Page 98 of Heal Me, Love Me

Basically, everything I did on a regular basis.

I stepped into the waiting room with my release papers in my left hand, my right arm strapped to my body, and the feeling that if one more person told me I was lucky because it could have been a lot worse, I was going to lose my shit.

Mason was still sitting in the chair he’d claimed by the window. He looked up from his phone and immediately stood when he saw me. “Don’t be mad.”

I narrowed my eyes because if those were his first words to me, we both knew I was likely to be pissed. “What did you do?”

He looked away. “I texted Rowan.”

Of course, he fucking did.

“Mason,” I groaned and headed for the sliding glass doors.

“Before you yell at me,” he said quickly, falling into step beside me as I headed outside, “I only told him you got hurt and that either you or I would update him soon.”

“You had no business?—”

“You know, the MMA world is small,” he cut in. “Half the gym saw your shoulder give out, and they were all talking about it as we left for the hospital.”

I picked up the pace as we walked across the hospital grounds. Enzo had driven me in my car to the hospital before eventually heading back to Titan with Derek, leaving Mason in charge of getting me home.

“Wouldn’t you rather Rowan hear it from us than from someone else? For all we know, Coach Luis or Devon gave him a heads-up.”

Doubtful.

I couldn’t really be angry at Mason. He hadn’t done anything wrong, and I was going to have to tell Rowan at some point anyway. Still, I didn’t respond to Mason’s words as we reached the parking garage.

When we got to my car, he instinctively went for the passenger-side door, but I stopped behind him.

A few seconds passed before he looked at me. “Aren’t you going to get in?”

“Not in the driver’s seat.”

His brow furrowed, then realization crossed his face. “Oh. Right.”

I held the keys out toward him, then pulled them back just as quickly. “Wait. Do you actually know how to drive?”

He leveled me with a glare. “Yes, I know how to drive.”

“That answer sounded oddly defensive.”

“Because you asked it weirdly.”

“Mason?” I kept holding onto the keys instead of handing them to him.

“Oh my God,” he muttered. “I have a license. Do you want to see it?”

I snorted and finally handed him the keys. “Fine.”

Getting into the passenger seat one-handed was difficult. Buckling myself in was even worse. By the time I managed it, my shoulder ached again, and my patience was wearing thin.

Mason slid behind the wheel and began adjusting the seat and mirrors.

“Are you going through a preflight checklist?” I asked.

“I haven’t driven your car before.”

“It’s just a car, not a fighter jet.”