Jesus Christ.
For years, I thought she hated me. Thought blocking her was mercy because seeing her move on would have fucking destroyed me. Meanwhile, she was still here in ways I never saw, standing just outside the wreckage of my life, watching from a distance where I couldn’t hurt her. Or maybe where she couldn’t stop loving me.
My vision blurs suddenly. I bow my head over our joined hands before the tears can fall onto the blanket between us, exhausted grief pouring out of me all over again. They come quietly this time instead of my big emotional breakdowns a few days ago. Just silent tears slipping down my face while dawn slowly brightens the room.
“I’m so tired, Em,” I whisper shakily. “I don’t know how to do this without you.”
The confession hangs there between us. My thumb brushes weakly across her knuckles as another memory surfaces from two nights ago.
Rafe was with me for a while as Emma slept. The room had been dark except for the city lights outside, and he’d in the chair beside mine with his arm strapped and stitched beneath a black shirt. For a while, neither of us said anything. We just listened to the monitors.
Then, eventually, he looked at me and said, “You know this doesn’t end when you leave here, right?”
I remember staring at him and being too exhausted to even respond after sobbing earlier.
“You need help, Jude.”
I swallowed hard, staring down at Emma’s sleeping face. “I almost killed her.”
Rafe had been quiet for a long moment after that. Then his hand settled heavily against my shoulder. “And you stopped.”
“I don’t give a shit, man,” I said.
He had just sighed and looked at me. “When you get out of all of this, please go to therapy. Don’t let this shit kill you. Trust me, Adela saved my damn life when she made me go.”
I close my eyes now, remembering that. His words should comfort me. Instead, fear settles more in my chest with every passing day. Logically, I get that therapy could help me. But I wish I could just force everything into a dark corner of my mind and lock it the fuck up. I’m scared.
Because what if she wakes up and remembers all of it? What if she sees me differently now? What if, when Emma finally opens her eyes again, she looks at me and sees exactly what Alexei turned me into?
***
I must have fallen asleep at some point. My body is half folded into the chair beside Emma’s bed, my head tilted forward where it rests against the mattress near her motionless hand. My fingers are spread across her thighs over the blanket, enjoying the warmth of her body. My neck aches fromthe angle, and there’s a dull, constant throb in my knuckles beneath the bandages.
I sigh, exhaustion pulling under again, but then I freeze when I feel movement. Fingers. Threading slowly into my hair.
This is a dream. Ithasto be. It has to be my brain finally breaking after five days of waiting for something it couldn’t guarantee would ever come.
“Jude.”
My eyes snap open, my gaze immediately finding those beautiful, honey brown eyes. Watching me.
Her hand drops from my hair and brushes the stubble on my jaw. My heart is beating out of my chest.
She’s awake. She’s alive. She came back to me.
Her eyes track me slowly, still unfocused.
“Hey,” I manage, and my voice breaks on the word.
God. It hurts.It actuallyhurtsto see her like this.
I swallow hard, forcing air into my lungs. But I don’t move. I can’t stop zeroing in on the feeling of her fingers weakly rubbing my cheek. Plus, I don’t want to startle her by moving too fast. “Don’t move too much, okay? You’re in the hospital.”
Her gaze flickers slightly, as if that information takes effort to process. Her brow furrows in confusion, and only then does she seem to feel the pain. A small, sharp inhale escapes her, and her hand flinches against my jaw.
I finally sit up and lean closer. “Easy,” I murmur softly. “You’ve got injuries near your ribs. But you’re okay. You’resafe.”
Her eyes search mine again, and I can see it now more clearly. She’s piecing together broken memories, remembering just how we came to be here.