Page 79
“I love you, Lydia Aston, with everything in me. I am so fucking in love with you,” I say, holding her watery gaze as a tear slips free and slides down her cheek.
“Callum,” she says, hiccuping as her emotions consume her. “I love you, too. I have for a while. I should have told you before. I should ha—”
“Shh,” I say, wiping her tears with the pad of my thumb as I cup her opposite cheek in my free hand. “It’s okay. I’ve known for a while, too. And I should have told you before. I should have told you a million times over, because you deserve to hear it. You deserve everything, Lydia, and if you’ll let me, I’d like to make up for all of it.”
“Yes,” she says, nodding. “I’d like that very much.”
She leans forward and presses her lips to mine, the kiss soft and unhurried. I moan at the feel of her mouth against mine, her body inching closer. The kiss deepens as she fists her hands into my hair, her chest rubbing against mine until something starts beeping loudly in the background. I reach up to pull her closer. She yelps, and I pull back immediately.
“Did I hurt you? Shit. I’m so fucking sorry, Lydia. I shouldn’t have … we shouldn’t. You need to heal. Fuck, what was I thinking? We’re in a fucking hospital, for fuck’s sake.” I palm my face, sighing heavily.
“It’s okay,” she says, her cheeks flushed and her smile wide.
A nurse walks in moments later, eyeing us suspiciously as she walks over to silence the annoying beeping sound. I sigh in relief, earning another low chuckle from Lydia. The nurse asks Lydia if she needs anything before exiting the room and leaving us alone again. It’s the first time since waking up that I realize Sloane and Riven aren’t here.
“I told them to go home and get some rest once I woke up,” she says, answering my silent question as another one comes into focus.
“How long have you been awake? How long was I asleep?” I ask, suddenly aware that I may have lost even more time with her. She senses my emotions, placing a palm over my arm. I ease into the warmth of her touch, realizing how much I fucking missed it.
“A few hours,” she says nonchalantly.
“A FEW HOURS?” I whisper-scream. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“Because you needed to rest,” she says, pursing her lips. “I was fine. Riven and Sloane caught me up on all things Raithe, aka masked stalker, and I was able to get my bearings before you woke up.”
I stiffen at the mention of Raithe’s name, quickly forcing thoughts of him to the back of my mind. I don’t want to waste another second with Lydia. She deserves all my attention.
“Did I hurt you?” I ask, my eyes flicking to the place where I shot her.
“No,” she says, her eyes focusing solely on mine. “No, you didn’t. I’m okay, Callum. Really, I’m okay.”
“I’m so fucking sorry, love,” I say, grabbing her hand in mine. “You didn’t deserve to be dragged into any of this. I wish that I could go back in time and shoot myself when he ordered me to. I wish that I cou—”
“Stop,” she interrupts. “Stop it. Don’t wish for things of the past. We can’t change what was. We can only focus on what we have right here in front of us. You don’t deserve to die. You are worthy, Callum. I need you, all of you.”
Her thumb brushes across my cheek, catching a stray tear as it begins to fall. She presses her forehead to mine, cupping my face in her hands.
“Mine,” I whisper, tracing the lines of her face with my fingertips. Her skin is so warm, so alive. I tug her softly toward me, half afraid that if I blink, she’ll disappear.
“Yours,” she breathes, brushing her lips against mine like a promise, like a prayer I don’t know how to deserve.
The moment stretches on for an eternity, one that I’d gladly suspend myself in. In fact, the world could end right fucking now, and I’d be none the wiser. Everything that I’ve ever needed is pressed between the beat of Lydia’s heart against mine.
43
Lydia
When life gives you a second chance, you stop waiting for permission.
It’s been a little over two weeks since the accident—seventeen long days since I nearly lost my life, and everything along with it. Coincidentally, today is also my thirtieth birthday. I haven’t told Callum, and I don’t plan to.
Not a day goes by that I’m not eternally grateful for the gift of life, but I’d be lying if I said it’s been easy. The physical recovery has been challenging, sure. But it’s the emotional recovery that’s been eating at me, the internal struggle that I’ve been battling since that horrible day.
Every morning, I wake in a cold panic as I relive the moment I stared into Callum’s eyes, waiting for him to pull the trigger and end my life. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to forget the memory of the way he looked at me that day, like he couldn’t wait to watch me bleed out and die.
I know Callum didn’t realize that it was me. I know that he thought he was shooting the masked figure who’d been tormenting us for months. That doesn’t erase the memories, though. It doesn’t stop the nightmares or the pit in my stomach each time I see the face behind the mask.
I often think about Raithe Reilly, wondering why he did what he did. I want to give Riven’s brother the benefit of the doubt. I want to believe that he was under the same influence as Callum and me. If that were the truth, though, then why did he run? It’s hard to assume the best when Raithe didn’t even bother to stick around and defend himself. Unfortunately, his silence speaks volumes.
