Back then, I had been a hero in her eyes. Now, I was the man who had looked at her scars and assumed they were a choice rather than a map of her survival. I had been the villain in her story for a decade, and I had played the part with terrifying enthusiasm.
She’ll never look at me like that again,I thought, the realization twisting like a knife in my chest.I’ve burned that bridge so many times the ashes have turned to dust.
But as I watched Richard laugh and pull Morgan closer, a cold, hard resolve settled in my bones. I wouldn't stop trying. Ididn't care if it took forever. I didn't care if she spent the next fifty years screaming at me to leave.
I had been her shadow for ten years. Now, I was going to be her anchor.
“Elliott?” Rob’s voice broke through my internal static. He was looking at me with a mixture of pity and amusement. “You’re doing it again. You’re staring at her chair like you’re trying to set it on fire with your mind.”
“I’m done,” I said, not even bothering to finish my drink. I pushed the chair back, the legs screeching against the stone floor. “Tell Morgan I’m heading in.”
I didn't wait for an answer. I didn't need to. Every step I took away from that table and toward the lobby felt like a tether finally snapping, pulling me back to the only place I was ever meant to be. Standing guard over a woman who probably wished I was anywhere else.
twenty-seven
VANESSA
Somehow,my alarm went off.
That was how I knew they—orsomeone—had really been in my room. The alarm had been set with just enough time for me to wake up, shower, and get ready for this god-awful hike. I stared at my phone, wondering who had done it. My passcode wasn't exactly top-secret among my inner circle, but the precision of it felt intentional.
As I sat up, my head throbbing with a dull, rhythmic ache, I noticed it. A heavy armchair had been pulled out from the desk and dragged to the side of my bed. It sat there, empty and expectant, angled toward where my head had been resting.
A flash of a dream flickered in my mind—a shadow sitting in that chair, a cool hand on my forehead, a voice whispering my name. It felt too vivid to be a fever dream, yet too impossible to be real. I pushed the thought away. Elliott wouldn't have stayed. He wouldn't have watched me sleep. I was just projecting my own desperate wants onto a piece of hotel furniture.
Today was the day of the hike. To say I wasn’t looking forward to it was the understatement of the year. The only things I liked to climb were beds and the hills I so often died on.
I debated wearing pants, mostly out of habit, but the cat was out of the bag now. My long-kept secret wasn't a secret anymore; besides, it was way too hot for denim. I was already swallowing Tylenol like candy, and if the fever didn't break soon, the last thing I wanted was to be trapped in layers.
Elliott had seen the scar before everyone else found out, but he hadn't realized at the time how the two were connected—the metal in my leg and the wreckage of his past. Now, I didn't have to hide it at all. Luckily, I’d thrown one measly pair of shorts into my bag. I pulled them on with a top that was basically a glorified sports bra slash swimsuit contraption, bracing myself for the sun.
Even though it looked breezy outside, I felt like I was a thousand degrees. I’d been sweating when I woke up, sweating in the shower, and I was still sweating after I’d dried off. Despite the Tylenol, my fever had yet to break. A small alarm rang in the back of my mind, warning me to stay in bed, but I couldn’t let Morgan down again. I’d fight through it—just like I did everything else.
Luxury buses idled outside the hotel. I climbed onto the only one that still had space, avoiding eye contact. Thankfully, it seemed none of the three people I was currently dodging like the plague were on board. I just didn't want a confrontation to happen in public, or anywhere Penelope could easily push me off a cliff.
The ride wasn't long, but somehow I was sweating even more. I downed two water bottles in minutes. No amount of water was enough to cool me down.
When we arrived, I let everyone else go ahead. They all looked like extras from a Victoria’s Secret catalog. Meanwhile, I shoved my hair into a sloppy bun just to keep it from sticking to my skin. My shoes—old, beat-up Converse—were being put to the ultimate test.
I dragged myself after the group, slow and unsteady. Not only did I feel like walking death, but my left leg decided now was the perfect time to start aching. The pain came and went without warning—growing pains with a metal-enhanced reality. My doctor called me Cyborg; I called him Frankenstein. He always offered pain meds, but I always declined. My family had a long history of addiction, and I was in no hurry to end up at a meeting.
I felt eyes on me. I looked up and saw Elliott standing off to the side, like he’d been waiting. When his gaze landed on me, it was as if he were wondering what had taken me so long. Almost like he was checking on me. But surely, that couldn't be it.
He was shirtless, in loose basketball shorts and a backward cap. A blonde giggled, sliding her hands up his chest before pulling him toward their group. My mind wanted to loop that moment over and over, as if I didn't already have enough reasons to torture myself. I shook the thought off and trudged forward, I didn’t even have the mental energy for it.
By the time we reached the waterfall, it was breathtaking, but my vision was starting to blur at the edges. I stumbled at the water’s edge, and a man from another group reached out to steady me, concern in his eyes.
“Hey, are you okay?”
I gave him a weak smile. Before I could lie and tell him I was fine, the world tilted. My legs gave out. My balance shifted. And then I wiped out.
Everything went dark.
twenty-eight
ELLIOTT
I heardthe screams before I saw her.
