Every breath is a sob. Every inch of me aches in ways no one can see. My heart, whatever is left of it anyway, splinters in silence. The only sound left in the room is the cruel, steady beeping of the machine counting down every second I’m still here.
Waiting.
For someone else’s life to end so mine can begin again.
23
ALEX
The thought has been drilling into my skull like a goddamn buzzsaw. Her eyes pierced into mine like I was a complete stranger. Emiliana—wide-eyed, pale, hooked up to every machine in the room—looked at me like I didn’t belong there, blaming me for hurting her.
My grip on the steering wheel tightens as I pull out of the hospital parking lot on autopilot. My breath is shallow. The pain in my chest isn’t just fear. It’s guilt from leaving her. It's also sadness and rage from being the last person to know about her heart failure.
Fuck.
I should have been there when she woke up. I should’ve noticed something was wrong. The signs were all there now that I look back at it. She was tired easily, falling asleep in seconds. Her skin had gone slightly more pale, but I chalked that up to her not getting as much sun in the city these last couple years. She’d been short of breath, but I thought it was from physical activity, not her heart failing.
How the hell did I not see it?
How do you miss the fact that someone you love isthatsick right in front of your goddamn face?
My hands are shaking as I shift gears, the truck roaring beneath me. I’m not even sure where I’m going until I pull into the parking lot of the bar. The place is dead silent, too early to be open to customers yet. I walk straight behind the counter, grab the first bottle I see—some cheap whiskey—and pour myself a glass. My hands still tremble as I lift it to my mouth.
It burns like hell going down, but it doesn’t do shit to dull the ache in my chest.
So I pour another.
And another.
And another.
Maybe if I drink enough, I’ll forget how Emma flinched when she saw me, or how her voice cracked when she told me to leave, like I was the last person in the world she wanted near her. Maybe if I drown myself in enough liquor, I’ll stop feeling like the biggest piece of shit on the planet for not seeing or knowing that she’s been dying right in front of my eyes.
I let her down. Again.
I lean over the bar top, both hands braced against the wood, and hang my head in pure defeat. My breath comes in ragged, unsteady pulls. If I stay here much longer, I’ll drink myself into a blackout.
That’s pathetic, though.
I shouldn’t get to drink myself into oblivion while she fights for her life in a hospital.
I have to do something. She deserves so much more than me, but I’ll be damned if I let that stop me from trying.
I go backto the hospital the next day.
And the next.
And the next.
Every single day, Cam blocks the doorway, shaking his head before I can even ask to see her.
“She doesn’t want you here.”
Every time, the words cut a little deeper. I don’t blame her for being mad. I’m mad at myself, too. I fucking deserve it every ounce of rage she has for me.
But I’m not giving up.
It’s beenfour days and I’m at the hospital again the next morning before visiting hours even officially start.
