Tate blinked, her eyelids heavy as she tried to open them. Her head throbbed and when she attempted to sit up halfway, a steady hand reached out to stop her.
"Tate."
Her name again.
"Tate, are you okay?"
Her vision sharpened just enough to make out Damien crouched beside her, his brows knit in concern.
She looked around, confused. "What… what happened?" she asked, pressing a hand to her pounding forehead.
"You were hit by a ball," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "You passed out."
"I passed out?" she echoed, blinking. "I didn't even see the ball. Where did it come from?"
Damien pointed toward a group of panicked-looking students near the field. "From there."
"You okay now?" he asked.
Tate shot him a look. "What do you think?"
She tried to stand fully, but dizziness washed over her, making her sway. Her head was spinning, and honestly, she still couldn't believe she had actually passed out. That had never happened before.
Damien quickly grabbed her arm to steady her. "You should see the nurse."
"I don't think that's necessary," Tate mumbled, shaking her head slightly. She hated anything medical-related. The thought of even stepping into the nurse's office made her stomach twist.
"I wasn't asking," Damien said flatly.
Before she could fire back with a snarky response, he scooped her up—bridal style.
"Damien!" she started to protest, but her voice faltered as she realized how close they were. Her cheek brushed against his shoulder, and she noticed how warm his skin felt. People were staring, but right now, she didn't care. Her head was still pounding.
When they got to the nurse's office, Damien gently set her down on the small bed. He talked to the nurse, explaining what had happened, and soon she was handed two Tylenol tablets and a cup of water She was told she had a mild concussion and told to rest in the nurses office till the day ended
Tate leaned back and closed her eyes after taking the Tylenol. Her head was still pounding, but the worst of it had dulled. She heard Damien's voice somewhere nearby.
"How do you feel now?" he asked quietly.
She decided to ignore him, pretending to be asleep.
"I know you're not sleeping," he added after a moment. "Can I get you anything to make you feel better?"
"I'm fine, Damien," she mumbled, eyes still closed.
"Class has started, so I have to go," he said. "I'll tell Mr. Matthews and Martha what happened."
"Okay," she said.
But just as he was about to leave, she blurted out, "Do you still like Martha?"
There was a pause. "Yes…" he said slowly.
"You should take her on a date," she said, still not opening her eyes. "A picnic date. She'd like that."
Damien was quiet again, clearly confused. "Okay," he said finally. "Try to get some rest." And then he left.
Tate drifted off to sleep.
When she woke up, the light outside was softer, and the pounding in her head had dulled to a steady throb. She turned slightly and noticed Martha sitting in a chair nearby, scrolling through her phone.
When did she get here?
Tate shifted a little and said, "Martha?"
Martha jumped up the second she heard her name. "Tate! Are you okay? Do you need water?"
"I'd like that, thank you," Tate said, voice raspy.
"How are you feeling now?" Martha asked, handing her a bottle of water.
"My head still hurts, but I'm feeling better."
"Thank God," Martha sighed. "When Damien told me what happened, I was so scared. I came back to the cafeteria after going to Mr. Matthews's office and couldn't find you. Then I heard what happened—I couldn't believe it. You actually passed out."
Tate winced. "Calm down, Martha. I'm okay. I just need to sleep it off, and I'll be fine by tomorrow."
"About that…" Martha hesitated. "The nurse wrote a note for you to go home when you woke up. She also said if you don't feel better, you should go to the hospital."
"I thought she said it was a mild concussion?"
"It is," Martha replied, "but that's still serious, Tate. You got hit pretty hard. You should rest at home till the end of the week."
Tate sighed. "I'll call my mom."
"I already told her I would," Martha said, reaching for Tate's phone. "Let me do it."
As Martha stepped aside to make the call, Tate leaned her head back again, letting her thoughts wander.
Damien had carried her. In his arms. She still couldn't wrap her head around it.
Martha's voice pulled her back. "She's on her way. Please take the week off, Tate. You need the rest."
"What about the project?" Tate asked. "We have to start working on it."
"We already had a meeting," Martha said. "About an hour ago. We all agreed to meet at Damien's house this Saturday to talk more about it."
Tate blinked. "Damien's house? Why?"
"He volunteered. Said it'd be more convenient, and a good environment to think and work. We picked Saturday so you'd have time to rest properly. The idea was actually his."
Tate groaned internally. Her plan to stay away from Damien just kept falling apart. First the group project. Then the ball incident. Now she had to spend an entire day in his house? Out of all places why did it have to be his house