Page 28 of Tiny's Testament
He nods once, eyes still on her. The muscle in his cheek jumps. “Pearl?”
“Yeah.” My jaw tightens. “She’s gone. Won’t make that mistake twice.”
Capone exhales through his nose, rubbing a hand down his face. “Jesus, Tiny. You can’t save everyone.”
I stare at Syvannah’s wrist. Her pulse fluttering weak under my thumb. “Wasn’t trying to save her,” I answer quietly. “Just trying not to lose her.”
He looks at me hard. “That’s the same thing.” He takes a step closer, his boots creaking on the floorboards. His voice drops, heavy as steel. “And it’s how men like us end up buried.”
I glance up, jaw tight. “She’s not just another rescue.”
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.” There’s no bite to it anymore, just the truth that hurts more than a punch. Capone’s voice drops, low and heavy. “Don’t lose your edge for love. The second you hesitate out there, someone bleeds for it.”
The words land like a knife to the gut. I look down at her again, at the bruises on her arms, the faint tremor in her fingers, the softness in her face that the world keeps trying to steal.
“I’m already hesitating,” I admit, barely above a whisper.
Capone studies me for another moment, long enough for the silence to sting, then sighs. “I get it. She’s different, but we’re not. And this world doesn’t care why you hesitate.”
He leaves before I can say anything, boots echoing down the hall. The door stays cracked, the silence thicker than before.
For a while, it’s just me and the ticking clock again. I let the words sit heavy, like lead in my stomach. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m softening. Maybe the part of me that should’ve burned out years ago just found a reason to keep breathing.
A soft knock breaks the quiet. Blayze leans against the frame, coffee mug in hand, and his eyes still fogged from lack of sleep. He doesn’t look like the Vice President right now, just another man who’s seen too much and still finds a way to smile through it. He’s watching me like he already knows the story.
“Prez giving the speech again?” He asks, voice low, almost amused.
“Yeah.” I rake a hand through my hair. “Same one. Different day.”
“He’s not wrong, you know.”
“I know.”
Blayze steps closer and sits on the floor across from me. “But he’s not right either.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That so?”
He nods, resting his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like he’s remembering something he can’t say out loud.
“You spend enough years doing this,” Blayze says, “and you learn something. Sometimes the heart’s the only compass you’ve got. Ignore it long enough, and you lose direction.”
I huff out a tired laugh. “You sound like a damn philosopher.”
“Don’t tell Monica. She’ll start charging people for my advice.”
The corner of my mouth twitches. “You ever listen to your own compass?”
Blayze takes a long sip, sets the mug on the floor beside him. “Every time I look at my Ol’ Lady,” he says quietly. “Cost me half my sanity and all my peace, but it’s worth it.” He glances at the bed, at Syvannah tangled in the sheets, then back at me. “You got that same look I did when I first realized I was in trouble. When it stops being about saving someone and starts being about not living without them.”
I stare down at Syvannah’s small, pale hand against the blanket. Her fingers twitch, reaching for something even in sleep. I catch them before they fall back and hold on. “Then maybe I’m already too far gone.”
Blayze doesn’t argue. He just nods once, quiet understanding in his eyes. “Then do yourself a favor. If you’re gonna fall, don’t fight it halfway. Men like us only crash harder when we pretend we’re fine.”
I let out a breath, tired and hollow. “You always this poetic before breakfast?”
He grins faintly. “Only when I’m talking to you, brother.”
When he stands, he squeezes my shoulder once. A simple gesture, solid, wordless. Then he’s gone, the hallway doorclosing behind him with a soft click. When he leaves, the room feels smaller.
