Either we both walk out of this cottage, or neither of us does.
Landon takes a deep breath, only choking slightly as he says, “Show me.”
And I know he means the stars. He wants to see what comforts him most—Landon wants to return to where he belongs, in that dark, endless night.
But not today. Not right now.
“I’ll show you. I’ll show you what you need to see,” I promise him.
Illusion pours out of me in a hurry, desperate to snag his attention and relieve some of this pain. And I do show him—I show him exactly what he needs.
Landon is suddenly sitting on the front porch, watching the rain fall. It’s a dreary day, but the kind of dreary day people pray for. The perfect, peaceful moment.
And in the front yard, dancing in the raindrops, is our future. The illusion version of Landon spins in circles, arms spread as he tilts his face to the clouds, laughing so loudly it rattles our bones.
But he’s not alone. No, there I am, wrapping my arms around his waist and dragging him against me. Our clothes are soaked through and sticking to our skin, the perfect picture of forever.
And running laps around our feet is a child.Ourchild. The one we’ve never directly spoken about, but the one I know Landon craves. Between his newfound affection for Abigail and how many times I have to hear, “IfIwere a dad…” I know he wants to raise a child of his own.
As the illusion plays, the real Landon freezes, except for the little spurts of blood still escaping from his lips. His wide eyes trace the scene before him, his hands loosening and falling slack at his sides.
He’s still trembling, the pain racking his body every few seconds, but he’s calmed quite a bit.
“See this?” I ask him, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “If you fight, if you stay here with me, this is what our future looks like. You want it, don’t you, sweet Lanny? You want a life with me?”
Another sob leaves his throat, but I don’t believe it’s fromjustthe pain this time. His eyes are welling with more tears, his face so flushed and beautiful that I cannot help but lean in and kiss the corner of his mouth, tasting his blood.
It burns, but I let it simmer on my tongue anyway. Consider it a small part of the punishment Landon never truly gave me.
“Nate,” he whispers, and his throat is so raw and fucked that it almost hurts to hear. “Is that…”
The features, even the gender of the child, are hidden from view. I’m not sure what he’d want, and I don’t want to ruin it. But there is no mistake that it’s a child, clinging to his illusioned persona’s leg and giggling so sweetly.
“Yeah,” I confirm. “It’s us. It’llbeus, so just hang on, alright? Push through. You’re so fucking strong, baby. You can do it.”
But he’s stopped coughing, his body stilling next to mine. Slowly, Landon turns his face to me, covered in blood and tears and awe.
“I love—”
And then he’s gone. One second, he’s staring right at me, awake and aware, and the next? He’s out, slumping into me and drifting away so peacefully.
I take a solid five seconds to juststare. To try and sear this image into my brain, just in case he never wakes up again.
But then I’m moving, unwilling to let that happen.
I prevented his death once before, and I will do it again.
I willalwayssave him.
By the time Landon wakes again, I’ve called the doctor who tends to the Chastains. He checked Landon’s vitals and hooked him up to an IV in our bedroom, promising that his blood loss wasn’t bad enough to warrant a transplant.
Then he left, giving me firm instructions to keep him hydrated and resting.
And now, an hour later, Landon has woken up. He stares at the ceiling for a moment, his eyes blinking and startled. Then he feels the IV, feeling the point at which it’s stuck into his skin, and his eyes frantically try to findme.
“Right here,” I call out from the chair in the corner of the room, rising to round the bed and sit at his side.
“Nate,” he whispers, his voice coarse and raw.
