Page 142 of The Devil of Downtown

My chest tightens at the sound of my name in his voice.

I try for humor, even as emotion threatens to break through. “If you hang around the hospital too long, they’ll worry you’re planning a hostile takeover.”

A faint, broken sound escapes him—half a laugh, half relief—as his forehead comes to rest against mine. His thumbs stroke my cheeks slowly, reverently.

“I thought you were asleep,” he murmurs.

“I was,” I say. “And then I wasn’t.”

“You didn’t have to stay,” I add.

“Yes,” he says at once, without hesitation. “I did.”

We stand there for a moment longer, not speaking, just breathing each other in. He’s still looking at me when a stabbing ache cuts through my ribs, and I wince.

In an instant, his expression changes. “Hey—no. Sit down.”

He fusses over me, guiding me back toward the bed with gentle insistence, adjusting pillows, making sure I’m steady before he sits beside me. The care in his movements undoes me more than I care to admit.

For a moment, neither of us speaks.

“You’re here,” I begin, twisting the sheets, cringing internally at how stupid I sound.

“I am.” That slow, disarming smile curves his mouth, the one he rarely gives, the one that gets me every damn time.

“And I’m not leaving,” he adds, expression turning serious. “So if you want me to go, I’ll just hang out in the hospital waiting room.”

“Like a crazy stalker,” I say, eyebrow raised.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling softly. “If that’s what it takes.”

He reaches for my hand. I let him take it, let his fingers close around mine, because right now he’s the only thing holding me together.

“Look, Ivy,” he starts, and then stops. His voice isn’t unsteady exactly, just stripped of its usual certainty.

I take a breath, my thumb brushing over his knuckles. "Can I say something?” I ask quietly. “There’s something I need you to hear.”

He stills. His grip tightens a fraction, like he’s bracing himself for the worst.

“Okay.”

“I didn’t leave the gala because of you.” My voice wobbles, but I don’t stop. “I panicked. Jennie was freaking out, said Brody was in a state—muttering about the accident—and instead of thinking, I ran.”

He watches me closely, not interrupting.

“I should have told you the moment I knew,” I continue. “But I thought if I could end it the right way, no one else would get hurt. I wasn’t choosing him. I never chose him.”

His jaw tightens. “I know that now.”

I search his face. “You didn’t yesterday.”

“No,” he admits. He rakes his hand through his hair as if he’s trying to make sense of his thoughts. “Yesterday I couldn’t see past the fear and the guilt.”

He doesn’t look away from me when he continues.

“I knew I loved you. Even when the truth about Brody blew up, and my mind went to the worst possible places.”

He lets out a deep breath like he’s forcing himself not to retreat.