"Lie down."
I do, expecting him to leave now that the crisis is over, expecting him to go back downstairs to his own bed.
Instead, he lies down next to me on top of the covers, leaving space between us but close enough that I can feel his warmth, close enough that I know he's there.
"Sleep," he says. "I'll be right here."
"You don't have to?—"
"I'm not leaving you alone tonight.”
Something in my chest cracks open, not breaking but opening, like a door I've kept locked for three months finally swinging wide.
"Thank you," I whisper.
"Always."
I close my eyes, and for the first time in months, I don't fight sleep, don't fear the nightmares waiting on the other side. Because Jackson's here, solid and steady and real, and maybe the nightmares will come anyway, but at least I won't wake up alone.
11
JACKSON
Idon't sleep. I can't. Because every time I close my eyes, I see Maya on that bathroom floor with a blade in her hand, talking about arteries like she's discussing the weather.
She's been asleep for a few hours now, curled on her side facing me, one hand tucked under her pillow. Max has wedged himself between us.
The sun's starting to rise. Light filters through the curtains, painting everything in soft shadows. I should go back downstairs before Emma and Chase wake up, to maintain the illusion that nothing happened last night.
But I can't make myself move.
Maya's breathing is steady. Her face is relaxed in a way I haven't seen since she arrived. The exhaustion's still there, dark circles, hollow cheeks, but some of the tension has eased from her features.
She told me everything. The rape. The firing. How she blames herself for Lily's death. How she's been barely holding on, how close she came to not holding on at all.
And I just sat there and listened while she fell apart.
My phone buzzes quietly on the nightstand. I grab it before it can wake her.
It's just a text from Jenkins about practice schedules. I ignore it.
Maya stirs, her eyes fluttering open, unfocused for a moment before landing on me.
"You stayed," she whispers.
"I said I would."
She closes her eyes again. "What time is it?"
"Just past six."
"You should go. Emma will?—"
"I don't care what Emma thinks." I shift, careful not to disturb Max. "How're you feeling?"
"Like I got hit by a truck." She opens her eyes again. "And like I told you way too much last night."
"You didn't."
