Richard blinks. “I need a drink.”
“I wouldn’t say no to a shot of vodka,” Susan mutters quietly. She sighs. “Well, I hope you know what you’re doing because if the press catches wind of this, they’ll tear your lives apart.” She snaps her head at me. “Allyour lives.” She sucks in a sharp breath and pulls out her phone. “So, this is what we’re going to do.” She glances at her daughter. “You’re going to marry one of these men, Emery. I don’t care which one, but you’re getting married. The other man, he’ll go on the birth certificate as the father. Yes, this will create a bit of scandal, but it’ll fade. But then, you’ll be co-parents, the three of you. No one will question why you’re alltogether, or living together, for that matter.” She blinks. “Sound good?”
Emery’s brows knit together. “I’m sorry, what?”
I rein in a smile. “It’s not a bad idea.”
“When Damon wakes up,” Susan glances at Damon and places a hand over her heart, “and hewillwake up, we’ll explain the plan. He’ll agree and we will plan a small ceremony. If you’re too busy, I can handle all the arrangements.”
Emery’s mouth gapes open. “Mom…”
“I’m going to make some calls. It might be difficult to book a venue on such short notice, but I’ll try.” Susan starts out of the room. Emery’s father simply stares at us, bewildered. “Richard!” Susan glares at him. “Let’s go! You’re on flower duty.” With a strained expression, she attempts to smile at us. “I’m glad you’re okay, honey. And your father and I are praying for Damon’s speedy recovery.”
And with that, they exit the room.
“What just happened?” Emery mutters, staring at the doors.
“I believe your mother just proposed to us on your behalf.” In one fluid motion, I spin Emery’s wheelchair around. I tilt my head, tenderly cupping her cheek. “Breathe, darling.” Emery takes a deep, leveling breath. “Good girl. Now…” My thumb caresses her hairline as my eyes burrow into hers, hopeful and mesmerized. “While your mother’s idea has some merit, this is our life, Emery, and if you wish to say no, if you wish to go a different route, then I’ll support you.” I swallow. “We willbothsupport you.”
Emery’s lip trembles. “I can’t think of that now, Quin. I can’t?—”
“He’s going to wake up, darling.” I press my forehead against hers, my breath fanning against her lips. “He’s going to come home.”
Her tears flow onto my cheeks, and I taste her despair, her anguish. But her tears are hot, almost scorching. And inside each drop, I can feel the sparks of a wildfire. It’s burning deep within her soul, cracking the surface, giving her hope.
THE WILDERNESS
EMERY
I am notthe same person today as I was last year, last month, last week. Yesterday. Every day, every hour, I’m changing. Whether it’s physical or emotional, a change is always occurring. It’s change that makes us grow. Makes us brighter and lighter and able to overcome obstacles that, to our former selves, would be deemed impossible.
I am not my past. I am not my pain. But Iamthe product of endurance, of strength, of fucking knowledge and awareness. The woman I was a year ago is a memory. But I’ll remember her. I’ll confide in her and share with her. I’ll learn from her and cry for her. She’s a part of me, but she is not who I am.
Not now. Not today.
And neither is Damon.
Quin squeezes my shoulder, forcing me to sit back down in my wheelchair as I lurch toward Josephine.
“What do you mean you’re not going to sign?!” I shift my gaze to Javier, baffled. “Is this a joke? He could die! Do you understand?”
Javier’s pained gaze flits to Damon, and he swallows. “This boy has been through so much. Damon’s had everything taken from him…” He looks down at his custom-made loafers. Custom made because Damon’s family employed him. Gave him a job. An income. A title. A fucking purpose. “We cannot take this choice away from him.”
Josephine adjusts the silk scarf that’s wrapped around her ungrateful neck. She hasn’t been able to look at us since she waltzed inside the hospital room. Spineless woman.
“Please understand, Emery,” she says quietly. “It was not an easy decision to make but?—”
“But nothing!” I grip the armrests of the wheelchair, knuckles white. “He sent that request over three years ago! Three fucking years! His family just died. His… Quin.” I peer up at him, begging. “Do something. You need to do something.”
Quin’s expression is hollow, blank in emotion. It’s as if in the last five minutes every light inside his heart has been flicked off, the power cut. All the rage, all the sorrow, everything…gone. He stands beside me a shell, an empty vessel that was once thriving and hopeful.
He’s not the same person he was a day ago. An hour ago.
I watch him closely, intently, willing for a spark offight to flash in his baby blue eyes. Power outages are temporary. They’re not permanent. In the wake of disaster, it’s possible to rebuild. It’s necessary. For survival. For evolution. He can’t perish under their inaction.
“Please, Quin…” I snake my fingers around his wrist, muscles clamped and pleading. “Say something.”
He blinks, and I pray to all the deities residing in the grand universe that the next time I see his irises, they’re blazing with fire, that they’re burning with an inferno of determination, that they’re glowing with something other than resignation, passive acceptance of a horrifying fate.
