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That’s all I get.
A peek at him.
Too quickly, the nurses are around him and his bed is being wheeled right past me and through the door.
I follow them slowly, drawn to him, stepping out into the long, white corridor that disappears through double doors.
“I love you, Hothead,” I whisper.
And as they wheel him away from me, I stare at the bed with tear-clouded yearning. Unravelling. Hollow in a way that doesn’t seem possible with all the blood and muscles and bones that are somehow helping me exist in this shaky body.
I watch him disappear through the doors.
And I don’t know what I expected when I fell in love with Xander Butcher. Passionately intense. Intensely passionate. So, even if he breaks in that room, forgets me, forgets himself, I will never regret the month we spent being messy together.
I will never regret the hours we spent in volcanic emotion, being everything we were taught not to be. Being loud, overbearing, angry, opinionated, and rude.
Will never regret the bruises from his lovemaking that threw us both around, that flared our muscles, that burnt us from the inside out.
Never regret that in the aftermath of our explosive passion, his tongue would slide up my spine or his gaze would soothe my soul in adoring licks.
I will never regret him.
And me.
And when we chose each other.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-SEVEN
kaya
The feelingof being empty continues as my weak, careless strides take me from the corridor to the seat beside my mum. I look at her eyes, heavy with sleepy weight. She is trying to keep them open for me, but the sluggish bat of her lashes shows she is losing her fight.
Absently, I return my gaze to the room full of Butcher men looking utterly destroyed. I touch the chain around my neck, the habit a comfort as I dissolve from the present. I imagine staging a scene with my Sylvanians.
The girl rabbit would walk into the hospital room, and the boy rabbit would be awake to help her through this moment—the moment when they need to cut into his brain in order to fix the problems inside. She would be staged sitting on the bed with him, facing each other.
“What if you forget me?”The little rabbit girl would ask, and it wouldn’t be selfish. He would understand.
“How could I forget you, Baby?”
Tears of fear will fall. “Don't.
“You're in here.” He would beat his chest. “You’re in so deep. In every cell.”
She would whimper. “No.”
“I can't forget you.”
She can’t find more words through the sobs. “No.”
He would cup her cheeks. Ground her. “What do you want to do when I wake up, Baby? Tell me where the Sylvanians are going first?”
She’d smile around her tears. “To the moon.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-EIGHT
kaya
