Page 170 of The Incredible Ordinary

Jordan looks at me and then down at his body.

He frowns. “What the?—”

Dallas makes a grab for the gun. I slam my heel down on his wrist, and he lets out a loud shout of pain.

Jordan is pulling his jacket to the side.

The doors at the back of the room fly open. Shouts ring out.

“Hands where I can see them!”

“Hands in the air!”

Over and over again. I raise my arms. Somebody slams into me from the side, and I have a whole second of the words “Oh shit” playing on a loop in my mind before my head smashes into the concrete.

MILÁN

I makea face while the paramedic prods the back of my head where I split it open, courtesy of the idiot in a uniform who tackled me to the floor in his overeager attempt to disarm me.

“I will sue the fuck out of everybody,” I mutter.

“Excuse me?” the paramedic says.

“He doesn’t mean you. It’s just a temper tantrum.”

I throw Jordan a sour look, and he smiles at me. I’m not sure how he can be so chill after being shot.

“It’s just a scrape,” he says, reading my mind.

“The fucker shot you.”

Jordan shrugs. “If it’s any consolation, I’m not happy about it either.” He looks down where there’s a white bandage wrapped around his right forearm, right above his elbow.

It’s a scrape. A flesh wound. Barely that. It doesn’t even need stitches. But it doesn’t make the urge to kill Dallas with my bare hands lessen at all.

Once again, my hands curl into fists, and my whole body tenses.

“I’m okay,” Jordan says. He’s been repeating it for the last twenty minutes, but I’m having a hard time believing him, evenif he looks decidedly cool, calm, and collected, like this is just another day.

“Just breathe,” Jordan says.

I stretch my neck from side to side. It hurts my head.

“I’m okay,” he says.

I shake my head. “I’m not.”

I thought it would be difficult to admit it, but it turns out it’s not. I want to lean on him. I want him to lean on me. I want to be a team. A family. I want to choose him and for him to choose me. I want shared routines, traditions, quiet moments, and loud happiness. I want trust that shows up when things get hard. I want a future that feels steadier because we’re in it together. I want love that’s active. Showing up. Staying. Trying.

I turn my body toward him. Face him.

“Jordan, I?—”

He raises his arm and covers my mouth, shaking his head.

“No. I need to say something first, okay?”

I nod.