Injured Love - It Started With An Injury

Chapter 15 - The Fall (Continuation 2)

Principal’s Office

Later, back at school, Kendra sat in a chair in front of Principal Garrison’s desk, both arms now encased in solid white casts. They felt heavy, foreign, like someone had strapped weights to her.

Sofia sat to her left. One of the teachers stood near the door. The office smelled like cedar and something faintly wild.

Dominic stood off to the side, close to the window.

He hadn’t tried to talk to her since the fall. He hadn’t come into her hospital room. He hadn’t ridden back with them.

But he was here now, posture stiff, hands clenched at his sides. He looked like he hadn’t taken a full breath since she’d gone down.

Mr. Garrison’s eyes moved from Kendra’s casts to his son.

“This should never have happened,” he said quietly.

Kendra lifted her chin. “I’m fine,” she started, the lie automatic.

Mr. Garrison gave her a look that said he’d been principal long enough to recognize bravado when he heard it.

“My son’s carelessness puts you in danger,” he continued. “And has left you injured, far from home, without the full use of your hands. For that, Miss Atchinson, this school—and my family—owe you more than a simple apology.”

Dominic’s jaw clenched.

Kendra’s instinct was to say she didn’t want anything from them.

She swallowed the words.

Because right now, if someone wanted to hand her a magic fix, she’d take it.

“What exactly happened?” Mr. Garrison asked, even though she suspected he already knew.

Kendra dragged in a breath.

“He tried to talk to me,” she said. “I said no. I walked away. He didn’t like that answer, so he grabbed my hand. I turned. I slipped. I fell. My wrists lost the fight with the stairs.”

She kept her voice flat, factual. No drama. Just the bones of it—literally.

Mr. Garrison’s gaze sharpened as it turned to Dominic.

“Is that accurate?” he asked.

Dominic’s throat worked. “Yes,” he said hoarsely. “I was trying to stop her. I didn’t think she’d—”

He cut himself off.

The excuse sounded pathetic even to his own ears.

“You didn’t think,” his father finished for him. “Again.”

Dominic lowered his eyes.

The office was quiet for a moment.

Out in the hallway, muffled voices drifted past. A phone rang faintly in another room. Kendra’s casts itched under the skin.

“Miss Atchinson,” Mr. Garrison said at last, “you are part of an exchange program that this school fought hard to be included in. You are also, as my son pointed out in less kind words, a guest in this country. I take very seriously the idea that any student—especially an invited one—feels unsafe here.”

Kendra blinked.

She hadn’t expected that word: unsafe.

She hadn’t let herself think about it, even though it fit.

“I cannot undo what happened to your wrists,” he went on. “But I can ensure that the rest of your time here is not made worse by this incident.”

He folded his hands on the desk.

“So here is what will happen.”

Both she and Dominic tensed.

“Until your cast is removed,” Mr. Garrison said, “Dominic will be personally responsible for assisting you around school.”

Kendra stared at him.

“I’m sorry, what?” she said.

Dominic’s head jerked up. “Dad—”

Mr. Garrison held up a hand.

“You cannot carry your bag,” he continued, ignoring the interruption. “You will struggle to open doors, to handle books, to go through the lunch line. You will need help. Considering whose actions led to your current condition, I consider it only fair that the person providing that help be my son.”

Kendra’s cheeks burned.

“I don’t need—” she started.

“Yes, you do,” he said, not unkindly. “Needing help does not make you weak, Miss Atchinson. It makes you human. And my son will learn that his strength means nothing if he uses it carelessly.”

He turned to Dominic fully.

“You will walk her to and from every class,” he said. “You will carry her books and bag. You will help her get lunch. You will ensure she gets safely to her transportation at the end of each day.”

He paused.

“And if she allows it, you may offer help before and after school as well.”

Kendra’s ears rang.

Her whole body felt too hot and too cold at once.

She wanted to shout. To tell them both to go to hell. To say she’d rather drag herself across the floor with her teeth than rely on Dominic Garrison for anything.

But then she thought about trying to carry her backpack with two broken wrists. Trying to push open a heavy classroom door. Trying to balance a lunch tray.

Her pride fought her reality.

Reality won. Barely.

“How long?” she managed, voice tight. “The doctor said six to eight weeks.”

Mr. Garrison nodded. “Then consider it six to eight weeks of service,” he said. “From Dominic to you.”

He looked at his son. “Is that understood?”

Dominic swallowed.

“Yes, sir,” he said quietly.

“Is that acceptable to you, Miss Atchinson?” Mr. Garrison asked, turning back to her. “If you would prefer we assign someone else, we can discuss that. But my recommendation stands.”

She glanced at Dominic.

His face was pale. His eyes were darker than she’d ever seen them, full of something she didn’t want to name. Guilt. Fear. Something else.

She thought of his hand around her wrist in the cafeteria. The weird, humming feeling that had shot through her. The way he’d looked at her afterward.

She thought of the c***k of her bones on the stairs.

“Fine,” she said at last, the word tasting like broken glass. “If he broke it, he can carry it.”

For the first time, the corner of Mr. Garrison’s mouth twitched.

“Very well,” he said. “We’ll inform your teachers. Dominic, you’ll start tomorrow.”

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, she’d show up to school and Dominic Garrison would be there, waiting to carry her bag, walk her to class, and watch her struggle with every simple thing she used to do without thinking.

The idea made her want to scream.

It also made a strange, unwanted thread of relief curl in her chest.

Because as much as she hated it—hated him—she hated feeling helpless more.

The meeting ended.

Sofia guided her up out of the chair gently. Kendra pushed herself up with her elbows, clumsy and stiff. She could feel Dominic’s

Gaze on her as she straightened.

She didn’t look at him.

Not until she reached the door.

Then, without thinking, she turned her head just enough to meet his eyes.

For a moment, everything in the room narrowed to that single line between them.

He looked wrecked.

Good, she thought.

Out loud, she said nothing.

She walked out, cast heavy, chin up.

If he thought carrying her books and opening her doors for a few weeks would magically fix what he’d broken?

He had no idea how hard it was going to be to earn back what really mattered.

Her trust.