Her hand slips from my shirt, the last bit of strength fading from her fingers as she whispers, barely audible, “Don’t go.”
Those two words nearly undo me. I sink down beside her, one knee on the edge of the bed. My hand finds her arm, thumb tracing slow, steady circles over her skin. “I wasn’t planning on it, baby,” I whisper. The word slips out before I can stop it, soft and natural. She doesn’t flinch at it. Her eyes flutter, half lidded and tired.
I kick off my shoes and slide onto the bed beside her. The second I do, she finds me again, curling into my chest, her face buried against me like she’s searching for something that feels safe. I pull the comforter over us both, wrapping my arms around her, and hold her as tight as I can without crushing her. She’s trembling again—not from sobbing this time, but from exhaustion. Her hand rests over my heart, her fingers still tangled in the fabric of my shirt. Her breathing comes unevenly, broken by quiet hiccups that taper off one by one. I rest my chin on the crown of her head.
I can feel the rise and fall of her chest begin to steady, each breath syncing with mine. My own pulse slows to match hers, the adrenaline giving way to something quieter, heavier. I smooth a hand down her back, tracing the curve of her spine in slow, mindless passes. The warmth of her skin seeps into my palm. The weight of her against me feels like both a promise and a burden—one I’d carry without question. Every few minutes,she exhales a shaky breath, and I murmur something low and quiet—nonsense words meant to keep her anchored.
I tighten my arms around her, pulling her closer until I can feel every shallow breath. “You’re safe,” I murmur into her hair. “I’ve got you.”
Her only response is a small sound, somewhere between a sigh and a sob. Max shifts at the foot of the bed, his head lifting for a moment before he settles again, as if he knows she’s finally still.
Her breathing slows, and I feel her body start to relax against mine, exhaustion dragging her under. I stay awake, listening to the tiny sounds that fill the room—the hum of the air vent, the faint rustle of the sheets each time she moves, the steady rhythm of her heart under my hand.
If I could take this from her, I would. Every ounce of pain, every scar life has carved into her, I’d bear it myself without hesitation. I’d guard her from the world and everything waiting outside that door. Take every nightmare, every ugly memory, every flash of pain, and lock it away where it can never touch her again. Loss keeps finding her, clawing away at what’s left. And I can’t stop thinking how unfair it is—how wrong it feels to watch someone like her, stubborn and bright and braver than she knows, be broken again and again.
But in this moment, I’ll give her everything I can—my warmth, my strength, whatever pieces of myself she needs to stay afloat because the world has taken too much from her already.
And I’ll bedamnedif I let it take anything more.
NINETEEN
RAELYNN
The shrill blareof my phone alarm drags me out of sleep in a panic. My body jolts upright, lungs clamped tight, heart jackhammering against my ribs as if it’s trying to escape. I fumble blindly across the nightstand, knocking into a water glass I forgot existed, and the edge of a book, before my hand finally smacks down on the glowing screen. The sound dies, leaving the room in a heavy, aching silence broken only by my ragged breaths.
For a moment, I just sit there, blinking into the washed-out gray of early morning pressing through the blinds. Thin streaks of light cut across the room, painting everything in pale, cold stripes. My brain claws for purchase, scrabbling to stitch together where I am, why I feel so wrong, so hollow. Max is curled against me, his solid weight stretched across my thigh, his body warm, breaths slow and steady. My hand finds his fur, fingers sinking into the softness automatically, clinging to the anchor of him.
Last night comes back in fragments. I remember making popcorn. The opening credits ofThe Rookieflickering across theTV. Max’s sudden barking at the sharp knock at the door—loud, frantic, insistent. And then?—
It hits me.
Like a freight train at full speed, slamming into me with the force to shatter bone.
Khloe.
Her name detonates inside me, ripping me apart from the inside out. The air leaves my lungs in a broken rush, a sound tearing loose from my chest that doesn’t even feel human. Emilio’s voice echoes in my head, replaying itself mercilessly: low, heavy, cracked around the edges. His words last night weren’t just words—they were claws. The memory of my scream, of collapsing into him, of his arms locking around me because the floor couldn’t hold me—it all crashes back in suffocating waves.
A sob bursts out of me, raw and jagged. My hands fly to my face, and hot tears spill fast and relentless through the cracks of my fingers. My body shakes so violently that it feels like I might splinter apart.
“Emilio?” The name slips out, splintered and desperate, almost a plea. My voice is hoarse, shredded by grief. Panic lances through me when the silence answers back. Louder this time, my chest heaving, I cry out again. “Emilio!”
Max whines, lifting his head, nudging insistently at my side, sensing the panic ripping me apart. His warm body leans harder into mine, a steady weight trying to tether me, but the storm raging inside me is too wild that I barely notice my bedroom door flying open, the knob cracking hard against the wall when it makes contact.
“Rae?” His voice cuts sharply through the air—urgent, frantic, but laced with softness when his eyes land on me. Emilio is there in an instant, filling the doorway, then crossing the room in three long strides. His presence changes the air itself. Thosegolden brown eyes lock on me—shaking, broken, clinging to scraps—and soften with something so achingly tender it nearly undoes me.
The mattress dips under his weight as he sits beside me. His arms wrap around me before I even realize my body has moved toward him. I collapse into his chest, burying my face in the solid heat of him, my fists twisting in the collar of his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping me from drowning.
“I thought you left,” I choke out, the words muffled against his shoulder, my entire frame trembling like a leaf trapped in a storm.
“Baby.” The word falls from him like a vow, his lips brushing the crown of my head. His voice is steady, warm, the kind of surety I don’t have in me. “I told you I wasn’t going anywhere. I just went to make you coffee and breakfast.” His arms tighten, pulling me closer, as if he could shield me from the world outside these walls. His heat seeps into me, a lifeline in the cold wreckage of grief.
The sobs still come, but they soften, losing their jagged edge. It’s like he’s siphoning the worst of them from me just by holding me. My lashes lift, blurred with tears, and I catch his face close to mine—jaw flexing, expression carved with guilt and tenderness all at once.
“Baby?” I whisper the word trembling on my tongue, like I’m testing it, unsure if it’s real.
His jaw flexes, guilt flickering across his face. “Sorry—it just slipped. I won’t?—”
“Don’t be sorry.” I shake my head quickly, swallowing hard, fighting through the thickness in my throat. “I… I like it.”
