“Okay, if you insist.” Whitney lets my mom steer her out of the room.
My pulse hikes as they disappear behind the closed door. I’m that much closer to seeing Eva.
I look at Zach, and he asks, “You sure you’re up for this?”
“Never been more sure.”
He nods, then bends forward and tucks an arm under my shoulders. “Here we go,” he mutters before carefully hauling me onto my feet. “Shit, you’re heavy.”
A wave of dizziness temporarily blinds me, and I grip my IV pole for stability.
“Whoa,” Vincent says, taking a hesitant step in our direction. “Where do you think you’re going?”
When the nausea subsides, I meet his uncertain gaze with my steadfast one. “Where you should have gone a long time ago.”
“Wait, just—hold on.” He scrubs both hands down his face. I’ve never seen him look so drained. “I’ll go see her if it means you’ll stay in bed.”
I release an exasperated breath, my grip on the pole tightening. “Too late for that. You and mom aren’t to set foot near her until you’re ready to beg, and I do meanbeg, for her forgiveness.”
Vincent places both hands on his hips and shoots me a stern look. “Easton. I appreciate what you’re doing for her, I do. But if you think I’m going to let you risk your recovery—”
“Dad.” The word is bitter on my tongue, but I force it out. “That’s what you’re doing here, right? Trying to be my dad?”
He swallows, looks down at his Ferragamos. “I am your dad, Easton. I’m sorry ... I’m sorry for what I said before, and I’m sorry for leaving afterward.” His gaze comes back up to meet mine, and the sincerity softening the look is a punch to my gut. “It wasn’t you I was running from. I promise you that. I just ... well, I want you to know, I’m trying to be here now. I’m trying to be here for you.”
My throat tightens, and Zach clears his own throat, shifting his weight under my arm. “If you mean that,” I say quietly, “you’ll let me do this. I’m going to see her with or without your support.” My next words sting with a vulnerability I wish I could restrain. “But I’m hoping you’ll give it to me anyway.”
He glances away, and his lips thin.
A second ticks by, then another.
Bitter disappointment slithers into my chest, right next to the familiar pang of rejection, but I don’t allow myself to dwell on it. If Eva will have me, that’s more than enough. I tip my chin toward the door, and Zach and the IV pole relieve most of my weight as we walk.
Zach’s hand is on the knob when Vincent’s voice halts us.
“Easton. Wait.”
My jaw ticks, and after a beat, I look behind me.
His shoulders are slumped forward, tie loosened. “Before you go ... at least ... at least let me tell you what I found out about the case.”
My gaze narrows.
“Please.” Vincent takes a few steps toward me, and I stiffen slightly, but I don’t stop him. “You need to know ...” His eyes spark with something I don’t recognize. Something almost resembling respect. “You need to know what you and Eva have done.”
Eva
Lying on my side, a tear slips from my cheek and lands on the invisible lily my fingers trace on the hospital bedsheet. My movements are idle, memorized by the countless sketches in my notebook. The faint hum that escapes my closed lips fills the emptiness around me and soothes a sacred piece of my heart.
The nurse I like is gone for the day, but Miss St. Claire has continued to check on me like a good little therapist. Apparently, she meant it when she said she would be here in case I changed my mind about needing her. Although I’d never admit it aloud, there is something annoyingly comforting about her stubbornness. She really isn’t going anywhere. The loyalty would come in handy if only I could talk her into sneaking me into the ICU.
Maybe my years spent alone prepared me for this moment. Locked in a clinical room, trapped by my thoughts and sterile walls, wondering where I will go once I leave here. Evangeline, the girl I used to be, would have already flown this coop, picked up the pieces, and found a new abysmal existence. But Eva ... she lies here, idly passing time, until she can see a boy who showed her what it’s like to be wanted. To belong. If only someone warned me that once the void in my heart was filled, the emptiness that follows when it’s ripped away hurts ten times as much.
What if he’s not okay? What if ... My lungs constrict, and I wipe my cheeks.
Stop.
Don’t think about that.
