The One (The Selection, #3)(30)

If he knew that the love I’d spoken about and the love Aspen just shared were the same one, I was sure it would crush him.

“Write her soon,” Maxon advised. “Don’t let her forget.”

“What’s taking them so long?” Aspen muttered, and left the room, not bothering to acknowledge Maxon’s words.

Maxon watched him go and turned back to face me. “I’m so useless. I have no idea how to help you, so I thought I’d at least try to help him. He saved both our lives tonight.” Maxon shook his head. “Seems I only upset him.”

“Everyone’s just worried. You’re doing fine,” I assured him.

He gave an exasperated laugh, coming to kneel by the bed. “You’re lying there with a seeping gash on your arm, and you’re trying to comfort me. You’re absurd.”

“If you ever decide to write me a love letter, I’d lead with that,” I joked.

He smiled. “Can’t I do anything for you?”

“Hold my hand? Not too hard though.”

Maxon placed his fingers in the loose grip of my palm, and even though it didn’t change anything, it was nice to feel him there.

“I probably won’t. Write you a love letter, that is. I try to stave off embarrassment as often as possible.”

“You can’t plan wars, don’t know how to cook, and refuse to write love letters,” I teased.

“That’s correct. My list of faults is ever growing.” He wiggled his fingers in my hand, and I was so grateful for the distraction.

“That’s fine. I’ll continue to guess at your feelings since you refuse to write me a note. With a purple pen. All the i’s dotted with hearts.”

“Which is exactly how I would do it,” he said in mock seriousness. I giggled but stopped quickly when the movement reignited the burning. “I don’t think you have to guess at my feelings though.”

“Well,” I started, finding it harder and harder to breathe, “it’s not like you’ve ever said it out loud.”

Maxon opened his mouth to object and silenced himself. His eyes gazed toward the ceiling as he thought through our history, trying to pinpoint the moment when he’d told me he loved me.

In the safe room, it was suggested in every way. He’d let the feeling slip into a dozen romantic gestures or indicated it was there by dancing around the words . . . but the actual statement had never come. Not between us. I would have remembered, and I would have made them my reason never to question him, my reason to confess what I was feeling, too.

“My lady?” Anne said, her voice making its way through the door a moment before her worried face.

Maxon stepped back, letting go of my hand as he made space for her.

Anne’s focused eyes took in the wound, and she touched it gingerly as she inspected how bad it was.

“You’ll need stitches. I’m not sure we have anything that will completely numb you,” she assessed.

“It’s okay. Just do your best,” I said. I felt calmer with her there.

She nodded. “Someone get some boiling water. We should have antiseptic in the kit, but I want water, too.”

“I’ll get it.” By the door, Marlee was standing, her face lined with worry.

“Marlee,” I whimpered, losing control. I put the Mallory thing together. Of course she and Carter couldn’t go by their real names while they were hiding right under the king’s nose.

“I’ll be right back, America. Hold tight.” She scurried away, but I felt a great relief knowing she would be with me.

Anne absorbed the shock of Marlee’s presence in stride, and I watched as she pulled out a needle and thread from the medical kit. I took comfort in the fact that she sewed almost all my clothes. My arm shouldn’t be a problem.

With incredible speed, Marlee was back with a pitcher of steaming water, an armful of towels, and a bottle of amber liquid. She set the pitcher and towels on top of the dresser, unscrewing the bottle as she came over.

“For the pain.” She lifted my head so I could drink, and I obeyed.

The stuff in the bottle was a new kind of burning, and I coughed my way through swallowing it. She urged me to take another sip, and I did, hating it the whole time.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” I whispered.

“I’m always here for you, America. You know that.” She smiled; and for the first time in our friendship, she seemed older than me, so calm and sure. “What in the world were you doing?”

I made a face. “It seemed like a good idea.”

Her eyes became sympathetic. “America, you are full of nothing but bad ideas. Great intentions but awful ideas.”

She was right, of course, and I should have known better by now. But having her here, even to tell me how dumb I’d been, made the whole thing less awful.

“How soundproof are these walls?” Anne asked.

“Pretty good,” Aspen said. “Don’t hear too much this deep in the palace.”

“Good,” she said. “Okay, I need everyone in the hall. Miss Marlee, I’m going to need some space, but you can stay.”

Marlee nodded. “I’ll keep out of your way, Anne.”

Avery left first, with Aspen trailing close behind him, and Maxon was last. The look in his eyes reminded me of the day I’d told him I’d gone hungry before: sad to know about it and devastated that he couldn’t undo it.