I stayed out of the way, tracking every single motion. Beep. Hiss. Shuffle. Each sound pressed against my ribs until the nurses finally stepped back, satisfied.
“She’ll need stacked nebs in twenty-minute increments,” the brunette explained. “We’ll be in and out.”
I pulled a chair to the side of Nina’s bed, her eyes darkened, following my every movement.
I grabbed the hem of the thin hospital blanket, pulled it higher over her shoulders, mindful of my knuckles not rubbing her skin. I sat down and examined the subtle motion beneath her ribs. Normal speed, no effort. Only then did I let myself breathe. Nina moved her hand toward me, and I stretched out my hand in offering.
This was how it started. This need of mine to burn the world down for her and make it better. With her holding my hand in a hospital room. We’d come full circle. Only now I had every memory to feed my self-hatred.
And as our fingers touched, hers fitting between mine like threads making a cocoon, I realized I owed her more than a rushed apology and an empty apartment. Because I’d always needed to burn the world for her, but I’d burned her with it. I threw my jacket at the foot of the bed, frustration burning a hole in my chest. Nina should know. My stupid why that fixed nothing between us.
Her foot nudged at the coat, slow and lazy, until it flipped enough to reveal a manila envelope tucked in the inside pocket.
Her voice came out raspy, each word threaded with effort, but her tone was pure Nina—dry, cutting, with just a hint of sass. “Tell me, Lincoln,” she rasped, pausing to wet her lips. “Are you serving me divorce papers?”
I barked out a laugh despite myself. “For that, I’d have to talk you into marrying me first. And if that ever happens…” I leaned closer, meeting her tired but still-fierce eyes. “Don’t think for a second I’d ever let go.”
We let the silence stretch, the quiet hum of the machines making room for a quiet truce to settle between us.
“I think she somehow knew I’m asthmatic.” Her fingers worried at the blanket. “I think she did it on purpose.”
A cold flush worked its way through me, sharp enough that my jaw ached. My thumb brushed over her knuckles, slow and deliberate, goosebumps rising along her forearm.
“I’m horrified, but not surprised,” I said, heat threading through every word. “I’m going to find a way to put her in the reddest orange jumpsuit I can get so it clashes with her fucking hair, Nina.”
She let out a breath, her head sinking into the pillow, cannula tubing shifting against her cheek. I leaned in to check it, making sure it was still delivering the steady flow of air.
Her lips twitched, almost a smile. “Sometimes, it’s not about revenge, Lincoln,” she murmured, “it’s about how you move past hurt and injustice so you can be happy.”
I covered her hand with both of mine, my gaze flicking toward the manila envelope. My throat worked before I could speak.
“Maybe,” I said finally. “But for once, I get to give you something no one else has given you.”
Her eyelids fluttered, curiosity softening the tension in her face. “What’s that?”
“A choice.”
Then the door swung open and Vinny strode in, his usual swagger muted but still present. His eyes swept over the monitors before landing on Nina, softening with something almost tender.
“Nina—what the hell happened to you? You look awful.”
She gave a faint huff. “Love you too, Vin.”
I didn’t move my hands from hers. Didn’t flinch. Just met his look with a stare of my own.
“She’s fine,” I said before he could ask. “Get the hell out of here, Vinny.”
Vinny’s jaw ticked. “No,” he said, stepping closer to the bed. His steely eyes set on Nina’s. “She’s my cousin. And I’m going to give her what I’ve owed her for years.”
23
Nina
Oxygen rushed into my lungs through the cannula. My body wasn’t in crisis anymore, but every breath was still too shallow to be fully satisfying. Lincoln held my hands with tenderness. The closeness between us felt fragile, guarded by the steady hum of the oxygen machine and the occasional beep of the monitor tracking my pulse. I’d always been in survival mode, reacting. Now, Lincoln, my bully, the thorn on my side, wanted to give me a choice.
Then the door clicked open, and Vinny filled the doorway, all charcoal-steel eyes and wavy hair that usually looked intentionally tousled. Today he’d just run his hands through it making it seem unkept. My stomach dipped. I’d been furious at him for leaving me to handle Lincoln alone, banking on my need for help. Seeing him now, though, jaw tight, eyes tracking every wire and tube, made something in me loosen and sting all at once.
“Vinny, what now?” The question came out in a rush of renewed effort. “You weren’t feeling the family label so much when I needed you.”
