“He tried to protect me. Demon, he just kept coming...”
Mom squeezes my hand, her eyes so puffy it breaks my heart. “Demon’s dead. Bill coming back quite likely saved us.”
“How many did we lose?” I croak.
“Three,” Travis answers, because Mom is crying again.
Bill strides in, cutting it short. His eyes swing to me and soften. “Mischief, thank fucking God.”
“Bill,” I whisper.
“You look like hell.”
“I can imagine.” I feel every bruise, every cut. “I’ll be okay.”
Mom wipes her face and steps back, taking a few breaths.
“Who didn’t make it?” I ask, my eyes never leaving Bill.
His gaze falls. “Henry, Kurt, and Liam.”
My eyes close. Tears slip out.
Travis is standing, fists clenched, like the world is heavy on him.
In the quiet that settles, Bill pulls up a chair and sits heavy, knees spread wide so his elbows have somewhere to land. He meets my eyes, and for the first time, I see a break in him, like he’s too tired to hold his big, bearded, bulletproof self together.
“You did good,” he says.
I sniff. “Did I?”
He nods. “Demon’s crew is finished. You outlasted them. You’re alive. That’s all any of us care about right now.”
My eyes flick to Travis. I want to ask him what we do next, but I already know: we survive. Just keep breathing. Just stay upright. The rest can wait. Mom lingers, damp-eyed, smoothing stray hair off my forehead.
“I’ll go check on your dad,” she says finally. “Bill, can you come with me?”
Bill hesitates, and then nods, rising with a grunt and squeezing my shoulder before he leaves. I watch their backs as they disappear down the corridor, my mother’s hand twisting into the back of Bill’s shirt like she’s holding herself together with it. Travis is on me before the door latches, crawling up onto the hospital bed, ignoring the IV, the tubes, any of it.
He melts his whole body around mine, gathering me up so that I barely feel the sheets, just his warmth. He buries his face in my neck and breathes in, slow and deep, like maybe he can fill up all the cracks in both of us by inhaling hard enough. “Don’t ever do that again,” he mumbles, voice rough and wet. “Don’t you ever scare me like that.”
“I wasn’t planning to add another gunshot wound to my résumé, but here we are,” I whisper.
He laughs, which turns into a shudder. “Well, if you can survive this, I think we have hope for our future.”
“Yeah. I guess you’re stuck with me.”
He kisses me, slow and soft.
We lay like that awhile. I can hear the hum of the hospital all around us—the clicks and beeps, the footsteps, the urgent hush. But for a moment, the only sound is Travis, humming some soft song into my ear. I let myself close my eyes and drift, because if the world can collapse in the morning, maybe it can rebuild itself by afternoon.
Maybe today, that’s enough.
