Page 40 of Life Or Death

“I don’t know what this is, Lucifer. I appreciate the company, but surely there are other things you’d rather be doing.”

The anger flares hot and fast, burning through my chest like a lit fuse. I want to tell her that there are a thousand things I’d rather be doing, but the lie gets stuck somewhere between my brain and my mouth. The truth is, there isn’t a single goddamn thing on this earth I want more than to be right here, in this shitty hospital room, watching her pick at a California roll.

And that’s what pisses me off.

Not the fact that she’s trying to give me an out. It’s me. It’s the fact that I’ve spent my entire life building walls around me, only for this tiny, scarred, too-pretty-for-her-own-good woman—to poke cracks in every single one of them without even trying.

“You know I don’t get you,” she says, her voice steady. “You’re nothing like the man I thought you were.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Jess doesn’t flinch at my tone. If anything, she straightens up in her chair, and I catch a glimpse of the spine that’s been hiding under all that vulnerability.

“Well, before the fire, you barely ever looked at me. You wouldn’t even let me serve you when you came into the bar. You’d always wave me off and ask for someone else. And now—” She gestures around the room, at the takeout containers, the stack of word search books on her nightstand, and the chair I’ve parked my ass in night after night. “Now, because I’m basically an invalid, you’re here every night even though the nightmares have stopped.”

“You’re not a fucking invalid.” I take a step toward her, then stop myself because I don’t trust what I’ll do if I get any closer. “You’re getting stronger every day. You’re walking more and more. I’ve seen it.”

Something shifts in her expression.

“Actually, that’s true,” she says quietly. “The doctor visited today. He said I might be able to go home soon.”

The floor drops out from under me.

“What?”

“It all depends on how the next few PT sessions go, but Dr. Patel thinks I can be discharged by the end of the month.” Jess is watching me carefully now, her head tilted slightly to the side. “They want to make sure I can handle stairs and basic daily stuff on my own before they discharge me.”

“So, you’re done with surgeries then?”

“I won’t know if I need more surgeries until my scars mature, but that’s something that can be monitored while I continue with my outpatient therapy.”

“Does Tori know this?’

She shakes her head. “I tried calling her, but she couldn’t really talk while she was working.”

A million questions flood my brain at once, all of them colliding and tangling together until I can’t grab hold of a single coherent thought. I try to sort through them, but the first one that makes it past my lips is the one that matters least.

“Are there stairs in your apartment?”

Jess blinks at me. “Well, not in the apartment itself, but it’s on the second floor. There’s a staircase in the building.”

“So, how are you going to manage that?”

She stares at me as if I’ve grown a second head. “Didn’t you hear what I said? They won’t release me until I can manage the stairs on my own. That’s literally the whole point of the PT sessions.” Her brows furrow, and I watch the confusion in her eyes harden into something sharper. “Why does it seem like you’re mad?” she asks. “Did you want me to be trapped here for the rest of my life?”

“No. Of course not.” The words come out clipped, defensive, and I hate the way they sound.

But I can’t control myself.

The moment she walks out of this hospital, everything changes. She’ll go back to her life or try to rebuild what’s left of it, and I don’t know where that leaves me. Am I supposed to show up at her door with takeout and word search books? Tori will fucking throw me out on my ass.

Am I supposed to go back to pretending she doesn’t fucking exist?

My days are numbered, and I don’t fucking like it.

CHAPTER TWELVE

JESS