,” he grumbles.
I pour him a glass and sit next to him as he gulps it. He hasn’t actually burned outallof his strength like he has in the past, but from the way he’s set his legs, that one calf is still bothering him.
“You sprained something,” I say.
He waves me off with an uncomfortably weak gesture. “It’s not a big deal.”
It will be if the guardians track us down here. If he’s torn the muscle, it could take weeks to fully heal.
If we leave it to mend itself naturally.
There isn’t a question in my mind about whether I’ll do this—I can, and Jake needs me, so that’s all there is to it. But there’s nothing alive in the room around us.
I think about the marigolds outside. Picture snapping a couple of their stalks, and wince inwardly.
No, I can do this one all by myself.
As I bend over to set my hand against Jacob’s lower leg, he sets down his glass. “Dom, youreallydon’t need to—”
“I do,” I interrupt in as firm a voice as I’d ever use with him. “If you don’t want me needing to heal you, then don’t go breaking your body.”
I’m ashamed all over again at the trace of resentment that creeps into my tone, but Jake simply lets out a resigned sigh, accepting the criticism. And then, as I will a little of the energy inside me through his pantleg into his flesh, he says in a low voice, “I’m sorry.”
I find a real smile somewhere inside myself. Even with the frustrations bubbling under the surface, Iamglad I can help him this way.
“Don’t worry about it. Like you said, no big deal.”
Through the pressure of my hand, I sense the muscle and the fibers of tissue that’ve frayed. Closing my eyes, I will them to bind back together, to smooth out and strengthen.
My power flows out of me in a stream of warmth—and tugs at my gut at the same time. A prickling sensation ripples through my own limbs, little nips of discomfort here and there, spread out over my entire frame.
No big deal.
“Okay,” Jacob says after several seconds. “It’s good enough now. You don’t need to do more.”
The concern that leaks into his voice makes my gut twist in a different way.
Does he have any idea how much I worry abouthim? Every time he wears himself to the bone like this, he’s risking toppling over some edge he can’t come back from.
And I’m not totally sure he isn’t looking forward to the day when that happens.