Her hands squeeze harder. “He’s my brother,” she sobs, finally snapping, the words tearing out like a wound. “My brother, Cass. And I don’t even know if he’s alive?—”
I flinch, my nails digging into my own skin, because hearing her say it makes it too real. MIA. Missing. Not dead. Not alive. Just gone.
She drops her forehead to mine, trembling, both of us holding on like we’re the only thing keeping each other from falling straight through the floor.
“I can’t lose him,” she whispers, her voice shattering. “Cass, I can’t—I won’t?—”
My chest caves. “We already did,” I choke, tears pouring fresh, sharp. “He’s gone, Lola. He’s gone and I never—” My words break into a scream I don’t mean to make. “I never told him enough, I never told him to stay?—”
“Don’t you dare,” she snaps through her sobs, grabbing my face in her hands. “Don’t you dare blame yourself. He left because that’s who he is. Stupid, stubborn, addicted to war, but he loves you, Cass. He does. And if anyone can crawl back from the grave, it’s Dax Kingston.”
Her words slice through me, jagged, hot, but there’s no comfort. Just fire and ache.
I crumble into her arms, both of us shaking, both of us crying so hard the sound doesn’t even sound human anymore. Just grief. Just love. Just the unbearable weight of not knowing.
We stay like that on the floor, tangled in tears and broken promises, the silence between sobs heavier than any scream because neither of us can admit the truth out loud—We don’t know if he’s ever coming back.
The silence settles again once Lola’s sobs taper, but it’s not peace.
It’s suffocation.
She’s fallen asleep curled against me on the floor, her fingers still twisted in my shirt like she’s afraid if she lets go I’ll vanish too but my eyes won’t close. My body won’t rest because I can’t stop hearing it.
The last thing I ever said to him.
Not I love you.
Not I’ll wait for you.
Not come back to me.
Just: you broke us, not me—you.
The words won’t stop echoing, a loop that claws down my throat until I can’t breathe.
I taste them in my mouth like blood, like poison, like the reason he’ll never come home.
If he’s gone—If he’s really gone—That’s what I left him with.
Not love.
Not hope.
Just blame.
My nails dig into my knees, skin breaking, but I don’t let go. I want the pain. I want it because at least it’s mine, at least it’s here, at least I can bleed instead of just… drowning.
Lola shifts in her sleep, muttering his name. My chest caves.
“Dax,” I whisper into the dark, my voice shredded. “I didn’t mean it.”
The walls don’t answer. The house doesn’t echo his footsteps. The universe doesn’t give me back the man I love.
I press my fist against my mouth and bite down until I taste iron, muffling the sound of another sob because the truth is, if he never comes back, I’ll have to live knowing the last thing I gave him wasn’t love—It was another wound.
God, I don’t know how to survive that.
Chapter Thirty Five
