I’ve survived so much. So fucking much. But I wouldn’t survive a world without Easton.
A muffled commotion in the hall stills my hand. Low voices filter in, and when I hear the knob turn, I look over my shoulder.
The door swings open to hit the wall, and Easton appears. A disorder of people trail behind him, but he’s all I can see. His chest rises and falls rapidly, up and down, grip bracing his IV pole. His skin is gaunt and dark hair disheveled. That warm, whiskey gaze, steadfast with determination, wraps around my chest and squeezes.
My heartthump, thump, thumpswith the new stream of tears sliding down my cheeks.
He’s okay.
He’s really okay.
He takes a single step into the room, his broad form blocking the others from view, and his heated presence permeates my skin, seeping into my pores.
“Easton.” The broken whisper is still on my lips when I spring from the bed and crash into him, locking my arms around him.
He grunts at the impact, muscles tensing, and panic that I’ve hurt him seizes me. But when I try to pull away, a strong arm curls around my waist, presses me tighter against him. I vaguely register the door shutting, muffling bickering voices, while his knuckles lift my chin until my gaze meets his. My breath quickens at the look on his face. Eyes gentle yet fervent, and overflowing with something I don’t understand.
“What ... what are you doing here?” My tears intensify as I take in the IVs, his pale skin, broken breathing. “A-are you crazy? You should be r-resting—”
He dips his head, parts my lips with a slow sweep of his tongue, and kisses me deeply. My tears flow harder as he takes my mouth with long, deliberate strokes.
He came.
The kiss is passionate, breathless, and sobering, with urgency in every pull, bite, caress.
He came for me.
A tremble wracks me, and I’m overwhelmed by the emotions, thepain, clutching my heart. Relief isn’t supposed to hurt, and yet, even as I hold him, as he holds me, the fear of what could have happened to him cripples me. Is this how it feels to love someone? Is this the price I have to pay for finding something that was never meant to be mine?
He pulls away from my lips to trail soft kisses along my jaw, my cheek. His tongue erases my tears and replaces them with soothing caresses. “Shhh.” He cradles me, but I can’t stop shaking. “Don’t cry.”
“But y-you’re okay. What happened to you? I thought—I thought—and I couldn’t do anything—”
His thumb traces my unsteady lower lip. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down, voice hoarse when he asks, “You were worried about me?”
My eyes shut briefly, a broken exhale escaping. “Of course, I was worried. What if you ... what if you didn’t come back? What if you died? Because of me? What would I do then? H-how would I wake up tomorrow?”
His lips pull up in one corner, then drop again, and his eyes ... his eyes are so serious. “Good thing I didn’t die then.” It’s a raspy whisper, and it only makes my lungs constrict tighter.
“Shut up.” I wipe my nose with the back of my hand. “Don’t joke about that. I’ve never—” I swallow, glance away. “I’ve never been so fucking scared.”
He releases a breath, his brows furrowing, and he studies me so intently my insides squirm. In the stretching silence, fear creeps up my chest, closing my throat.
I’ve said too much.
I care too much.
It hurts too much.
Just when I start to turn away, to reject him before he can reject me, he pulls me into his chest and squeezes tight. His heart beats so fast against my ear, his presence curls around me with something quiet, stable, and beautiful, and his grip refuses to let me go.
I sob against him.
He shakes slightly and inhales deeply.
“Don’t let them send me away, Easton. I don’t want to leave,” I hear myself cry, muffled into his hospital gown. “I want to stay with you.” I sound like a little girl, like someone broken instead of the survivor I now know I am, but I don’t even care. Because Easton doesn’t see someone broken when he looks at me. The strength he sees in me gives me the courage to be afraid, and I mean it so much: I want to stay with him forever.
“No one’s sending you anywhere.” His arms tighten around me. “You go where you want, Eva,” he says roughly, “and wherever that is, I’ll go too. I’ll follow you. I’ll follow you anywhere.”
