Third-Person Limited – Kendra, then Dominic, then Kendra
The next morning, Kendra learned exactly how much she'd taken her hands for granted.
Brushing her teeth was a war.
She couldn't twist the cap off the toothpaste. Couldn't hold the brush properly. Couldn't even rinse her mouth without splashing water down her shirt.
"I hate this," she muttered at the mirror, foam threatening to drip down her chin.
"Hold still," Sofia said gently, leaning in to help tilt the cup for her. "You'll drown yourself in Colgate."
Kendra spat, rinsed, and glared at her own reflection.
The cast felt heavier this morning. Thick white shells from just below her elbows to her palms, her fingers sticking out of the ends like someone had glued plastic cutlery to a mannequin.
Simple things mocked her.
She couldn't tie her hair.
She couldn't close buttons.
She couldn't fasten her bra.
"Okay, arms up," Sofia said, standing behind her with a T-shirt.
"This is degrading," Kendra said, lifting her arms with effort.
"This is temporary," Sofia corrected, slipping the shirt over her head and carefully threading her casts through the sleeves. "There's a difference."
"Tell that to my dignity," Kendra said.
Downstairs, she could hear the girls talking, bowls clinking.
"Hey!" Erica shouted up the stairs. "You need help with pants or you good?"
"I'm not letting you anywhere near my pants!" Kendra yelled back.
"That's a yes!" Erica said cheerfully.
Sofia snorted. "She's joking," she said. Then, quieter, "Mostly."
In the end, it took both Sofia and Jennie to get her fully dressed without ripping anything or dropping her. Pulling on jeans one hip at a time, working around the cast, felt like a circus act.
By the time she was sitting on the edge of her bed putting on her shoes, Kendra's patience had worn thin.
She tried to hook the back of her sneaker with one toe and shove her foot in without untying it. The cast bumped into the side of her leg, sending a jolt of pain up her wrist.
She hissed.
"Let me," Jennie said softly, kneeling in front of her.
Kendra clenched her jaw and forced herself not to yank her foot away.
Jennie loosened the laces, slid Kendra's foot in, and retied them neatly.
"You don't have to do this," Kendra said, voice low.
"I know," Jennie said. "That's why it counts."
Kendra swallowed around the lump in her throat.
This was going to be her life for the next two months.
Being helped.
Being pitied.
Being watched.
And on top of all that, she was stuck with him.
"Principal Garrison emailed last night," Sofia said when they were all finally downstairs, shoving the last items into bags. "About the… arrangement."
Kendra rolled her eyes. "Don't call it that. Sounds like we're in some romance novel where we fake date for tax reasons."
"I wish this was about taxes," Sofia said dryly. "He's serious, Kendra. Dominic's supposed to meet you at the front when you get to school. And at each class. And at the end of the day."
"Yippee," Kendra deadpanned.
"If he does anything you don't like, you tell me," Sofia added quickly. "Or the principal. Or literally any adult. Just because he's supposed to help doesn't mean he gets to control you."
"Tell him," Kendra muttered. "He's the one who doesn't understand the word 'no.'"
They flew out of the car.
It took three tries to get Kendra's seatbelt buckled.
By the time they pulled into the school lot, Kendra wanted to go home, crawl back into bed, and pretend the last twenty-four hours had been a fever dream.
No such luck.
The building loomed, indifferent.
Students milled around the entrance. Some looked over curiously. Word had clearly spread already. A few faces shifted from bored to sympathetic when they saw the cast. Others lingered on shocked.
One boy elbowed his friend and said, "Bro, that's the girl who fell—"
Kendra shot him a look that made his words die in his throat.
"Remember," Sofia murmured in the front seat, "you can text me if you need anything. I can always ask to leave class early."
"Yes, Mom," Kendra said playfully, even though her stomach churned.
They got out.
The girls flanked her automatically—one on each side, one behind, like a moving shield.
That helped.
A little.
She made it as far as the front steps before seeing him.
