An Optimist's Guide to Heartbreak (Heartsong #1)(34)

My heart did a weird lub-dub thing at the image, pinging with telltale anxiety again, but I shut that down fast. It’s not a big deal, and I’m not jealous.

I’m really not.

I’ve never had a reason to be jealous before, and I certainly don’t have one now. Besides, Jolene is great. She’s laid-back and likable. Fun. It’s no wonder they dated at one time—she looks exactly like the type of girl Cal would go for. Sexy, adventurous, edgy. She probably has a motorcycle. I bet they used to ride their motorcycles together and had long talks under the moon about black picket fences and little biker babies.

It’s fine.

I’m fine.

Well…I’m fine until I’m not fine.

In an instant, I’m blindsided.

I lean too heavily on one side of the ladder and lose my balance. The whole thing tips to the left, toppling from underneath me, and I go down, flailing as I try to find something to grab onto as I’m falling.

Unfortunately, I grab onto a nail jutting out from one of the shoddy shelves.

Since I’m in the midst of plummeting, the nail doesn’t just puncture my hand—it slices it open. It tears through the underside of my palm while I make my seemingly slow-motion descent to the concrete floor.

The pain doesn’t register right away, trumped by shock and adrenaline, as the air whooshes out of me for a split second. Oddly enough, the shooting pain in my tailbone strikes first.

I wince.

I suck in a sharp breath through clenched teeth.

And then…it hits me.

Searing, blinding, awful pain.

Propping myself up with my uninjured hand, I brave a glance at the damage and instantly start freaking out. Panic grips me like a noose.

Blood.

Blood everywhere.

It’s gushing and oozing and dripping down my arm, soiling my sweater and leaving little puddles on the floor.

I scream. “Cal!”

He doesn’t hear me over Sevendust, so I scramble to my feet, holding my hand as far away from me as possible, like it’s clutching a rabid raccoon.

Oh my God, oh my God.

I race out the door, frazzled and stumbling, using all my willpower to keep the tears from pouring out of me. “C-Cal,” I yell again, tipping my chin up until I zero in on him at the far end of the garage.

He straightens when he sees me, momentarily frozen.

Our eyes lock.

I hold my hand up higher, as if he can’t see the gallons of bright red blood trickling down my arm to my elbow, leaving a trail of carnage behind me. “I’m bleeding,” I croak out, feeling like I’m about to have a panic attack.

Cal seems to snap back to reality and tosses his coffee cup to the ground, the remaining contents spilling everywhere. Jolene stares in horror, a hand cupping her mouth.

“Jesus Christ,” Cal says in a strained breath, beelining toward me.

He reaches me in a blink, only three giant strides, and I think he’s going to grab my hand to take a closer look at the injury, but he doesn’t.

Before I can inhale another breath, one arm dips beneath my knees while the other cradles my back. He lifts me in the air and pulls me to him, whispering, “Fuck, sunshine, I got you.”

My heart stutters.

His words manage to eclipse the excruciating pain and blood loss, and that’s what has the tears streaming down my face. Maybe it’s a combination of everything, but maybe it’s his words.

Maybe it’s the way he just called me “sunshine” while whisking me away to the break room at lightning speed, holding onto me like a treasure.

I latch onto the back of his neck for steadiness as I continue to hold my injured hand at arm’s length, watching with dread as the blood continues to spill out in rivulets of crimson.

“Breathe, okay? I got you,” he echoes as we enter the break room.

Cal deposits me on one of the tables, pushing his way between my knees and snatching up my wrist. My breath catches when he reaches behind his back with his free hand and pulls his t-shirt over his head, quickly wrapping the fabric around my palm and holding tight.

I feel lightheaded. Dizzy. Queasy.

Safe.

I feel safe right now with Cal between my legs, putting pressure on my wound with the shirt off his back, his eyes full of brazen concern.

“Breathe, Lucy.”

He repeats it again.

We stay in this position for a few heartbeats. Cal’s face is so wrought with worry, I forget which one of us is in peril. He holds my hand with both of his, his grip firm and secure, and my breaths finally begin to steady before hysteria sinks me.

“Fuck, let me grab the first aid kit.” He dips his forehead to mine for the tiniest moment, then moves back. “Hold this tight. Don’t take any pressure off of it.”

I nod, my eyes fluttering closed, then opening slowly.

My gaze lands on his bare chest, only inches away from me. There’s a silver chain around his neck, a pendant dangling from it—it’s a heart woven into a treble clef.

Before I can study it further, Cal is already gone, crossing the room behind me. I hear cabinets clapping open and shut as he searches for the kit, and I inhale a rickety breath while I clutch my cotton-sheathed hand.

I vaguely notice Jolene standing in the doorway, looking frazzled, asking if I’m okay, but I’m too woozy to respond.

I close my eyes again.