“Promise me we’ll come back here every year,” he begged.
“Here?” I asked.
He smiled softly. “To this place. To this feeling.”
I’d reached down, plucked a bit of grapevine from where it had fallen beside us, and twisted it into a thin bracelet. “I promise. Until then, this’ll remind you,” I said, sliding it over his wrist.
We never did.
I pressed the bracelet to my forehead now, the memory cutting like glass. “You idiot,” I muttered to myself, voice cracking. “You selfish, blind idiot.”
All the excuses—double shifts, late calls,emergencies—they sounded empty now. I had everything I ever wanted and still managed to lose it. I hadhim.
I tucked the bracelet into the bag and zipped it shut. My hands were shaking, but my resolve wasn’t.
“Hang on, Eli,” I whispered. My throat burned, my voice rough from all the words I should’ve said when I had the chance. “I’m coming back. I’m not leaving you again.”
I slung the bag over my shoulder, took one last look at the bed—our bed—and forced myself out the door, down the stairs, and into the night.
I was going to bring him home. Whatever it took.
Chapter 16
Between Heart and Duty
ADRIAN
Istepped onto the unit, body still shaking from the ride up, and froze. A small delivery cart sat near the front desk with a single bouquet of lilies and white roses neatly wrapped in cellophane. There was a card tucked into the ribbon that read:From the team at Ryman & Associates. Wishing you strength and a speedy recovery.
I swallowed hard, throat tight. The flowers were perfect, pristine, a cruel imitation of every bouquet I had ever brought him to apologize for my absence.
The receptionist looked up, startled. “Dr. Hawke.” She addressed me softly, glancing at the flowers. “These just came in. I can?—”
“I’ll take them,” I rasped, my voice rough. My hands closed around the stems, fingers trembling. The cloying scent of the perfumed blooms reminded me of a funeral, and it made my chest squeeze.
Behind me, Eli’s parents appeared at the elevator, eyes wide, exhausted, and luggage in tow.
“Go home,” I said, forcing myself to stay upright. “I’ll stay with him. You need to eat, shower, rest—everything we’ve been telling ourselves you can’t skip.”
His mother hesitated, glancing at me with a fragile, worried expression. “Adrian…”
“I’m okay,” I said, and maybe I even believed it a little. “I’ve got him. Go. You deserve a break.”
Their relief was palpable. They lingered just a moment longer, and I could see the gratitude in their faces, mixed with the guilt I knew they carried for not being here sooner. I cringed at their sympathy.It should be me feeling guilty,I thought, not them.
Finally, they shuffled toward the elevators, leaving me alone with the bouquet, the polished floors, and the lonely echo of the hospital corridor.
I gripped the flowers tighter, each stem pressing into my palm, and pushed through the double doors toward Eli’s wing. When I reached the room, the sliding glass doors parted, and there he was. Tubes, monitors, lines running from his veins to machines that breathed for him. His chest rose and fell, but every shallow inhale reminded me of how fragile he was, how close I’d come to losing him.
I laid the flowers on the bedside table. My hands shook as I took his and pressed it to my cheek. “I’m here, Eli,” I whispered, voice cracking. “I’m not leaving. I swear I’m not leaving.”
The equipment beeped and hummed, but I barely heard it. I traced the line of his jaw, the curve of his lips, memorizingeverything I could see. Every time the nurse checked a monitor or adjusted a tube, I flinched, but I stayed. I would stay.
Hours passed—or maybe minutes; I couldn’t tell. I barely moved except to sip from a paper cup, brush back the damp hair from his forehead, and whisper to him again and again.
“You hear me? I’m here. I’ve got you. We’re going to get through this. You’re going to open your eyes, and I’m not letting you go again.”
The bouquet sat between us, bright and alive, a fragile reminder that even in the sterile hospital, life could still bloom. And I clung to it, to him, to every ragged heartbeat, until the night gave way to morning, and the first faint light touched his face.
