“I know you can’t hear me,” I continue, walking closer. “But I’m going to talk anyway because if I don’t, I’ll start throwing things, and I’m pretty sure the doctors won’t like that.”
I drag the chair closer to the bed and sink into it. His face looks… peaceful, which annoys me. Like he’s on vacation instead of suspended between life and loss. There are faint bruises still fading along his jaw, shadows under his eyes.
“You’re such a prick, you know that?” I say softly. “Who the hell gets themselves shot and then decides to take a nap while I clean up your mess?”
The words come out sharper than I intend. My throat tightens.
I reach for his hand, fingers hesitant at first, then more firm. His skin is warm.
“I’m the head of the Raiders now,” I tell him. “Because you wanted me to be your girl so bad that now I am the leader ofyourclub, until you wake up. Or maybe your club likes me more than they like you and I will be Raider Queen for life.”
A faint, watery laugh escapes me. “But I had to beat Johnson’s ass in the breakfast hall day one because he is such a fucking prick.. You’d have loved that. The look on his face, X. You have to wake up so I can reenact it for you.”
My thumb strokes across his knuckles, tracing the old scars I never knew were there.
“The club is… it’s not falling apart,” I say. “Not yet. Jackie’s sharper than ever. Zay’s being… Zay. Obsessive and weird and somehow exactly where I need him. Asher’s more ghost than man at this point, hovering around me like if he blinks I’ll disappear.” My voice cracks slightly on that. I push through. “We’re holding it together. But it feels like—like I’m building a tower out of broken glass. Any second and it all could come down, and you’re not here to tell me which pieces to move first.”
I draw in a slow breath, eyes closing for a moment. It’s easier to say this with my eyes shut.
“I’m mad at you,” I whisper. “I know that’s not fair, but I am. I’m mad that you’re lying here while I have to run this club. I’m mad that now I care about this stupid club, about these people, and then you left me with them. I’m mad that you took a bullet the day of our ceremony. I am mad that you are a jerk. You could have been kind to me, and I would have liked you so much quicker.”
My eyes burn. I open them, staring at his still face, at the slight slackness around his mouth, at the eyelashes lying dark against his cheeks.
“Don’t be selfish,” I say. “Don’t stay here because it’s easier than waking up to all the bullshit. Don’t leave me like this. Ash and Zay say you wanted me, so act like it.”
My voice drops. “Please.”
Nothing.
The machines keep beeping. The air feels too thin.
I scoot closer, the chair legs scraping softly against the floor. I rest my elbow on the edge of the bed and bow my head, forehead almost touching our joined hands.
“You hear that?” I whisper. “They’re saying there’s a mole in our house, Xavier. That someone close is feeding the Viper’s information. It’s a mess, but I know you would have been better at this than me. You were always three steps ahead of everyone. I’m trying, but half the time I feel like I’m drowning and the other half I feel like I’m going to drown everyone else.”
My fingers tighten around his. “I need you to wake up. Call me an idiot. Tell me I’m a brat. Drag me back. Or just… be there at the table so when they look at me like I’m a girl playing dress up in your throne, you can glare at them and make them remember who the fuck we are.”
I fall quiet, breathing in rhythm with the steady rise and fall of his chest. Minutes pass. My hand stays wrapped around his, fingers fitting like they always have.
My eyes close again. I feel very small.
“I don’t know how to do this without you,” I admit. “I will. I’ll figure it out. I’ll keep the club standing, I’ll protect your people, I’ll burn anyone who tries to hurt us.” My grip tightens. “But I need you to meet me halfway. You’re not allowed to just… drift away and leave me fighting alone.”
The monitor keeps its steady beep.
I’m about to move my hand, to wipe my eyes, to pull myself together, when it happens.
A faint pressure closes around my fingers.
Subtle. So subtle I almost think I imagined it. But it’s there—a tiny, definite squeeze. The contact is brief but intentional, like a tap of knuckles.
My head snaps up. I stare at his hand, at our joined fingers, at the slight tension that wasn’t there before.
“Xavier?” My voice comes out as a harsh whisper.
Nothing changes on his face. His eyes stay closed. His mouth stays relaxed.
But his hand squeezes again.