Hayes rushes over to me, wisps of concern falling over his face. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” he asks, his tone toeing between concern and regret—regret for letting this happen to me. It’s not his fault, though. But I know he’s going to blame himself. “I’m okay,” I breathe, nodding. No, the situation wasn’t ideal, but it could’ve ended a lot worse. I’m glad Hayes got here when he did. He gingerly ushers me toward the exit, his soft touch making my heart glug along like an old-timey oil machine. It’s the kind of touch that silently says, I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. “Let’s go home.”
