“That doesn’t make this your fault.”
I shake my head slightly against his hand.
“I don’t blame you,” I murmur.
And I mean it.
None of this feels like his fault.
The silence between us stretches for a moment.
Then his hand moves.
Carefully.
His thumb brushes gently along my cheek where it’s resting against his palm.
“You scared the hell out of me,” he murmurs.
The words are rough.
Honest.
My chest feels warm in a strange way.
“You didn’t leave,” I whisper.
His eyes soften.
“Not a chance.”
The room falls quiet again.
The machines beside the bed hum softly.
My ribs ache.
My throat burns.
But somehow…
With Hawk sitting beside me, his blood-stained hand still cradling my face…
I don’t feel quite as afraid anymore.
And before exhaustion pulls me back under again, the last thing I see is Hawk leaning closer in his chair.
Still watching me.
Like he’s making damn sure I don’t disappear.
Twenty-Eight
Emma
The room is quiet again.
Not the frightening kind of quiet I woke up to earlier, but a softer silence that wraps around me like a warm blanket. The machines hum gently beside the bed, their rhythmic sounds a comforting backdrop as Hawk’s thumb brushes slowly over the back of my hand, as if he’s checking to see if I’m still here. Still breathing. Still real.
