The room smells like antiseptic and exhaustion.
I’ve been sitting here for what feels like hours, watching D sleep.More sedatives. They’ve pumped him full of the stuff to keep him under, to make sure his body can rest and heal. His condition’s not perfect—far from it—but he’s alive.He’s fucking alive.
I let out a breath, a long, shaky thing that feels like I’ve been holding it for the last twenty-four hours.Most intense hours of my life—watching him bleed out, wondering if he’d ever wake up, and now this. I should feel relieved, but I’m still on edge, my nerves shot to hell.
A hand lands on my shoulder, a sudden pressure that jolts me out of my reverie. I look up, the world coming back into focus on Sophia.
“So, are we just going to pretend like the last three years didn’t happen?”
I look up at her, her green eyes piercing through me. She’s pissed,butI can’t blame her.
I rub my eyes, trying to focus on Sophia’s face. Fuck, I’m tired. “Soph… I…” The words catch in my throat. I’m not good at this shit. “I just got too much on my plate.”
Sophia looks… different. Good different.
Her skin’s got this glow, like she’s been soaking up the Hawaiian sun for years. She looks more… I don’t know, womanly? Motherhood suits her, I guess.
“Oh, Wren.” Before I can react, she’s throwing her arms around me. I stiffen for a second, then melt into it.
Fuck, I’ve missed this.
“You stubborn bitch,” she mumbles into my hair. “I was so worried. I had a baby boy, and I couldn’t even tell you.”
I pull back, guilt gnawing at my insides. “I’m sorry, Soph. I really am. I just… I didn’t know how to reach out. Everything was so fucked up.”
“Are you going to go rest before you die from exhaustion?” a deep voice booms from the doorway. I look up to see two hulking figures enter the room.
Luka fucking Ivankov strolls in like he owns the place. Which, I guess he does. He’s… changed. His usual sharp suit’s been replaced by board shorts and a loose shirt. His skin’s tanned, his hair sun-bleached. He looks like a mafia boss who decided to become a surfer dude. It’s fucking weird.
Next to him, Erik looks like he just stepped off a GQ cover. Bastard always looks good, even in the middle of this shitstorm.
“I’m fine,” I growl, but even I can hear how weak it sounds.
Luka raises an eyebrow. “Sure you are.”
“I’m fine,” I growl again.
Luka’s eyes narrow, his voice dropping to that low, authoritative tone that brooks no argument. “Wren. You’re going to rest. Now.”
I glare at him, but Sophia’s already tugging on my arm. “Come on, Wren. D’s safe. Erik will stay with him.”
I look at Erik, who nods. “I’ve got this, Wren. Go.”
I want to argue, but my body’s betraying me. I can barely keep my eyes open. “Fine,” I mutter, letting Sophia pull me to my feet.
77
Wren
I’m sprawled on the bed, every goddamn inch of me screaming like I’ve been through a meat grinder. The room’s doing a slow tilt, or maybe that’s just my brain short-circuiting. Sophia’s perched on the edge of the bed, eyeing me like I’m some kind of exotic disaster.
“Wren Davis,” she starts, her green eyes boring into me. “You gonna tell me why you ghosted me forthreeyears, or do I have to guess?”
I scrub my hands over my face, feeling the grit and exhaustion etched into every pore. Christ, I’m tired. Bone-deep, soul-crushing tired. “I was… ashamed,” I finally croak out, the admission scraping my throat raw. “I didn’t know how to reach out. I’ve been… God, Soph, I’ve been a fucking trainwreck.”
Sophia leans forward, and for a second, I see a flash of the old her—the one who’d patch me up after a bad night, who’d hold my hair back when I was puking my guts out.
Sadness in her eyes. “Look, I get it. Life’s been… complicated. For both of us. But Wren, you’re my best friend. You think I care about all this?”
