“Shh…” With the pad of my thumb, I wipe away her tears. “It’s okay, darling.”
“No,” she cries. “It’s not okay. I’ve never wantedmore. I’ve trained myself to not need anything. Not people. Not connections. Not luxury. Nothing. And now? Now, I feel it. The longing and aching for more, and I-I can’t go there, Quin. I can’t.” She sobs. “Not when I know my time is limited.”
The reality of her condition stabs me in the chest. I force my tone to remain secure, confident, almost professional. “You could live for another thirty years, Emery. You could?—”
“Stop it,” she cries, clipped. “We both know that’s the exception to the rule. Ten years, Quinton. That’s the average. That’s all I’ve got.”
“You could always get another transplant, Emery,” I say solemnly. “If anything ever happened, you could get another.”
Her green eyes float toward me, and she shakes her head. “The chance of another matching donor is low, Quin. I was already lucky once. A second time? That would be impossible.”
The truth gnaws at me, tearing my heart to pieces. Time can often be taken for granted; simply hours on a clock. But time is a precious, fleeting commodity. And for Emery, time has always been the enemy, the thief of joy.
"Darling, ten years is a long time. A lot can happen in that span. Medical advancements are made everyday. You're strong, and you've already beaten the odds once. You never know what the future holds."
Her gaze remains locked with mine, sad and uncertain. She takes a shaky breath, her fingers fidgeting with the comforter.
"I don’t want to hurt anyone,” she admits. “And because of this…” She covers her scar. “Someone will get hurt.”
“Pain is a part of life, darling.” I reach out to caress her cheek. "No one’s life comes with guarantees.” I pause. “And yes, while it might be utterly frightening to think of the future, of possibilities, when you know there’s an end, it’s even scarier to remain static because then you’re dead far sooner than when you actually die.”
Tears glisten in her eyes as she leans into my touch, her vulnerability fucking glorious. "You deserve better than me, Quin,” she whispers. “You really do."
A soft smile touches my lips, and I hold her hand gently. "I get to decide what I deserve, darling. What I want. And I wantyou. Any part that you can give me."
Emery nods slowly, her face inches from mine. The room crackles with historic pain and revolutionary longing. Her breath mingles with mine, and I tighten my grip on her, reaching for an uncertain but beautiful future.
“I hope that changes,” she whispers, eyelids fluttering shut, her body melting into my arms as she drifts off to sleep. “I really do.”
And I believe her. With my whole heart and soul, I believe her.
Which makes me love her even more.
THE REPLACEMENT
EMERY
I snuck backto my room while Quin was still sleeping. I wanted to stay. I really did. I wanted to wake up in the comfort and warmth of his embrace. But I couldn’t. If he woke up alone, perhaps he’d think last night was a dream. That I didn’t cry in his arms. That I didn’t show him just how truly broken I am.
It’s not his job to fix me, to put the pieces back together, but I can’t help it. Quinton brings out that side of me. A side that I prefer stays hidden. It’s difficult, though. One look into his dreamy blue eyes, and I melt. I lose control of my shields, my anchors, everything that keeps me together.
Falling apart should be terrifying, but with Quin, it almost feels safe.
As I head out the bedroom door to join everyone for breakfast, I sigh, flicking my gaze heavenward.
Safety never lasts long, does it?
“Well, good morning, Miss Jones,” Damon coos, his arm wrapped tightly around Maya’s waist as she offers me a sweetsmile. “You look a little tired.” He pouts, a knowing glow in his irises. “Didn’t sleep well?”
I subtly shake my head, scowling at the various hickeys poking out from the turtleneck wrapped around Maya’s neck. Her expression tightens and she adjusts the wool fabric, snapping her gaze to the hardwood floor.
“Can we talk?” I ask, clipped. “Alone?”
“Sure.” Damon grins, giving Maya a lingering kiss on the cheek before sending her down the stairs. He crosses his arms. “Well? Talk.”
I scowl at him. Cocky little fuck. “Not here.” Glancing around at the various suites and doors on the floor, I stop at a sign that reads: supply closet. I don’t need this conversation reaching the wrong set of ears. “Come here.”
Pinching the sleeve of his pullover, I drag him to the unlocked closet and shove him inside, the automatic lights flickering on.
