Savior

Fifteen: Mia

He passed out the second the words left his lips, not even giving me time to respond. Not that I had a response. I was definitely stunned silent.

It wasn't that I didn't care about Wes. It wasn't that I wasn't fully invested in seeing where this was going. But... love? Love was a big word. Love was a big word I didn't necessarily trust. It had nothing to do with Wes. It was the word itself. Everyone in my life (except Jazz), up until this point, that had said that word to me, had made me question what love was, if love even existed. Or maybe more if the version in all the fairy tales and Disney movies really existed. In my experience, it didn't. I spent a lot of time wanting it to, but it didn't. Though, if there was one person that could make me believe it was even moderately possible, that person was Weston Price.

I didn't think about it long, however, because Wes seemed to forget he even said it. Either that or he was so hyped up on pain meds, he didn't REMEMBER saying it. But it didn't matter. I wasn't ready to deal with that level of emotion anyway, so I just shoved it down in the depths of my brain.

I brought Wes home from the hospital around ten the next morning. He tried to tell me that he wanted to go out, have another date day, but I forced him to go back to the hotel so he could rest. He'd just been hit in the skull with solid iron. I wasn't about to take him out on some nature adventure and have him drop dead or something, even though both he and the doctors assure me that wasn't even a possibility. He fought me a bit, but as soon as he touched the giant, pillow-like mattress in our room, he fell straight to sleep, softly snoring and sighing like he had never been more comfortable. The doctor's said his concussion was surprisingly mild, so since he was woken up every couple of hours the night before, I took my laptop onto the balcony and just let him sleep.

Early that afternoon, a loud knocking erupted from the front door. I practically flew out of my chair, trying to get there before it woke my slumbering quarterback and as I threw it open, I instantaneously rolled my eyes.

"Mother, what do you want?" I asked with a sigh.

"What do I want?" she snapped back. "What do I WANT!?"

"That's what I said..."

"Mia, seriously..."

"Look," I interrupted, sharply, "if you have something you feel you need to lecture me about, fine. But keep your voice down. Wes is resting."

"I don't give a shit about Weston Price's nap..."

"Then you can leave."

Her eyes almost bulged out of her head. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," I retorted. "He just got out of the hospital. Tate hit him in the head with a fucking GOLF CLUB. You're not going to come in here and disrupt his rest. I won't allow it."

"Young lady, you do you think you're talking to?"

"You, Mother, that's who I'm talking to. Now shall we take this in the hallway or are you going to be respectful?"

My mother crossed her arms over her chest, pressing her latest boob upgrade even more toward her chin. "I will not be having a conversation with my daughter in a public hallway."

"Then you may join me on the balcony and keep you will keep your voice down."

She huffed, but gave in, allowing me to shut the door and following me out onto the balcony. I sank back into my seat and lifted my mug of tea. "So, what can I do for you? Or... what have I already done that you don't agree with?"

She tapped the toe of her Louboutin slingback impatiently on the tile. "What can you do for me? Mia Catherine, Tate O'Connor is in JAIL..."

"Exactly where he should be."