Dominic stood near the main door, backpack slung over one shoulder, hands in his pockets. His group of friends lingered a few feet behind him, like a shadow.
He was watching the parking lot.
Watching her.
"You have got to be kidding me," Kendra muttered.
"There's your… escort," Jeah said under her breath.
"Don't call him that," Kendra hissed. "I'll walk myself."
"You sure?" Jennie asked.
"Positive," Kendra lied.
Her arms were already aching.
The closer they got, the more she could see the details: the tight set of his jaw, the shadows under his eyes, the way his gaze flicked to her cast like they were knives.
Her steps slowed.
"You don't have to carry this," she said to the girls quietly. "Let me deal with it."
"You don't have to deal with it alone," Erica said.
"I know," Kendra said. "But this part? Yeah. I kind of do."
Reluctantly, they stopped a few feet back.
"We'll be right inside," Jennie said. "Just wave your little plaster hooks if you need us."
Kendra snorted despite herself.
Then she took a breath and walked up to Dominic.
He started toward her at the same time, leaving his friends behind.
"Morning," he said.
"Don't," she replied.
He stopped.
For a second, they just stood there, facing each other in the soft chaos of the morning crowd.
His eyes dropped to the strap of her bag digging into her shoulder.
"You shouldn't be carrying that," he said.
"Yeah, well, I shouldn't have two broken wrists either," she snapped. "Life's disappointing."
He exhaled through his nose slowly, like he was stopping himself from saying something.
Then, without asking again, he stepped closer.
"May I?" he asked.
The "may" threw her more than the gesture.
She lifted her chin. "I can't stop you, so knock yourself out," she said.
He reached for the strap carefully, fingers brushing the fabric near her collarbone instead of her skin. His touch was careful. Too careful. He slid the strap over her shoulder, avoiding her cast, and swung the bag onto his own.
It felt wrong.
It also felt… lighter.
Her shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch.
"Thank you," she muttered before she could swallow it.
His head jerked slightly, like he hadn't expected that.
"You're welcome," he said.
Someone walking past muttered just loud enough to be heard, "Damn, Dom, you broke both her arms just to carry her books, huh?"
A few snickers followed.
Kendra's cheeks burned.
Before she could decide whether to ignore it or snap, Dominic turned his head.
"Shut up, Liam," he said calmly. "Unless you broke something too, you don't get a joke."
The boy blinked, startled, then shuffled away.
Kendra stared at Dominic.
"You defending me now?" she asked. "Adorable."
"Don't get used to it," he said.
She rolled her eyes. "Trust me. I won't."
They walked inside.
The halls felt tighter than usual. Her casts clipped the edge of a locker once; the jolt nearly sent her to her knees.
He noticed.
He adjusted his pace.
She hated that.
She also hated that she noticed him noticing.
The first class of the day was English.
Normally, Kendra liked English.
Today it felt like torture.
Dominic carried her bag in without comment and set it at an empty desk in the second row.
"I can walk myself to my seat," she said.
He didn't answer, just moved aside and let her shuffle past.
Her classmates stared.
A couple mouthed "Are you okay?" with wide eyes. One girl gave her a thumb-up. A boy in the back whispered, "Yo, that's hardcore," like breaking your wrists was a fun hobby.
She sank into her chair, breathing carefully.
The teacher, Mr. Hayes, paused mid-roll call when he saw her.
"Miss Atchinson," he said, brows lifting. "I heard there was an incident. Are you alright?"
"Never better," she said. "Bones are slightly less enthusiastic."
A few people chuckled.
Mr. Hayes frowned at the cast. "Are you able to take notes?" he asked.
Kendra looked at her hands.
She tried to imagine holding a pen between her fingers with her wrists locked in place, the weight of the cast pulling everything down.
"Probably not," she admitted. "Unless you want modern art instead of handwriting."
Dominic shifted against the wall, where he'd been told to wait until the final bell.
Mr. Hayes looked between them. "Well," he said, "we'll adjust. I'll email you my notes after each class."
