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God, I can’t even think it.
“He’s lost so much,” I whisper. “More than you even know. More than he’ll ever tell you.”
He swats at his eyes, looking tortured as he interprets my words. But I feel no satisfaction at hurting him, just fear that there is no happy ending to this story. How can there be when each chapter has been so twisted beyond repair?
“I know,” he says quietly. “I could see it in his eyes. I know he’s hiding incredible pain.”
“And what if it’s too much? What if we can’t get him back?”
I don’t expect him to respond, so I’m surprised when he exhales a shaky breath and clears his throat.
“Then we meet him where he is and love him there. We follow him into hell like we should have five years ago.”
I smart from the sting of his words and rub at my wet face.
Follow him into hell.
It sounds so simple, so sure. But where is that? How do we reach it? Ben doesn’t understand that there are places in his son’s head he may never let us go. After what just happened, I can only guess at the new walls he’ll construct. Ben has no idea how well his son can hide in plain sight. He thinks he understands, but he doesn’t. He can’t. None of us can, and maybe that’s the point. Maybe it’s not about Tristan at all. Maybe it’s about me and what I’ve been insisting I wanted all along—a choice.
Tristan can choose to hide.
I can choose to keep finding him.
I can’t breathe as I approach the door to his hospital room. Will he look like the vibrant boy I love or the ghost that’s been haunting me since the second I saw his blood on my fingers. That image is embedded in my mind, right beside his addictive smile I would have done anything to touch again.
As soon as I see it, my world floods with light.
Thank god!
“Iz,” he says in a hoarse voice as I approach the hospital bed.
Even if I had been prepared, I would’ve lost any words as I take his hand and clutch it in both of mine. His skin is so warm, his grip so sure and alive. I rest my lips on his fingers and hold tight.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he says when irritating tears spring to my eyes again. How is that even possible? I thought for sure I’d run out of them over the last twenty-four hours.
My gaze traces every detail of his face, taking him in with new urgency now that I know how precious these chances are. He’s paler than usual, but other than that, looks like the same heart-stopping boy I’ve loved since I was old enough to love.
“I… I thought… God, Tristan.” My voice breaks as I cling to his hand like I’m drowning. Likehe’sdrowning. I will never let him go again.
His gaze softens, and he squeezes my fingers. “I’m fine. I’ll be out of here soon. Pierce also sucks at killing people, apparently. One of the punctures didn’t even hit anything, and the other… Who needs a spleen, anyway?”
I shake my head, still unable to speak.
“It’s disappointing, really. I mean, his name isPierce, right? Besides, who gets to say they were literallystabbed in the back?”
“Not funny,” I say through the tiniest smile at his adorable grin. The shining eyes, the charming dimples that make no sense with the rest of his tough exterior—it’s mesmerizing, and my chest tightens as I lock that priceless image away as well.
He shifts so I can sit on the edge of the bed, and I hate that his face contorts from the slight movement.
“Are you in a lot of pain?” I ask, searching for hidden clues.
“No.”
“Liar.”
“No lie. I’ll be back to pushups in a week,” he teases, and I give him a hard look.
“Oh, really? I’ll be running that by your doctor.”
