“I know,” I answer.“But he doesn’t need to touch her to mess with her.”
And that’s exactly what worries me.
“You love her,” Leo says after a moment.
It isn’t a question.
“Yes,” I answer simply.
Because there isn’t any reason to pretend otherwise anymore.
“Does Zane know?” he asks.
“No.”
Leo exhales slowly.
“That’s going to be interesting.”
“I didn’t want him finding out like this,” I admit.
“He won’t,” Leo says calmly.“You and Lisa will figure that out together.”
I nod. Because he’s right. We will.
By the time he leaves the room, the medication is already pulling me under again, the edges of the room softening as exhaustion settles heavier across my body.
The door opens quietly sometime later. Lisa comes back in. I don’t open my eyes. Not yet. Because I hear her before I see her.
“You’re going to be fine,” she whispers as her fingers wrap around mine again.“You have to be.” Her voice breaks slightly.“I’m sorry Perth went after you because of me.” Something tightens inside my chest even through the haze of anesthesia.“I swear I’ll talk to him.”
No. Absolutely not. But I can’t say that yet. Not tonight. Not like this.
“I’m sorry, Blake,” she whispers again.
I tighten my fingers around hers without opening my eyes. And even half asleep, I already know one thing with complete certainty. She’s not facing Perth alone again. Not ever.
Chapter 22
Lisa
Sleeping in a hospital chair turns out to be exactly as uncomfortable as I expected. Somehow, it is also worse in ways I hadn’t anticipated. It isn’t just my neck that aches or my back that feels twisted into unfamiliar angles by morning; it’s the strange awareness that every time I drift too far into sleep, my body wakes itself again, just to make sure Blake is still breathing beside me.
At some point during the night, I must have slept properly for a little while, because when I open my eyes again, the hallway outside the room is quieter than before, and the soft grey light filtering through the window tells me morning has already started without asking whether I was ready for it or not.
My shoulders protest the moment I try to sit up straighter. My neck feels stiff. My lower back feels like I spent the night on a wooden bench instead of in a chair that technically counts as hospital furniture.
And still, the first thing I do isn’t to stretch, move, or even stand up. The first thing I do is look at Blake. He’s still asleep.
His hair looks messier than usual, his face paler than I’ve ever seen it before yesterday, and his right shoulder is wrapped so carefully in bandages and support that the reality of how serious the injury was settles over me all over again, even though I already lived through the moment they told me about it.
For a few seconds, I just watch him breathe. Slow. Steady.
At some point during the night, I must have fallen asleep with my hand wrapped around his, because when I try to shift in the chair, my fingers are still loosely curled around his palm. I don’t want to let go, so instead, I adjust my grip carefully without waking him.
“I hope you’re not planning to make a habit out of this,” I whisper, even though I know he can’t hear me yet.“Because I am definitely not built for hospital chairs.”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t wake. Just breathes.
