Page 61 of Full Throttle

She was looking at him expectantly, and Dominic raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“You can leave.”

Dominic set down his gym bag. “Funnily enough, leaving inebriated students alone to drown in their own vomit wasn’t in the instructor’s handbook.” Plus, Cap would kill him. They weren’t exactly friends, but he suspected that letting his sister asphyxiate in her dorm room would still be seen as an act of betrayal.

She pursed her lips. “I won’t be sick again.”

Dominic surveyed her. She seemed remarkably sober, but he wasn’t taking any chances. For Cap, he reminded himself, although he couldn’t say that he entirely believed it. He couldn’t deny that he felt…protective, of her, somehow. But perhaps that came with the territory of being her instructor? Yes. That must be it.

“Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll wait five minutes, and then I’ll knock on your door to see if you’re dead.”

“What if I am?”

“Then the paperwork will be a real ball ache.”

Juliette cast her eyes skyward. “God, you’re even grouchier than I thought you’d be,” she muttered, but there wasn’t any heat in her words, and Dominic hid another smile.

She disappeared into the bathroom, and the sound of running water followed. Dominic leaned closer to the corkboard. Pictures swallowed the space: Juliette eating a cupcake and cuddling two small dogs; Juliette standing in front of a theater with her parents; a photo of a young Juliette, Cap, and Baz at the beach, holding out vanilla ice cream cones to the camera…She’d had braces, Dominic realized, although she clearly hadn’t been shy about it. Her teeth were a rainbow array of metal, as if she’d glued Skittles to her teeth, and he bit back a smile. He doubted it had ever occurred to Juliette to be embarrassed by something like braces. She would have been baffled by the very idea of it.

Dominic knelt by his gym bag to fish out some pain meds. He was setting a few tablets on the nightstand with the bottle of water when there was a thud from the shower, and he stilled.

“Marchmont?” Dominic called.

Silence.

His heart sped up. He glanced at his watch; it had only been two minutes, but that had been one hell of a thud. And she had vomited. Twice.

“Juliette?” he repeated.

More silence.

For fuck’s sake.

Dominic burst into the bathroom. He glimpsed messy shelves, a bamboo bathmat, but his attention went to the shower. Juliette was slumped against the tile wall, holding her wrist; red streamed down her arm. Some part of Dominic registered that she was naked, but his eyes were locked on the blood.

“Marchmont?” Dominic seized her wrist, panic gripping him in its fist. “What happened?”

She waved him off. “I’m fine. I slipped, and I grabbed the shower caddy—”

“You’re bleeding.”

“It’s just a scratch.”

“Hold still.”

He couldn’t keep the alarm out of his voice. God, that was a lot of blood. He’d seen dozens of racing injuries, but that was mostly internal. Broken ribs, torqued knees, slipped discs…head wounds bled a lot, didn’t they? But this? A wrist injury? Surely it shouldn’t be this bad. He didn’t realize how hard he was gripping her arm until Juliette closed her fingers lightly around his wrist.

“The water makes it worse,” she murmured. “See?”

She held up her wrist for inspection. It was true, Dominic realized; he could see a shallow cut just under her palm. He looked down at the broken shower caddy, the bottles littering the floor. His heart wouldn’t slow.

“I called your name. You didn’t answer.”

“I couldn’t hear you over the shower,” Juliette said.

Dominic braced a hand against the tile. He was still on edge, although he couldn’t understand why. She’s okay. He forced himself to think the words, again and again. She’s not hurt. She’s okay.

“Hastings,” Juliette said softly. “I’m fine.”