“Easy.” My voice comes out quiet, even though I'm the one barely holding myself together.
I sit him on the edge of the bed and drop down in front of him again, my knees pressing into the carpet as my hands come back to his face, firmer this time, anchoring him in place so he can't drift away from me again.
“Hey,” I tighten my hold, forcing his attention to me. “You’re here.”
There is no immediate response, and the silence stretches too long.
“I need you here,” my voice cracking despite every attempt to control it. “With me.”
His eyes flicker again, just slightly, like something inside him is trying to reconnect, and then they finally focus, slowly settling on my face.
My breath catches in my chest.
“Brooke,” he says.
The word comes out flat and hollow, stripped of everything that sounds like him, but it is still him.
Relief hits so hard that my hands start to shake.
“I’m here,” I lean closer like he might disappear if I give him any space. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
His shoulders drop, not in relief but in collapse, like whatever has been holding him upright has finally given out, and he nods once.
I ease him back onto the bed, moving carefully so I don't jolt him, and he lets me guide him, lets me pull the covers over him, lets me climb in beside him while his body stays tense under my arm, his muscles locked even in stillness.
I curl into his side and press my ear against his chest, needing to hear his heartbeat to reassure myself that he's still here.
His pulse races beneath my cheek, uneven and erratic, stumbling and surging in a way that makes my chest tighten, but it is there, and that is enough for now.
I close my eyes and match my breathing to his, forcing my body into a slower rhythm, refusing to let myself break while he needs me like this.
Samantha’s face keeps cutting through the dark behind my eyes, replaying over and over again, her voice echoing in my head, her last words pressing into me.
I had only seen her twice, and somehow that had been enough to understand how much she loved him, enough to hear the truth in her voice when she spoke about regret and loss, enough to feel the impact of her absence already settling into the space around us.
Her arms around me on that porch replayed without warning, the way she held on, the way her voice cracked when she whispered that she was gratefulI loved her son, and the memory hit me hard enough that my heart sank all over again.
A tear slips free before I can stop it, and I wipe it away quickly and quietly, because I don't have the luxury of falling apart right now.
He needs me present, steady, holding him together in a way I'm not sure I can maintain for long.
Outside the room, voices rise and clash, breaking through the fragile quiet I am trying to hold onto.
“We go now,” Travis demands, his voice tight with fury. “We find Grant before he disappears.”
“That is exactly what he wants,” Beau fires back. “He wants us reactive and sloppy. You want to get Seth killed on a night like this?”
“He just executed his mother on live,” Travis snaps. “You want to sit on that?”
“I want us alive,” Beau replies. “I want Seth alive. Running out there like that gets us all buried.”
Their argument circles in repetitive bursts, but I force myself to tune it out, keeping my attention where it needs to be.
On Seth. On the way his jaw tightens when their voices rise. On the subtle shift in his breathing when Travis swears. On the tension that still lives in his body even as he lies there.
The adrenaline that has carried me this far begins to drain out of my system, leaving behind a heavy exhaustion that settles into my limbs and makes everything feel harder to hold together. My arms ache, my legs feel heavy, and my head throbs with the aftershock of everything that has just happened.
I whisper his name under my breath, repeating it quietly, just enough to keep him tethered to me.
