I narrow my eyes and spin around to face him. “You absolutely will not.”
His mouth twitches, a hint of a smirk threatening to break through the careful respect he’s been showing.
“Pretty sure your dad just gave me orders,” he says. His voice carries that low, rough edge. “Can’t ignore a direct request from the man in the hospital bed.”
Dad’s lopsided smile appears again. Wider this time. Victory written all over his broken face. He looks ridiculously pleased with himself.
“Traitors,” I mutter. “The both of you.”
I notice it before anyone says anything—the way Dad’s eyelids start to droop, and the exhaustion washing over him in waves he can’t fight anymore.
The nurse also notices.
“He’s getting tired,” she says, moving closer. “It would be best to let him rest now. He’s had a lot of stimulation for his first time awake.”
I don’t want to leave. Every part of me wants to stay right here and watch him breathe. Make sure he keeps doing it. That this isn’t some cruel dream I am about to wake up from. But I can tell how exhausted he is and how sleep is pulling him down.
“I’ll come back tomorrow,” I say, squeezing his hand one more time.
His eyes open again, fighting the weight of trying to keep them open.
“Af... ter... school.”
“Yes,” I whisper. “After school. I promise.”
My eyes sting as fresh tears threaten to fall. I lean down and gently press a kiss to his forehead. His skin is warm beneath my lips.
“I love you, Dad.”
When I pull back, his eyes are already closing. Sleep pulls him under despite his best efforts to stay awake.
I force myself to let go of his hand and make my feet move toward the door even though leaving feels wrong.
Jace steps back, letting me pass. His hand finds the small of my back as we walk into the hallway. That same steady pressure has been anchoring me all night, keeping me upright when all I want to do is collapse in relief.
The house is quiet when we step inside. The kind of quiet that settles over everything when something big just happened and the world hasn’t caught up yet.
I stop just inside the entryway, and the weight of the past two weeks hits me all at once.
Exhaustion crashes over my body. My eyes burn, my head pounds, and every muscle in my shoulders is tight from days of living on pure adrenaline. Two weeks of fearing I might stare at my dad’s chest, praying he will wake up.
“I’m going to take a shower,” I tell Jace quietly.
“Yeah. Okay.”
He stands in the hallway with that guarded expression back on his face.
I take a moment to study him. Something shifted between us tonight; I could feel it. Earlier, in his bedroom before we left for the hospital, there was a softer connection. Now, the wall has gone back up again, as if that moment never happened.
I want to ask him what changed in the time between his bedroom and the drive home, but I am too exhausted. Too emotionally drained to handle whatever storm is brewing inside Jace Cooper tonight.
So I leave it alone.
I head for the stairs and climb them, one hand dragging along the railing for balance as my legs protest each step.
My bedroom door closes behind me.
For a moment, I just stand there in the quiet before moving into the bathroom and turning on the shower. Steam almost immediately fills the small room as the water heats up.
