“It helped you? After your parents?”
“Yeah.” She sighs. “I was drowning, Kai. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, couldn't function. Therapy didn't fix everything, but it gave me tools. Ways to cope. Ways to keep going.”
I swallow hard. “Your parents died. Mine is just...”
“Dead in a way.” Emma's voice is soft. “The version of her you thought you knew. The mother you hoped she might become. That's gone now. That's a kind of death too.”
I blink, eyes burning.
“I’m an asshole,” I manage. “Comparing my situation to yours.”
“Don't.” Emma leans in, presses her forehead to mine. “Grief isn't a competition. Pain isn't a competition. You're allowed to hurt, Kai. You're allowed to need help.”
I breathe her in, letting her steadiness anchor me.
“I'll think about it,” I whisper. “The therapy.”
“That's all I'm asking.”
We stay like that for a long moment, foreheads touching, breathing together. Then Emma pulls back, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“Now go talk to your father.”
“Emma—“
“I'm serious.” She stands, gathering her coffee. “He's not going anywhere. Neither are you. You might as well start figuring out what comes next.”
She's right. I hate that she's right.
“You’re too good for me.” I pull her back and wrap my arms around her, inhale her scent. Chasing away the darkness.
“Damn right,” she giggles, burrowing into my chest.
Victor's roomis larger than mine. Of course it is.
He's propped up in bed, shoulder heavily bandaged, a laptop balanced on his thighs. Even shot and bedridden, the man is working. Some things never change.
He looks up when I enter, grey eyes sharpening. “Alexander.”
“Victor.”
We stare at each other. The silence stretches, uncomfortable and familiar.
“You look terrible,” he says finally.
“You got shot.”
“Fair point.” He closes the laptop, sets it aside. “Sit down. You shouldn't be standing on that ankle.”
I lower myself into the chair by his bed, cast awkward and heavy. The room smells like antiseptic and expensive flowers. Someone sent an arrangement. Probably Julia.
“How's the shoulder?” I ask.
“Hurts like hell. The doctors say I'll recover, but I won't be swinging a golf club for a while.” He pauses. “Small price to pay.”
For saving Emma's life. For saving mine. The words hang unspoken between us.
“Helena,” I start, then stop. I don't know how to finish.
