Page 64 of Love You To Pieces

“I’m sorry.” My eyes drift closed; I’m so tired now that the adrenaline is all gone, having seeped into the floorboards at least an hour ago. “I’m so sorry, Pearl. I never should have done that.”

Or at the very least, I never should’ve made her go with me when she clearly hadn’t wanted to. I can’t blame myself for trying to escape. Not after everything…right?

My mind drifts, and I replay the night in my head, from the moment Fox slumped into my arms in the bathroom and my hands had slipped in the blood at his waist. Small snippets, like a skipping video, the moment Deacon arrived, all steadiness and soft curses as he pulled Fox off me and laid him out flat.

“I think he got stabbed,” I’d whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I⁠—”

Deacon hadn’t wanted to hear my apologies. He barely wanted my help, until he finally decided he needed it, and then he only allowed her to put pressure on the wound while Deacon improvised a few bandages from his own shirt and called for help on Fox’s walkie talkie that somehow survived the fight on his belt.

Everything after that feels like a blur, even now. The ambulance. Fox waking up and denying going to the hospital which nearly sent Deacon into fits. And finally, when I saw a stretcher coming out of the front of the movie theater, uncovered, my heart had jumped in my chest.

“Is Carl alive?” I’d asked, not thinking for a second that the boy’s name wasn’t really Carl.

Deacon had looked at me, nonplussed and unimpressed. “Who the fuck is Carl?”

Apparently, the boy’s name was Alex.

And yeah, Deacon told me he was alive, and would be okay.

That’s what Deacon had been dealing with for most of the struggle.

My eyes flick open just as the door creaks on its hinges behind me, though I don’t move. Moving would require so much effort, and even Pearl’s breath isn’t enough to get me up. I just stare at the dog, who’s a little out of it thanks to the pain meds Deacon gave her.

Nobody enters the room and curiosity eats at me until I ask, in a low voice, “Is he okay?”

Deacon sighs. I should’ve known he’d sigh at me. “Yeah, Sadie. He’s okay.” I’d braced myself for a rebuke. For anger. For something other than tired reassurance.

That’s enough to get me to roll over. I turn onto my back and stare up at him, finding Deacon looking absolutely bone tired. His shoulders sag, and he leans against the doorframe like it’s the only thing holding him up. I’ve never seen him look like this, and a pang of guilt goes through me.

Despite my own weariness, I roll to my knees, head spinning as I do. “Can I help you?” I ask automatically. “Can I do something⁠—”

“Sadie—”

“I don’t mind.” My words get faster, like I’m trying to convince him to give me a chance. Just one fucking chance to make up for what I did, and to stop it from being my fault Fox almost⁠—

“Sadie.” There’s steel in his voice that makes me stop, and I sink back down on my knees, my hands going to my thighs and resting there uncomfortably. Whatever he sees on my face makes him sigh, and for just a moment, Deacon looks so much more human than I’ve ever seen him. He runs a hand through his dark blond hair, leaving it tousled and messier than he usually prefers. “Just…stop.”

The hurt that goes through me must show on my face, because he groans and buries his face in his hands. “No, I didn’t mean it like that,” he corrects. “Don’t look at me with those sad eyes, Sadie.” There’s guilt on his features that I’ve never seen before, and it brings me up short in surprise. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m tired. And I’m—” He stops suddenly, looking like he’s warring between guilt and frustration.

“Can I help you? Can I help Fox?” I ask again, and his eyes find mine once more. Something clicks, like he’s made a decision, and Deacon straightens in the doorway to stand at his full height, instead of leaning on the frame for support.

“I’m tired of this,” he says finally. “I’m done with your indecisiveness. Either you want to be here, you actually want to be here, or you don’t.”

Frankly, I’m pretty sure my escape attempt made it clear I don’t, but I don’t say that out loud.

Especially when, right now, it doesn’t exactly feel true. If I was wavering before, on some edge that I’d not quite registered, now I’ve tipped over it. Instead of mentally hunting for a way out, all of my thoughts go straight to the other room, where Fox is tucked into bed, hopefully not dying, probably cracking bad jokes if Deacon’s face is anything to go by.

“I…” Fuck. I can’t get the words out, and when I look up at Deacon, he barely seems to notice. He sighs again and shifts, then for just a moment, I think he looks remorseful.

“Fox is fine,” he says finally, his words careful. “He’s asleep. You can go see him, if you want. I had to drug the idiot so he’d stop being stupid. I swear to fucking Christ he’s the dumbest sack of shit I’ve ever had the displeasure of stitching up.” Deacon rolls his eyes skyward, as if asking for help from some silent divinity. “But he’ll be fine. He’ll end up with a new scar that he’ll show off to his deputies while acting all big and tough about it. Because he’s a dumbass.”

There’s a world of fondness in his voice, and I can’t help but see the flicker of a smile at the edge of his lips. If I hadn’t known before, it’s so clear now that he truly loves Fox. A pang of something goes through me.

Desire?

Jealousy?

The thought is embarrassing, and I shove the feeling down, waiting for Deacon to go one since he clearly has more to say.