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Callum

Lydia Aston’s laughter echoes in the silence, the heartbeat that I’d easily trade for my own.

Lydia survived the surgery. Thank god for that, because if he let her die, I would have torn down Heaven’s gates to get her back. He can’t have her. She belongs to me and only fucking me.

A huge machine pushes air into her lungs as I sit at her bedside, watching as her chest rises and falls in beat to the whooshing noise it makes. It’s a sound I’ve grown to fucking loathe more than the constant beeping of every electronic device in this place.

I want Lydia to breathe on her own. I want to hear her voice, the sound of her infectious laughter that brightens everything it touches. I want to hold her while she sleeps soundly, to tell her that everything will be okay. I want to tell her that I fucking love her so much it physically hurts. I want to tell her that I’ll never let her go, not even in death. But instead, all I can do is sit here and watch as a machine breathes for her.

Grabbing her hand in mine, I raise it and place a kiss against her soft skin. The scratchy hospital bedding rubs against my face as I lean against it, willing myself to try and rest. I’ve been awake for so long, but I don’t deserve the pleasure of sleep—not while Lydia is like this.

“Cal, why don’t you go home and get some sleep. Sloane and I can stay,” Riven says, his footsteps growing closer until I feel a hand on my back.

Riven was out looking for Raithe after I told him that his brother was the one fucking stalking us. I told him everything that Raithe did, down to him being responsible for what transpired earlier. Riven took off immediately, pissed as hell and on a mission to demand answers from his brother.

“Did you find him?” I ask, my voice muffled against the comforter.

“No,” he says softly. “No, I didn’t. A security guard says he took off walking down the street toward the bus stop. I’m guessing he ran. Leave it to Raithe Reilly to never have to face a single problem head-on in his entire life. I guess that’s what you get when you’re handed everything on a silver fucking platter. Dorian wasn’t here to handle his problems for him, so he ran. Color me not at all fucking surprised.”

I can hear the disdain in Riven’s voice, the jealousy for a brother who got what he always wanted in a father. Raithe was Dorian’s favorite, and I know how hard that was for Riven growing up.

“Fucking coward,” I say, unable to give the words much venom as the adrenaline of the day continues to wear off.

I’m so fucking tired that I could sleep through Armageddon. I won’t, though. Not until Lydia wakes up. The doctors said that the top of her lung was punctured, causing it to collapse, and that an artery was nicked. She had a tube in her chest to fix her lung, and they were able to stop the bleeding and assess for other injuries. The doctors keep saying she was lucky, that it could have been a lot worse. As if what happened to her wasn’t absolutely fucking horrible enough.

“You should get some rest, Cal,” Sloane says, her voice sounding as worn-down as I feel.

“No. I’m not fucking leaving her,” I say, unmoving. I’d climb into this goddamn bed with her if it weren’t so fucking small and I wasn’t afraid that I’d hurt her. I’ve already hurt her enough.

“Alright,” Sloane says. “Then we’re all staying.”

I knew Sloane wouldn’t leave her best friend, and I know that the little investigator is more than aware of my true feelings for Lydia.

“Fine,” I say, turning my head to stare at the wall instead.

Why is the bedding in hospitals so fucking uncomfortable? As if having to be in a hospital bed isn’t difficult enough, they throw in the most abrasive fabric on planet goddamn Earth. If I had more energy, I’d drive to the nearest store and buy her the nicest bedding in sight.

On a heavy sigh, I let my eyes close at last. I strain against the urge to sleep, fighting to stay awake just a little longer. It’s useless. Sleep claims me within seconds, pulling my body into a dreamless state of only darkness and shadows.

☽ ✦ ☽

My body begins to stir, twitching as my mind catches up to where I am and the events that led me here. I groan, rolling my stiff neck as I come to. My hand drags across my jaw, catching the drool at the corner of my mouth. The room blurs into focus around me as I blink a few times. Soft humming fills the space, the sound so familiar that it nearly lulls me back to sleep.

Wait …

“Lydia?” I bolt upright, and there she is—those ocean blue, alive eyes that I’ve come to know so well. I’ve somehow found my way to the small sofa beside her, and the ventilator has been removed. Relief washes over me at the sight of it.

“Hey, you,” she says, laughing softly, her voice raspy and hoarse. The sweet sound of her laughter fills the air around me, instantly suffocating the darkness. God, how I’ve fucking missed that sound.

“Little siren,” I say, standing and moving to her side. I kneel, reaching up to caress her cheek in my hand. “You came back to me.”

“Of course I did,” she says, leaning into my touch. “I couldn’t die without seeing your secret sex dungeon.” Leave it to Lydia Aston to make a fucking sex joke moments after nearly losing her life.

“God, I fucking love you,” I say, my words unrestrained as they find her.

She inhales sharply, her eyes widening. “Say it again,” she whispers, scooting closer to me.