I should sleep, but instead I scroll through the news feeds and socials, watching as the story spreads: ROYAL ALPHA CRASHES CAR. SUSPICIONS OF GAMBLING TIES. FAMILY REFUSES TO COMMENT.
I close the app and set the phone on the pillow next to me. For a while, I just listen to the house breathe. There’s something comforting about the hum of the old radiators and the distant drone of Ranier’s voice as he makes more calls.
I wonder what Bastion is doing. Is he alone in his hospital room? Is he awake? Does he care that we’re waiting for him to come home?
I pull the covers tighter, and for the first time since I got here, I let myself cry. Not the big, movie-style sobs, but the kind that sneaks out in hot, wet streaks and leaves your face feeling raw.
When I finally stop, the sun is up. I wipe my eyes, blow my nose, and get dressed. I put on my best dress, the one that makes my hair look like a cotton candy explosion, and I decide that when Bastion comes home, I’m going to be there for him. Not because it’s my job, but because I want to.
I go to the florist two blocks down and buy the most ridiculous bouquet they have. I get a balloon shaped like a wolf and a stuffed bear that says,Get Wrecked. I pack up some sketchbooks and markers, and I put together a care package that would make my mother proud.
When Ranier’s car pulls up to take us to the hospital as he’s apparently changed his mind on not visiting, I’m already waiting on the curb.
Wyatt smirks when he sees the balloon, but he doesn’t say anything.
Ranier sighs. “You really going to bring that in there?”
“Yes.”
Ranier shakes his head. “You’re impossible.”
I smile. “You have no idea.”
The ride is quiet. Wyatt scrolls his phone. Ranier drives like he’s being chased. I clutch the bouquet in my lap and breathe in the smell of lilies and fake raspberry.
When we get to the hospital, the lobby is full of reporters and Council people and at least two girls from my finishing school class pretending not to stare at us. I walk past them, head high, balloon bobbing over my shoulder.
The nurse at the desk gives us the room number, and Ranier leads the way. At the door, he hesitates. I can see him wrestling with himself, trying to decide if he wants to go in first or just vanish and let someone else deal with Bastion.
I step around him and open the door.
Bastion is sitting up in bed, his arm in a sling and his head wrapped in a cartoonishly large bandage. He looks like hell, but also, weirdly, like himself. His eyes are clear, and when he sees me, he grins.
“Nice balloon,” Bastion says.
I hand him the bouquet and the bear. “You’re not allowed to die until I say so.”
Bastion laughs and then cringes. “Ow.” He keeps laughing anyway.
Ranier and Wyatt come in behind me.
There’s a long, awkward moment where nobody knows what to do, and then Bastion breaks it by throwing the bear at Wyatt. “You guys look like shit.”
Wyatt catches the bear and hugs it to his chest. “So do you, Silverwood.”
We all laugh, because it’s either that or scream.
I sit in the chair next to the bed and open my sketchbook. I start to draw Bastion, but he makes me give him the pencil so he can draw a mustache on himself.
For the next hour, we don’t talk about the crash, or the press, or the Council. We just sit there, drinking hospital coffee and making fun of each other.
When the nurse comes to check his bandages, she tells us we have to leave, but Bastion gives me a look and I know it’s okay to stay.
Ranier lingers at the door. He looks at me, then at Bastion, and then back at me. “Thank you,” he says, so quiet I almost don’t hear it.
I nod. “Anytime.”
Wyatt bumps my shoulder on the way out. “You’re a good omega,” he says.
