“My phone,” she says, looking around the bed.
“I have it,” I say, holding it up.
She moves back across the room to me and takes it from my hand. Our fingers brush, and something passes between us—something I don’t have time to analyze right now.
The next few minutes go by quickly. I grab my clothes from the floor, get dressed, and meet Bells at the front door, pulling on her shoes.
We step out of the house into the cool night air. Bells slides behind the wheel of her car and I settle into the passenger seat. Her hands still shake as she fumbles with her keys.
She starts the engine, throws the car into reverse and backs out of the driveway faster than she should.
Streetlights flash across the windshield as we drive—yellow light cutting through the darkness in rhythmic intervals. The roads are mostly empty at this time of night, with just us and the occasional car passing in the opposite direction.
Bells grips the wheel tightly. Her eyes are fixed on the road ahead. Focused. Determined.
I don’t say anything or try to fill the silence with meaningless words. I just sit here watching the girl who might not need me anymore.
Chapter Seventeen
Lola
The hospital parking lot is practically empty by the time we arrive.
I don’t remember the drive here. One minute we were standing in Jace’s room, and the next, hospital lights emerge from the dark in front of me—bright and sterile against the black sky.
The car goes quiet, and I sit there for a moment. My fingers remain wrapped around the steering wheel. My chest feels tight, and each breath is shallow and uneven. My whole body buzzes with a strange combination of adrenaline and disbelief that refuses to go away.
He is awake.
The words still don’t seem real. They echo in my head, refusing to settle anywhere concrete. Refusing to make sense even though Jace said them twice.
He has been quiet since we left the house, silent in a way that is heavier than it should be. His elbow rests against the door, and one hand hangs in his lap. His gaze is fixed somewhere through the windshield at nothing in particular. The dim light from the parking lot spills across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the dark shadows beneath his eyes. His hair falls over his forehead, messy in a way that reminds me of how my fingers were tangled in it less than half an hour ago. There is something guarded in the way he sits now—shoulders a little stiff, posture a little too careful—like he is already somewhere else in his head.
The silence bears down on my chest until I can no longer hold the words inside.
“What if something has changed between now and then?” My voice comes out softer than I want it to. Fragile and uncertain.
Jace’s hand slides over the console and grips mine. It’s warm and steady, firm enough to keep me from spiraling.
“They would have called if it had.” His voice is quiet but certain. That steady calm he somehow manages when everything around me is falling apart.
My fingers tighten around his, squeezing hard enough to hurt.
He’s right. They would have called.
I nod, forcing myself to breathe.
“Thank you, Jace,” I say, my voice cracking on his name. “I would never have gotten through these last two weeks without you.”
His eyes flick away from me and stare back out the windshield. He lets go of my hand.
There’s something in the space between us that wasn’t there before. Something that seems off.
You wouldn’t believe that just twenty minutes ago he was inside me, kissing me, whispering my name against my skin, holding me afterward with hands that kept touching me.
But I suppose that’s Jace Cooper—the guy who can turn off his feelings faster than flipping a light switch. The guy who handles being casual and distant better than anyone I know.
And now, something about him feels unreachable.
