Sitting upright, I stretch my arms over my head, earning a satisfying crack from my spine before swinging my legs off the bed. The nurse, who has insisted I call her Mamma ever since Axel was rushed into surgery, grins and scoops up my discarded jeans, tossing them at me.
“Boy, you better put those chicken legs away before Dr. Breeson comes back. One more strike, and he’ll boot your behind out of this ward faster than you can say ‘fried okra.’”
I catch the jeans and glare at her, indignant. “First of all, we’re paying Dr. Breeson’s annual salary to keep Axel in this room. And second of all, I do not have chicken legs.”
Mamma arches a brow as I glance down at my thighs, noticing the lack of definition I’ve been studiously ignoring. Huffing, I hop off the bed and yank on my jeans. She cackles as she smooths the sheets around Axel, artfully disguising the evidence of my illicit cuddle session.
On the other side of the bed, I take Axel’s hand in mine, careful not to jostle the cannula. My shirt clings to my chest, damp with stale sweat, and I’m pretty sure I smell like I’ve spent a week marinating in regret. My mouth tastes like something crawled inside and died. A fitting reflection of how I feel inside.
“Mamma,” I say, dragging a hand through my disheveled hair, “can you stay with him for five minutes while I grab a shower?”
She pauses, adjusting the IV with practiced efficiency, before her eyes crinkle into a warm smile. “Course I will, darlin’. Go on now.”
Leaning down, I brush a kiss against Axel’s forehead and run my hand over his cropped hair. He’s going to lose his mind when he wakes up and sees it growing out like this.
“He’s lucky to have you,” Mamma muses softly, her voice carrying a surprising tenderness as she folds the blanket over his chest.
I glance back at him, my throat tightening. “No,” I murmur. “He’s really not.”
In the bathroom, I strip off my rumpled clothes and twist the shower dial all the way to scalding, knowing damn well it’ll barely reach lukewarm. Stepping into the spray, I grab the cheap hospital shower gel and lather up my chest, the faintly medicinal scent doing nothing to improve my mood.
The distance between us, even just these few feet, feels unbearable. My heart aches like a wound that refuses to heal, bleeding fresh every time I look at his face. Distracted, I forget about the bruises lining my ribs until my hand brushes them, and I hiss in pain.
Cursing under my breath, I rinse off and twist the shower off with a sharp jerk. I reach for what has to be the world’s smallest hand towel and attempt to dry myself, the thin fabric doing little more than smearing water around. Pulling on clean clothes from the bag I’m living out of, I brush my teeth and take a moment to lean against the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Dark circles shadow my eyes, bruises lining my cheeks and throat, my jaw tight with unspoken fears. Let’s not talk about my hair.
With a steadying breath, I push off the counter and step back into the room, where Axel waits in peaceful silence. Mamma quickly ducks out when I reappear, leaving me to another day of sitting here, holding his hand, and staring at him. I understand he needs time to heal, but if he could just open his hazel eyes or give me any hint that he’s going to be okay, that would be fantastic.
A soft knock sounds at the door, and I ignore it. My eyes are set solely on the man I nearly lost—the one I’ll never let come to harm ever again. I might not be much, but he can have whatever he deems worth saving. Just open your damn eyes, Axe.
“Garrett?” a soft feminine voice sounds from just inside the door. My hand on Axel’s instinctively clenches, anticipating the trick that my mind is about to play on me. “Garrett,” the voice calls again, moreinsistent this time, and there’s a shuffle of footsteps approaching the bed. She’s a ghost, dredged up by exhaustion and longing. I don’t dare look up; don’t dare let the hope sink its claws into me. My throat tightens as I grit my teeth, focusing all my energy on Axel’s steady but maddeningly silent form.
“Garrett, look at me.” Well, here goes nothing. I whip my head up so fast I feel the crack in my neck. And there she is, standing a few feet away, her hands clasped nervously in front of her.Avery.
Her hair is slightly messy, like she’s been running her hands through it for hours, and her eyes are red-rimmed but alive with determination. She’s dressed in that vibrant orange hoodie she loves, the one that should look ridiculous swamping her black leggings, but instead she is the definition of adorable. And she’s here.
“Peach?” My voice cracks on her name, disbelief warring with the tidal wave of relief that crashes over me.
“I got here as soon as I could,” she says, her lips trembling as she steps closer. Her eyes scan over the state of me before they flick to Axel, and her breath catches, her expression crumbling. “Oh, Gare…”
Before I can stop myself, I’m on my feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor as it’s shoved backward. I cross the space between us in two strides and pull her into my arms.
She lets out a quiet gasp but doesn’t hesitate, throwing her arms around my neck and holding on like she’s afraid I’ll disappear. I bury my face in her hair, breathing her in, grounding myself in the reality that she’s here, warm and alive and real.
“You came back,” I manage to choke out, my voice thick with emotion. I feel her shaking against me, her lithe frame pressed against the length of my body, and her face in the curve of my neck.
“I had to be with him,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “Why does it have to be him?” I don’t think she meant to say it so bluntly, given how her body tenses. I tighten my arms around her, trying to anchor myself, trying to keep from falling apart completely.
“Trust me, Peach. I’d switch positions in an instant.” For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of her soft cries muffled against my chest and the steady beeping of Axel’s heart monitor. When she pulls back slightly, her hands cup my face, her thumbs brushing away the tears I hadn’t even realized were falling.
“You look like shit,” she says, her lips curving into a faint, watery smile. A strangled laugh escapes me, and I shake my head.
“I feel like it.”
Her smile falters, and she glances past me to Axel. The air shifts, the weight of the room pressing down on us again.
“How bad is it?” she asks softly as she steps closer to the bed.
I can’t speak, can’t find the words to explain how close we came to losing him, how his lungs were filling with blood by the time we got him here, and how helpless I’ve felt these past two days. So I don’t. I just reach out and take her hand, guiding her to sit in the chair I’d been occupying moments ago. She sits gingerly, her eyes glued to Axel’s face, and reaches out to brush her fingers over the short hair on his head.
