Page 37 of Love What's Left
“I’ve got her,” I say.
Dave nods, and when Sydney doesn’t acknowledge him, he backs out of the room and closes the door.
I rock her gently and slide my lower jaw to the side, stretching it out. Trying to work through the ache faster.
Her screams die away, leaving pain terrifying in its silence.
“I know it sucks. But you’re so fucking strong. You survived, and you’re going to be okay. It’s going to get better. It won’t always feel like this. Just hold on for me a little longer.”
“I waited. For you,” she says.
“I’m sorry,” I choke. “I’m sorry.”
“You were too late. I died there. You just don’t know it.”
There’s no air in this room. A thousand of these shallow breaths would never be enough. “You’re alive.” I give her a small shake, and it’s for both of us. To rip the parachute cord and snap us out of free fall.
Dragging her hand up, I press her palm against her chest. “Do you feel that? Your heart is beating. Your lungs are full of oxygen. Your face is wet because you’re capable of crying. You’re wounded, not dead. When a bone breaks, you have to set it, so it heals straight. Sometimes, that shit hurts more than the break did. Believe me, I know. But it’s the first step so it can heal. You’re setting a broken heart. Right now, the pain feels like it’s killing you. But it gets better. I swear to God, Sydney, it does, if you can give yourself some grace.”
She takesa shuddering breath.
“The meds Dr. Granthy prescribed would help,” I say.
“No more drugs.”
“No meds unless you’re willing,” I agree.
“I won’t be.”
“I won’t make you.” Can I keep my promise? If she becomes a danger to herself—if I’m not enough to keep her safe from her own pain—she could end up an involuntary admission. If she does, the doctors would decide what she needs to get stable.
When the cops considered taking her the first time, she’d barely woken up. I believed, and Josh agreed, that sending her away could make things worse. It would have been trying to fight her trauma from imprisonment by locking her up again.
But sometimes, we become so afraid of the cold that we hide inside a house on fire.
“Will you hurt yourself if I let go?” I ask.
“No.” Sydney shakes her head, then whispers, “I need a hug . . . And a sandwich.”
My laugh is wet as fuck and has nothing to do with amusement. “I can take care of that.”
When I relax around her, she turns toward me and burrows against me, pressing her face into my neck as though she wants to become part of me.
I tighten my arms once more. The woman who never trusted me to hold up under the weight of my own burdens is now the wife who needs me to carry us both.
And I will. Until my last heartbeat. Until her last breath. If she needs me to shift the world on its axis, I’ll move heaven and earth by the strength of my love alone.
15
Sydney
With the remains of my snack cleared away, I sit on my side of the bed and wait forMcRae. I’ve decided to call him by the name I used when he got his tattoos. His first name won’t stick, but having something to call him besides “the man” gives him a place of permanence in my mind and my life. He’s real to me now, as strange as that sounds.
McRae returns from the bathroom, a navy T-shirt stretching across his powerful shoulders and a pair of thin gray sweats riding low on his hips.
I force my gaze from the revealing fabric back to his eyes and hold out a detangling brush and a new bottle of leave-in conditioner. He takes the hair care supplies from my hands, then climbs behind me on the bed, his thighs bracketing my hips, and his knees slightly raised.
His touch comforts me, and I’m done fighting myself to pretend it doesn’t.