He glanced toward the back. "And perhaps someone can share their notes with Miss Atchinson as well?"
A few hands went up.
Dominic's fingers twitched at his side.
Kendra gritted her teeth.
She hated being treated like some kind of project.
When the bell finally rang, Dominic stepped forward, grabbed her bag again, and waited by her desk.
She pushed herself up using her forearms on the desk's edge. It was awkward and slow. Her chair scraped loudly.
He didn't say anything.
He just opened the door with his foot, holding it for her.
"Wow," she muttered. "Chivalry isn't dead. It's just… tall and annoying."
"Funny," he said. "You can still walk. That's good."
She glared. "Keep talking and we can test that theory on your legs."
There it was—the spark he'd gotten used to.
He felt his chest loosen, just a little.
By lunch, Kendra was exhausted.
Every class was a reminder of what she couldn't do.
She couldn't jot down a homework assignment quickly when the teacher said it. She couldn't raise her hand and casually lean on the desk. She couldn't open the heavy door to the science lab without using her shoulder and hip like a battering ram.
Dominic was there every time.
It was infuriating.
And weirdly… consistent.
He waited outside each classroom at the exact minute the bell rang, her bag slung over his shoulder. He didn't hover inside. He didn't comment when she took longer than usual to pack up.
He just… showed up.
Over and over.
Like some kind of extremely annoying, guilt-ridden boomerang.
At lunch, her dread peaked.
The cafeteria had never felt more hostile.
She stood just inside the door, staring at the crowd. The line. The trays. The jostling bodies.
"How exactly am I supposed to do this?" she asked under her breath.
"Like this," Dominic said, stepping beside her.
He walked ahead, grabbed a tray, set it down, and moved it along the rail.
"What do you want?" he asked.
"A new life," she said.
"In food," he said, patient in a way that left her off balance.
She sighed. "Chicken. Rice. Whatever vegetables look least depressing."
He got it all without complaining, added a juice, and slid the tray off the end of the line.
"I can carry that," she said.
"Can you?" he asked.
She looked at her casts.
"Shut up," she muttered.
He followed her through the cafeteria to her usual table.
Her friends were already there, watching with careful expressions.
"We good to sit?" he asked them, jerking his head at the empty space across from Kendra.
"No," Kendra said immediately.
"Yes," Jennie said at the same time.
They all froze.
Kendra shot her a betrayed look.
"He's… supposed to help," Jennie said softly. "Let him at least put the tray down, Kendra."
He did, sliding it carefully in front of her. The others shuffled to make space. The table felt too small.
He didn't sit.
He just stood there, looking unsure for once.
"You can go now," Kendra said pointedly. "Mission accomplished."
He hesitated.
"Alright," he said finally. "I'll be over there."
He nodded toward his usual table, where his friends sat watching like it was a TV show.
She resisted the urge to flip them off.
When he walked away, the tension eased.
"You, okay?" Erica asked, leaning in.
Kendra picked up her fork awkwardly, trying to angle it right in her fingers.
It slipped.
She tried again.
And again.
The chicken slid around the plate, mocking her.
"Do you—want help?" Jeah asked gently.
"I've been feeding myself fine for seventeen years," Kendra said. "I'm not about to fail at it now."
Her fingers clenched harder than they should have.
The cast tugged.
Pain flared.
She hissed, dropping the fork.
"Okay," Sofia's voice said from behind her suddenly.
Kendra turned, startled. She hadn't even seen her walk in.
She picked up the fork and held it up.
"No," Kendra said quickly.
Everyone paused.
Kendra sucked in a breath.
"If one more person puts something in my hand, I'm going to scream," she said, voice shaking more than she wanted it to. "I appreciate all of you, but I need to figure out what I can and can't do."
She took the fork back and, slower this time, wedged it between her fingers in a way that worked with the cast rather than against it.
It wasn't pretty.
But she got a bite of chicken to her mouth.
Small victory.
She chewed, staring hard at her plate, refusing to look up and see who was watching.
Across the room, Dominic sat at his usual table, tray untouched.
