“Finally! Where the hell have you been? I’ve been texting you all day!”
I barely heard her. My gaze stayed locked on Ben, heart slamming into overdrive. Blood. Real blood. Seeping between his fingers.
“Ben — oh my God, you’re hurt?—”
“Don’t you dare worry about him right now!” Alice snapped, stepping between us like a shield I didn’t want. “This is exactly what I’m talking about! You walk in, see some asshole who obviously fucked up and hurt you big-time bleeding on the floor of your apartment, and your first thought is to check on him instead of asking me if I’m okay! I swear to God, it’s like you hate me and mom and dad now. It’s like he fucking brainwashed you or something!”
I blinked, fury rising hot and fast.
“What are you even doing here, Alice? How did you get in?”
“I told the super that I’m your sister and I was here to see you, and she let me in. She said some delivery guy was in here setting up a ‘surprise’ for you.” She waved a hand at the roses, sneering. “And surprise! It’s your mystery boyfriend who clearly fucked up massively if this is his apology. Look at this place. It’s like a fucking funeral parlor exploded. He’s the reason you’ve been a total ghost, isn’t he? Lying about that ‘work retreat’, coming back all moody and distant, snapping at Mom and Dad every time we ask you to show up for us for once in your life.”
Her words landed like slaps, half-truths twisted into weapons. She didn’t know his name, didn’t recognize the scars — just saw a tall guy in flannel, hoodie shadowing his face, drowningmy apartment in desperate romance, and she’d pieced together enough to stab where it hurt.
Ben tried to push up then, grunting low as he braced against the floor.
“Alice, stop. That’s enough?—”
“No, you shut the fuck up!” Alice rounded on him again, voice climbing. “You’re the problem here. Whatever you did to her — cheating, lying, I don’t know — but it turned my sister into this standoffish bitch who thinks showing up for her family is optional. She was fine before that retreat. Happy, even. Now she’s skipping holidays because she’s too busy being wrapped up in whatever bullshit you pulled her into!”
Ben staggered to his feet, swaying, one arm wrapped around his ribs. Blood darkened his shirt faster now, dripping onto petals.
“You might be her sister, but you don’t know her,” he rasped, voice steady despite the pain carving lines around his eyes. “You don’t know what she carries for Granny Irene and for all of you. She’s not standoffish; she’s exhausted from giving everything while you just drain her dry.”
Alice laughed, bitter and loud.
“Oh, listen to Mr. Dramatic! You think a truckload of flowers fixes whatever bullshit you pulled? She deserves better than some guy who sneaks into her apartment and fills it with flowers like that could possibly fix whatever you did.”
She shoved him again, hard, both palms to his chest. Ben’s balance was already shot and he lurched sideways, boot catching on a crate edge again. His shoulder slammed into a stacked tower of crates full of vases of flowers he hadn’t had the chanceto place yet. The whole thing teetered, then crashed down, one heavy wooden crate clipping him square in the temple with a sickening thud.
He crumpled.
There was no dramatic slow-motion fall. He was just gone, his body hitting the floor amid shattering glass and crushed blooms, blood streaking his scarred temple now too.
“Ben!” I screamed, dropping to my knees beside him, numb to the thorns and shattered glass scraping at my knees through my jeans.
Alice froze, hands still half-raised, face draining of color.
“I — he — he was —”
“Get the fuck out of my apartment,” I snarled, voice shaking as I pressed my fingers to his neck. His pulse was strong, thank God, but he was out cold. “Now.”
“But I?—”
“Out!”
Alice backed toward the door, eyes wide, muttering something about calling Mom. She bolted out the door like she’d been burned, my door slamming shut behind her. Her footsteps thudded down the hall, but I barely registered it.
I was alone with him, now. He was unconscious, bleeding, and surrounded by the ruins of his grand gesture, and every wall I’d built since walking out of the lodge cracked wide open.
My world narrowed to Ben, to how he lay sprawled amid crushed petals and shattered glass, blood streaking his temple, more soaking his flannel from that goddamn stab wound I’d watchedHenry stitch just days ago. His chest rose and fell steadily, but he was dead to the world, his face slack in a way that twisted my gut.
“Ben? Ben, wake up.” I brushed glass and thorny stems away from him, ignoring how they pricked at my hands. The temple hit looked nasty, a gash already swelling, but the real worry was his side. I peeled back the flannel, hissing at the sight. A few of the stitches had torn open, blood welling fresh and dark, and it was bruised like someone had hit him directly in his stab wound, too.
“Damn it, Alice,” I muttered, but the anger was already mixing with panic. What the hell had happened here? Roses were everywhere, many of them trashed from where Alice had shoved Ben… twice, like he was the villain in my story. It looked like a fairy tale gone wrong. I grabbed a clean dish towel from the drawer in the kitchen and pressed it hard to his ribs. “Come on, wake up. You’re not doing this to me now.”
He groaned low, eyelids fluttering. Relief hit me like a wave, but it crashed into fury.
