Page 50 of In Their Hearts
If I hadn’t stayed at their house.
If I’d been stronger.
The guilt is suffocating. It presses down on me until I’m folded in on myself, arms wrapped tight around my ribs as if I can physically hold the damage inside.
And now one of them is in a hospital bed because of someone who hates me for some unknown reason. Will this ever end? What if I’m wrong and it’s not her?
My phone sits beside me, silent. I don’t check it again. I’m afraid of what I’ll see. Afraid of what I deserve to hear.
“They’re going to die,” I whisper again, like saying it first will somehow soften the blow. “And when they do, it’ll be because of me.”
The house feels too quiet. The chill seeps back in. I curl forward, pressing my forehead to my knees, rocking slightly as the realization settles in with crushing weight.
I didn’t just bring danger into their lives.
I stayed long enough for it to find them.
And no matter what happens next—whether they live or not—I know one thing with terrifying certainty.
I will never forgive myself for this.
Never.
26
Grant
I’m counting his breaths when it happens. In. Out. In. Out. Feeling guilty for the minutes of sleep I stole.
His fingers twitch again. It’s more this time. His hand tightens around mine.
“Clay?” I whisper, leaning forward so fast the chair scrapes softly against the floor.
His brow furrows. He swallows. Then his eyes flutter open, unfocused and glassy, like he’s surfacing from deep water.
“Hey,” I say quickly, my voice breaking on the word. “Hey, you’re okay. I’m here.”
He blinks at the ceiling, confused. His gaze drifts, then finds me. For a second, he just stares. Like he’s making sure I’m real.
“Did I… fall asleep?” he asks, his voice hoarse and slow.
A shaky laugh escapes me before I can stop it. Tears follow immediately. “Yeah,” I say. “You did. For a little while.”
He winces and shifts slightly. “My head feels… weird.”
“I know,” I tell him softly. “You got hurt. The stockroom collapsed.”
His eyes widen, memory cracking through the fog. “The noise,” he murmurs. “I remember the noise.”
I nod, squeezing his hand.
“I was on the ladder,” he says, piecing it together. “The shelf was stuck, so I—” He stops, breathing unevenly now. “I thought the whole place was coming down.”
My chest tightens. “I heard it from the front,” I say. “I thought I lost you.”
His thumb brushes weakly against my fingers, grounding, familiar. “I remember hitting the floor,” he continues. “Boxes went everywhere. I couldn’t see. I tried to get up. Then pieces of the ceiling came down.”
He swallows hard. “And then I thought of you. I couldn’t leave you. Not like this.”
