Chapter 8: Her Hand in His Hair

Nico knocked on the garage-room door a little after midnight.

I opened it with the chain on.

He stood at the bottom of the stairs with a duffel on one shoulder and a split lip.

"One of the guards walked me to the parking lot," he said. "To say goodbye."

"Come up," I said.

I took the chain off.

He sat on the edge of my desk chair while I found the first-aid kit under the sink.

His knuckles were scraped, and the cut on his lip had bled into his collar.

"Did you hit him back?" I asked.

"Twice," Nico said. "I'm not proud of it."

"You're a little proud of it."

"A little."

I wet a cotton pad with antiseptic and stood in front of him.

"This will sting," I said.

"I know what antiseptic does."

I touched the pad to his lip.

He didn't flinch.

His eyes stayed on my face while I worked, and his breathing slowed.

I had never been this close to him in a lit room.

His mouth was warm under my thumb.

I took my time cleaning a cut that didn't need it, and he let me.

When I finished, my hand was still on his jaw.

Neither of us moved it.

His glass of water sat on the desk, and I saw his fingers close around it and tremble.

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