She shifts again until she’s sitting up fully, her hand slipping into mine. I don’t even realize I’m gripping the sheets again until she pries my fingers loose and laces them with hers.
“It’s not your job to carry this weight alone,” she says quietly. “You don’t have to hold on so tight.”
I shake my head. “Ido, Em. I have to.” The panic is still pressing against my ribs. “Because what if I let go and you?—”
She squeezes my hand, cutting me off. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I exhale, long and shaky, and press my forehead against hers. “I should be taking care ofyou,” I whisper. “Not the other way around.”
She huffs a soft, sleepy laugh. “Says who?”
“Saysme.”
“Well,Isay that’s bullshit.”
I scoff, and she smiles, sleepily and sweet. “We can take care of each other, Alex. That’s how this works.”
I don’t deserve her.
I never have.
But I also know I can’t live without her.
So I do the only thing I can and wrap my arms around her, burying my face in the crook of her neck. Her heartbeat is steady against my face—a reminder that she’s here, she’s alive, and she’s mine.
And for the first time in weeks, I feel like maybe I can breathe again.
43
EMMA
I wake up to warmth. Not the kind that comes from the weight of blankets or the early morning sunlight streaming through the curtains, but the kind that sinks beneath my skin, settling deep in my bones. The kind that whispersyou’re safe.
Alex’s arm is draped over my waist, his breath steady against the back of my neck. His body is solid and tangible against mine, a quiet reassurance that I’m here in this moment with him and my heart is still beating. The constant feeling I’ve lived with for months—of being one heartbeat away from losing everything isn’t gone, but it’s more manageable now.
I stretch out as I roll onto my back. The sudden movement pulls at my chest, a tightness spreading through my sternum. It’s not pain, not exactly. It’s just a strange, unfamiliar resistance.
My fingers drift down, pushing aside the neckline of my shirt until I see it—the scar. It runs the entire length of my sternum from top to bottom, pink and slightly raised, a reminder carved into my skin. The stitches are gone now, leaving behind something that looks like a thin, fragile seam, like I’ve been stitched back together but could still come undone at any moment.
I run my fingertips over it, tracing the path the surgeon’s knife took to save my life. A stranger’s heart beats beneath. It’s a strange thought, to know that someone’s life ending was what saved mine.
It still doesn’t feel real.
I press my palm over my heart, waiting for something like recognition or connection, or the answer to the questions I haven’t even spoken aloud. Whose heart is this? Do they know… wherever they are, that a piece of them still lives? Thattheirheart is keeping me here in this life?
I exhale, letting my hand trail up to my throat, fingers brushing against the cool metal of the locket resting against my skin.
Mom.
I close my eyes. I miss her so much it aches, deeper than my scar, heavier than anything I can carry. What would she think of all this? Of me? Would she be happy with the person I have become?
I can only hope she’s watching over me and is proud.
I glance over just in time to see Alex stirring, his brows furrowing before his eyes flutter open. For a moment, he just looks at me, still half-asleep, messy-haired and gorgeous.
“Morning, Princess.” He mutters low and thick with sleep.
“Morning.”
