I exhale once, slow.
“I know what you’re doing,” I say calmly. “You’re trying to make me end this faster.”
I lean down until we’re eye level.
“Fuckers like you always think provocation equals power,” I continue. “You say the worst thing you can imagine and hope it buys you a quick death. But you’ll never get that from me.”
Grant’s smile tightens but doesn't disappear.
“You’re not pissing me off,” I tell him. “You’re making me more innovative.”
I straighten and step back, giving him space just long enough for it to register. I turn toward the table of tools.
“I will be the last thing you see before you die, Grant. But it’s going to take a while.”
I pick up a wrench and test its weight.
“And until then, I'm going to hurt you in ways you didn’t know a body could survive.”
Chapter 75
Brooke
Travis hasn’t moved in several minutes.
The monitor beside him keeps its rhythm, a steady pulse that tells me his heart is still working, but the rest of him looks emptied out. His skin is pale against the hospital sheets. His mouth hangs slightly open. His lashes rest too still against his cheeks.
The doctor’s words replay whether I want them to or not. He is not out of danger. The next few hours will decide everything.
Naomi has not left his side. She dragged her chair close. Her hand stays wrapped around his, thumb moving slowly over his knuckles in the same small circle. She hasn’t checked her phone or slept. She hasn’t said a single word about how tired she must be.
She just stays.
Every time I look at her, I think of Mila.
I think of the way Travis moved that night. He saw the threat and stepped in front of me. Protecting the people he loves is not something he debates. It is something he does.
And he is lying here because of the world I dragged him into.
The guilt settles deep in my chest until it feels hard to pull in air. I lace my fingers together and press until my knuckles ache, trying to redirect the pressure somewhere else.
“I should have—” I start, but I stop. There is no version of that sentence that fixes anything.
Naomi looks up at me. Her eyes are red.
“Don’t…Don’t turn this into something it isn’t.”
“He keeps getting hurt because he’s standing next to me.”
“He’s here because he chose to be,” she replies. “He protects the people he loves. That includes you.”
The doctor steps in again, checks the monitors, adjusts the IV line, presses lightly at the bandages under the sheet. He studies the numbers for a moment longer than I like, then looks at us.
“He’s still unstable,” the doctor explains. “We’re doing everything we can, but the next few hours are critical.”
I nod, swallowing back the burn in my throat.
When he leaves, something shifts inside me.
