Zoe's POV
The ride home felt surreal. I barely remembered how we made it from the school clinic to Brandon's truck because I was too busy watching him—watching the way he moved, watching the way he didn't hesitate. He didn't care about the whispers or the eyes following us through the hallway. He didn't mind that people would talk. His jaw was set, and his expression was focused—protective.
When we reached his truck, he opened the passenger door and looked at me like I weighed nothing. "Arms," he said softly. I wrapped them around his neck. He bent slightly, one arm sliding carefully beneath my back, the other supporting both my legs—especially the injured one wrapped in a thick white bandage. He adjusted me gently against his chest before lowering me onto the passenger seat. Even that process felt intimate.
