Her face crumples the second our eyes meet. She tries to keep it together—she really does—but everything crashes down at once. She breaks. Tears spill over, fast and silent, and she presses a hand to her mouth like she’s ashamed to make any noise.
“Hey,” I say softly, stepping closer. “Look at me.”
Her gaze lifts, full of fear and relief and exhaustion. “Riccardo… I—I thought?—”
“I know.” I brush a strand of hair from her cheek. She flinches without meaning to. I want to kill Belov all over again for that alone. “It’s over.”
Her knees give out a little. I catch her and pull her against me, and she buries her face in my chest. She’s shaking so hard it rattles through my bones.
“I was so scared,” she whispers. “For my mom. For me. And for you—” She stops herself, breath hitching. “I didn’t want to lose either of you.”
I tighten my arms around her. “Savannah.”
“If he had taken me…” Her voice breaks. “What if I never saw you again?”
I cup her face, forcing her to look at me. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”
She swallows hard. “You can’t promise that.”
“I can,” I say, steady and absolute. “And I just did.”
Her breath wavers. “I should’ve called you. I should’ve waited. I should’ve?—”
“No.” I shake my head. “I should’ve made sure you knew I’d stay. That you don’t have to face anything alone. That you never have to hide from me, not ever.”
She opens her mouth, then closes it again, overwhelmed.
I pull her against me once more, hand in her hair, her cheek against my shoulder.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I murmur into her temple. “Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever. You hear me?”
She nods into my chest. I can feel her tears soak into my shirt, but I don’t move. I’d stand like this all night if she needed it.
When she finally pulls back, wiping her face with trembling fingers, she whispers, “Thank you.”
“No,” I say. “You don’t thank me for this.”
“I am,” she insists softly. “Because you came.”
I brush my thumb under her eye. “I always will.”
She nods, slow and small, like she’s finally allowing herself to believe it.
We walk to her mom’s room together. I don’t let go of her hand. Not once.
Not ever again.
19
SAVANNAH
Aweek goes by, and I still feel like I’m living someone else’s life.
Mom is alive. Not just alive:recovering.
The transplant happened within hours of Riccardo slamming that suitcase down, and the cardiology team keeps telling me she responded “remarkably well.” I don’t think they understand what those words mean to someone like me. Remarkably well means I get to hear her voice again. It means I get to sit beside her bed with warm food instead of fear in my stomach. It means I get to keep my mother.
I’m curled up in the hospital chair beside her when she opens one eye and gives me that smug little smile she uses when she’s about to start trouble.
