Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 63608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
“She needs stability,” I say. “And space.”
Chux raises a brow. “You sure you can give her the second one?”
I don’t smile. “Not sure of anything anymore.”
He claps my shoulder. “You’ll figure it out. You usually do.”
When he leaves with Ally once she tells Kelly goodbye, I take a few slow breaths before pushing the door open fully. Kelly’s head snaps up the second I enter. Her shoulders relax. Her face softens. Her pulse visibly slows in her neck.
I stop dead at the threshold.
Because she’s looking at me the way she used to not from memories. But with instinct. With trust and connection between us.
And something fierce inside me roars to life.
I cross the room.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods, but the truth is written all over her face. “I just didn’t want you to be gone.”
The words hit me like a punch.
“I’m not gone,” I state. “Not now. Not tomorrow. Not until you’re safe. Not ever.” The last words are a whisper I’m not sure she hears.
Her eyes glisten. “Good.”
I sink back into the chair beside her, elbows on my knees. Her hand rests lightly on the blanket near mine. I don’t touch her. Not yet. Not until she’s sure. But she inches her fingers toward mine like gravity pulled them. She stops with a whisper of space between us. I close that distance with the gentlest brush of my pinky. She breathes in sharply.
My voice is low, rough. “Kelly, I know you don’t remember me. But I remember you. Every bit. And I swear to you I’m not gonna fail you again.”
Her eyes flutter shut. “I don’t know why, but I believe that too.”
My chest tightens so hard it hurts.
She opens her eyes again, voice a whisper. “Ledger, I’m scared to sleep.”
“I know.”
“What if I forget more?”
“You won’t.”
“What if I wake up and you’re not here?”
I meet her gaze steadily. “Learned a lesson about leavin’ before, sunshine. It won’t happen again.”
“Before?” she asks.
I decide not to get into all of the past and instead, I say softly. “I’m gonna stay until you’re okay.”
Her lips part. Her breath shakes. She stares at me for a long moment. Then her hand finds mine fully, slow, hesitant, but sure.
The warmth of her fingers sends something electric through me.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I shake my head once. “Don’t thank me. Just get better.”
She nods, exhaustion pulling at her edges again. Her eyes drift closed, her hand still in mine.
I sit there for hours, fingers tangled loosely with hers, guard dog mode switched fully on. Anyone who walks down this hallway gets my stare. Anyone who looks into this room gets evaluated as a threat. Anyone who had anything to do with her crash,
They aren’t going to make it out of Freedom Falls alive.
That is my vow.
Eight
Kelly
My instincts know him. My mind doesn’t. Which part of me should I trust?
* * *
The morning sun through the hospital blinds feels too bright. Too sharp. Like the world is trying to convince me everything is normal when nothing in my head feels even remotely close to regular. The universe is giving me light and life while my head is stuck in a vortex of confusion. Things feel familiar but I can’t pin point how it all connects.
My body aches everywhere, dull throbs layered over the kind of bone-deep exhaustion I can’t sleep off. But it’s my mind that feels the most fragile. A puzzle with half the pieces missing and no picture on the box to guide me. I remember things, like I know my name, my birthday, the basics. But it’s like I’ve somehow lost my most recent times.
A nurse finishes disconnecting my IV and gives me a warm smile. “Ready to go home?”
I hesitate.
Home.
What does that even mean anymore? The word doesn’t match anything in my memory. There’s no place my mind reaches for. No address that sparks comfort. I remember being a child and growing up in Freedom Falls, Alabama, but I can’t discern where my adulthood took me other than to work at a bakery with Ally.
The thing is I can’t tell if my memory of baking is about what Ally told me or if I really remember.
I swallow. “I guess.” I mean really what else is there to say.
She pats my shoulder. “You’ll feel better once you’re in familiar surroundings.”
But that’s the thing, nothing feels familiar except the man standing by the window. And he feels comforting but I can’t recall why.
Riot hasn’t moved more than ten feet from me since I woke up yesterday. He stayed overnight in that hard plastic chair, boots planted on the floor, arms crossed over his chest like he is guarding something precious he has no intention of losing. And now, he’s looking at me with this same unreadable intensity, like he’s waiting for me to fall apart so he can catch the pieces.