A sound escapes me, something between a laugh and a sob. "I'm all right. We're all okay."
"You're all right. She's all right." Tasha is talking to herself as much as to me, her hands fluttering over my arms like she needs to confirm I'm solid. "Have you eaten? You need to eat. I should have brought something with me. I should have—"
"Tasha." I catch her hands in mine. "I'm okay. Really."
She takes a shaky breath. Nods. Her gaze shifts to Nick, and her expression changes, worry cutting through the relief. "And you, big guy? How are you holding up?"
He gives her a small nod. The gesture says everything, no need for him to try to put it into words.I'm not okay yet, but I will be.
Tasha seems to understand. She doesn't push.
"Tony's home with Zoe and AJ," she says, settling into the other empty chair. "He wanted to come, but someone had to wrangle the tiny humans. He sends his love."
Eve greets Tasha, and their voices weave together in a comfortable shorthand from months of wedding planning and fittings. Tasha's hand finds mine again while she talks, her fingers laced through mine on the opposite side from Nick, holding on to me the way she has since we were working at the bar splitting double shifts at Vendange.
"I'm wrapping you in bubble wrap until Saturday," Tasha announces. "I mean it, Ave. Full-body protective coating."
Eve's lips curve. "I'm sure Gabe's got some duct tape in the car. You wrap, I'll hold her down."
A laugh escapes me—real, unexpected, rising from somewhere I thought had gone numb. The strangeness of it catches in my throat. Laughter, after today.
My gaze finds Nick's. The wedding is in three days. Is it still happening?
He's feeling it too, reading me the way he always does. His thumb caresses the top of my hand, waiting.
"You still want to marry me in front of three hundred people this weekend?" He asks it quietly, a conversation meant only for us.
The question settles into my body before I form words around it. Saturday. Three days from now. I think about the vows we already exchanged on the deck of theIcarus, salt wind in our hair, simple gold bands on fingers, our promises drifting out over the water in a Key Largo sunset.
That wedding was ours. Private. Perfect.
This one on Saturday is different. A celebration. A declaration. The prize at the end of a gauntlet we've run together.
"Of course I do." I squeeze his hand. "Nothing could stop us now."
"Absolutely nothing." He grins, and leans forward to kiss me.
The door opens again. Lita blows in with her usual chaotic energy—electric-blue hair, leather jacket, combat boots thudding against the linoleum. Matt is right behind her, quieter, carrying a crinkled paper bag.
Lita stops at the foot of my bed, hands on her hips, silver rings flashing. I wait for her to say something smartass and irreverent. The sight of tears welling in her eyes takes me aback.
"Thank fuck you're okay!" She rushes to the other side of the bed from where Nick remains permanently fixed next to me. Her hug is fierce and almost too tight, and beneath all the black leather and tattoos, her body trembles with barely held emotion.
Matt hangs back, setting the paper bag on the bedside table. "Figured you'd want actual food." He pauses. "Got those apple danishes you used to inhale during late studio nights. And the good chips."
My eyes sting. He remembered my favorites. "Thank you," I manage. "Both of you."
Lita claims the windowsill, one boot propped against the frame, Eve making introductions to Gabe and Beck. Matt leans back into a corner, arms crossed, his presence a steady anchor in the swirl of conversation.
In the midst of the happy chaos now filling my room, Rachel arrives. Even in crisis, she's composed in her pencil skirt, silk blouse, and heels that click with purpose over the hospital tile. But the tightness around her eyes gives her away. There's a crack in the professional armor today.
"The hospital staff signed NDAs," she says, a small note of strain in her voice. "But you know how these things travel. I want to get ahead of it if we need to."
"Handle it however you think best," Nick says. "We trust you."
She nods briskly, then blows out a shaky sigh. "I'm so glad you're okay, Avery." Her voice catches, just barely, before she recovers. She glances at Nick. "Both of you."
She means it. Beneath the press strategy and the damage control, she's genuinely concerned about us.
