Rustling, bootsthudding.
The shower door opens and closes.
Warm hands find me, and I’m lifted into his lap.
Something in me cracks.
It starts as a shiver. My breath catches, ragged and uneven. Then it’s everywhere. My chest caves in, and suddenly I’m clutching at Jace like I might drown if I let go.
My nails claw at his skin as a mix of rage and anguish courses through me.
His arms stay strong around me.
“It’s okay,” he whispers, over and over. “I’ve got you.”
Violent sobs tear out of me. All the things I didn’t say to Tex, all the moments I’ll never get back, the future that was ripped away from me. The desolate ache of knowing he’sgone.
He doesn’t tell me to stop. Doesn’t tell me to be strong. He just holds me through it, one hand cradling the back of my head, the other an anchor at my spine.
I don’t know how long we stay there—only that by the time the sobs slow, I’m trembling, empty, and pressed into the solid safety of his chest.
He stands, pants plastered to him. He helps me up, turning me to face away from him.
He helps me out of the last of my clothes without a word. His touch is careful. His gaze focused. My limbs feel heavy and sluggish, but I let him guide me. His hands are strong, working the soap over my shoulders, down my arms, across my back. There’s a tenderness in it that makes my throat tighten all over again.
When he reaches my hair, I lean into the touch. His fingers work the shampoo through slowly. The lather runs down my back, over my skin. I keep my eyes closed, letting the sound of the water and the quiet rhythm of his hands keep me grounded here in this existence.
He checks the temperature before he angles me under the spray, rinsing me off. Then he’s helping me step out, wrapping me in a towel so big it swallows me whole.
Back in the bedroom, he keeps moving, pulling out a clean shirt from mydrawer with my favorite pair of shorts. He dresses me like each piece of fabric is a layer of armor he’s putting back on.
When I’m finally under the covers, he tucks the blanket around me, smoothing it over my shoulders.
“Rest,” he says quietly, crouching beside the bed.
I catch his wrist before he can stand.
His eyes scan over my face. “I’ll take a quick shower. I’ll be right here after.”
He slips free, and the sound of running water follows a moment later from the bathroom. My body feels as if it’s sinking into the mattress, exhaustion pulling at me from every direction, Tex’s ring and pebble locked firmly in my hand.
2 STAY
All I do is sleep, because when I’m awake all I can see, all I can think of,is Tex.Those last moments play on a constant loop. His voice echoes in my head. That final look in his eyes—not fear or even pain, but love and acceptance.
It feels wrong that the world’s still moving when he’s not in it.
Jace spends the first night after the mission, stretched out beside me, letting me bury my face in his chest until my tears run out. He doesn’t try to make me talk. He just lies there, solid and warm.
The next night, it’s Noah. He tries to coax me out with tea and some sarcastic remark about how I’m ruining my “mysterious badass” reputation. I manage a weak smile, but it doesn’t last. He ends up just sitting on the floor beside my bed, laptop open, working in silence until I drift off.
Night three is Luca’s turn. He’s quieter than I’ve ever known him to be. All his flirty quips and half-grins are nowhere to be found. He just takes my phone, mutters something about screening my messages, and leans back in the chair by the window. He keeps swapping between staring across the grounds with a faraway look in his eyes then back to me. I can feel the soft heat of his eye, gently watching over me.
Even when I sleep, I can feel them. The change in the air when one leavesand another arrives. The weight of their concern pressing in but never smothering. When I do open my eyes, it’s to the dim light slipping past the curtains or the quiet shuffle of one of the boys switching shifts at my side. Sometimes they speak. Sometimes the silence speaks for itself.
They try. Little things, every day. My favorite takeout. New books. Music humming softly from the speaker. Tex’s ring is cleaned and tied around my neck. But most days, I can’t make myself get out of bed for more than a few minutes. Dakota comes and tries to coax me out with promises of pastries and gossip.
When Savvy visits with magazines and chocolates, her soothing tones are gentle and full of care. She nearly convinces me to take a walk but when I start getting dressed the shirt I grab is the last one he’d held me in. I try to breathe it in, hoping that it still smells like him but it’s been washed, and the only thing I can smell is laundry detergent. Each passing day seems like another chance for something of Tex to be stripped away. I crawl back into bed, and when the sobs leave my chest she just holds my hand until I find peace in sleep again.
