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Chirping woke me up. Loud. Sharp somehow. Demanding. Breaking through the brain fog that has plagued me for days. I lift my head from the dense pillow and blink the sleep away, but I can’t see anything. The blind is down and it’s dark in here.
Dark.
Too dark.
A sickening feeling fills my throat, and my body starts to shake from the inside out. It settles in my chest with such terror, I’m somehow choking. I’m suddenly cold, shivers coating my skin, my muscles frozen in place, as panic sets in.
I will my lungs to pump, do something, anything, but my chest only spasms, tiny bursts of air barely passing through my nose. My vision blurs.
Then a scent penetrates the rising blood pressure. It’s rich, deep, and comforting. It smells of cedar and jasmine.It smells of Ronan.And it breaks through the barrier, my lungs filling with the relief he brings.
You’re in his bed.
My fingers twitch against the soft touch of the comforter, pushing me to further focus, rationalize the shadows around me.
It’s a different kind of darkness.
But it’s darkness nonetheless. A surge of fear-fueled adrenaline passes through my muscles, and I jump out of bed, almost ripping the cord of the blinds as I roll them up. Bright sunshine penetrates Ronan’s bedroom, making me take a few steps back while covering my face with my forearm. I’m panting as the sunshine heats my cold skin, making the shivers subside.
Shit.
The last thing I need is an aversion to darkness.
“Aaah, Christ!”
I bend over, gently pressing my palms over the bandaged stab wounds in my thighs, realizing I jumped out of bed far too quick. My muscles will take time to recover, and sprinting like that is not freaking helping. But feeling something, anything, is better than this numbing heartbreak. And I feel a lot… ribs hurt, my lungs seem to ache, my shoulders, neck and back. None compares to my heart.
Nausea hits me like a ton of bricks, and I rush to the bathroom through the pain in my thighs. I drop to my knees, hugging the toilet, and emptying my stomach. There’s not much food in there, enough to keep this nugget in my belly growing, but that’s it. I haven’t had much of an appetite. Luckily, I haven’t had too much morning sickness either. Hopefully, this is not the start of it.
That sharp chirping distracts me again. It’s not birdsong, it’s more like… a call. A long, demanding noise.
Is it coming from inside the penthouse?
I brush my teeth, then go to the bedroom door, opening it for the first time since Ronan brought me back. I wince as I get the first peek through the corridor that leads to the open living area. There is so much sunshine there, it sparkles against the space, and suddenly I hate everything about being here. It’s… beautiful. Cheerful.
Nothing deserves to be beautiful right now. Not for a long time.
It’s the silence that keeps me from slamming that door closed and crawling back into bed. Silence, apart from that damn bird.
Am I alone?
I’ve heard voices before. The guys always seem to come here now, probably for their business meetings, since Ronan has been reluctant to leave. Even Ekaterina was here, the only one, apart from a doctor and Ronan, who had stepped into the bedroom. She helped him, helped me.
But I don’t think anyone’s here, not even Ronan.
I haven’t had the power to move, to breathe too hard, to do anything but lie in bed, sleep, or occasionally deal with morning sickness in the en-suite bathroom. I can’t find the will to pretend I can carry on. But that’s not the only reason I’ve stayed in Ronan’s bedroom. He shares this penthouse with his brother. Finnigan—the man who lost her too.
I’m terrified of facing him. I know he wasn’t with her for that long, but if their connection was anything like what mine is with Ronan… fuck.
Does he blame me as much as I blame myself?
I take a tentative step forward. Then another. And by the third one, I still can’t hear any sound. So, I go on until I’m in the living area, the floor-to-ceiling windows to my right letting far too much sunshine through those sheer white curtains. But one of the doors that leads out to the terrace is open, one of the curtains dancing slowly in the breeze. The salty scent of the ocean drifts through, and I take a deep breath.
That chirping calls to me again, urging me to move farther. My instinct tugs at me to go back, pull the blinds down, and crawl under the covers until this reality dissipates, because it’s all too much. Against my better judgment, I step into the doorway of the terrace, and the view knocks me out. It’s offensive… with its calm ocean, blue sky dusted with fluffy clouds, and the source of the incessant chirping darting around—two swifts flying happily.
The birds soar right in front of the terrace in a crazy dance around each other, chirping away like a bickering couple. Then they disappear to the right, yet their peeping remains. I follow the sound, and when I find the source, I’m met with more pain—they have a nest in the corner of the terrace, right under the awning of the roof. I can hear more of them, not as loud… baby swifts.
One of them flies around again, the ocean view its backdrop, before it lands on the railing, only a few feet before me.