He watched her fight with the fork, every small win, every tiny flinch.
His wolf paced.
Protect.
He gripped his knees under the table.
Antonio nudged him. "She's doing it," he said quietly.
"I know," Dominic muttered.
"And you're not," Robin added. "But for once, that's not a bad thing."
After lunch, the rest of the day blurred.
She got through it.
That alone felt like an achievement.
By the time the final bell rang, her arms throbbed with a deep, bone-deep ache. Her shoulders were tight. Her fingers tingled.
She wanted to go home.
She also had Joint Service.
"Does Joint Service even make sense now?" she grumbled as they walked toward the office.
"Pretty sure existing is enough service from you at this point," Erica muttered.
"Maybe Principal Garrison will cancel it," Jennie said hopefully.
He didn't.
"Well," Miss Hall said as they walked in, "look at you. Warrior princess with casts."
"I'd prefer 'tragic hero,' but I'll take it," Kendra said.
Miss Hall smiled. "I'll keep it light today," she said. "No heavy lifting. Just some organizing and reading out loud. And Dominic—"
"Yes, ma'am?" he said.
"You're the hands," she said simply.
Kendra rolled her eyes.
"Fine," she sighed. "Let's get this over with."
They ended up at one of the small side tables, a stack of unsorted forms between them.
"Okay," Miss Hall said, handing Kendra a folder. "These need to be separated into three piles: permission slips, medical forms, and contact updates. You call them out; he puts them in the right stack."
"Control freak's dream," Kendra muttered.
They worked quietly for a while.
Kendra read the titles; Dominic sorted.
"Field trip permission slip."
He put it in one pile.
"Emergency contact update."
Another pile.
"Medical allergy form."
Third pile.
The rhythm was strangely… soothing.
After a few minutes, she noticed something.
He put things exactly where she said. No comments. No "Are you sure?" No taking over.
"You're good at following instructions," she said.
"I get that from my dad," he replied.
"Control freak generational curse," she said.
He huffed, almost a laugh.
Silence stretched.
Then, softly, he asked, "Does it hurt? Right now?"
She stared at the paper in her hands.
"Yep," she said. "Feels like my bones are yelling curse words."
He winced.
"It hits me too," he said before he could stop himself.
She frowned. "What?"
"Nothing," he said quickly. "Just… I know it's bad."
A strange silence fell between them.
She didn't see the way his fingers dug into the edge of the table when she shifted and a fresh wave of pain rolled through her wrists.
She didn't feel the echo of her own ache ricochet through the mate bond and lodge behind his ribs like a thorn.
All she saw was the boy who'd grabbed her one too many times and knocked her off balance one too many ways.
When Miss Hall finally dismissed them, the sky outside had gone soft and golden.
They stepped out of the office together.
Her bag was already on his shoulder.
"I can walk from here," she said at the end of the hallway.
He nodded. "I know. But I'm supposed to take you to the door."
"Of course you are," she muttered.
They walked side by side, not speaking.
At the front steps, she could see Sofia's car in the lot, the girls waving from the backseat.
She paused.
"Tomorrow," she said, "we're not doing any weird 'walk in together' thing. You can meet me at class doors. I don't need a parade."
He nodded slowly. "Okay," he said. "Class doors."
"And don't touch me unless you have to," she added.
His throat worked. "Got it."
"Because when you touch me," she went on, "bad things happen."
He flinched like she'd slapped him.
"I know," he said quietly.
For a second, their eyes met again.
There it was—that strange, electric tug. The world is narrowing. The hum under her skin.
She pulled back from it instinctively.
"See you, Garrison," she said, turning away.
"See you, Atchinson," he replied.
She walked down the steps toward her friends, cast heavy, shoulders squared.
He watched her go, hands empty, bag strap biting into his shoulder.
Six to eight weeks, he thought.
Six to eight weeks of carrying what he'd broken.
He'd start with her books.
If he was lucky, maybe, someday, he'd get a chance to mend something that mattered more.
Her trust.