The Truth

He walks Mom out the door, and then Ace and Harper hug me. I tell them congratulations once more as they leave. When it’s Elle’s turn, her eyes are red and puffy as she says firmly, “Don’t do that shit to me, girl. I’m just gonna say it . . . I dare you to eat. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snacks. And take regular breaks. Because we’re not doing this again.” She twirls a burgundy tipped finger around the room before it lands on me in warning. “I’ll be checking in with Harper to make sure you’re being good.”

Actually, maybe that’s not a warning because it sounds more like a threat.

“And my dad.”

Oh, that’s definitely a threat.

But her hug is tight, and I know how scared she was. I hug her back, feeling her sag in relief. “Give my love to Colton and Neve. Sorry I scared her.”

“I will.” She hugs Daniel too, and then she’s gone. It’s just me and Daniel alone once more.

“Daniel—” I start, but he shakes his head, putting a finger to his lips in the international ‘shush’ gesture.

“Not now. You need to rest. We’ll have plenty of time to talk when you come home.”

I don’t want to wait. This has been weighing on me for days, and I want to share it with him, have him help with the load of worries and what-ifs. But the least I can do is respect that he’s not ready and give him time to think. I took that for myself, and he deserves the same.

Still, I’m disappointed. I guess a small part of me hoped he would be overjoyed, instantly take me in his arms, and tell me it would all be okay.

I nod. “Okay.”

Daniel moves around on the bed, coming to rest on his side next to me in the small space. He gathers me into him, and I bury myself in his chest as he runs his fingers through my hair. It feels good, and I want to stay awake to enjoy it.

But my eyes get heavy once more.

Right on the edge of sleep, I think I hear him whisper ‘I love you’, but it just as easily could’ve been my dream coming back. Still, it helps me, and this time the darkness is soft, unending, and comforting.

Chapter 30

Daniel

“Really, this is bullshit.”

“Hospital policy,” I remind Tiffany as I push her wheelchair toward the door.

“It’s not the walk of shame, it’s the roll of shame.”

“Just one more turn and the last hallway to freedom.”

Actually, I like being able to push Tiffany in a wheelchair. Not because she needs it. She’s squirming and rolling her eyes more than ever and walked across the hospital room to sit down in it, bitching the whole way. But it feels sort of . . . I don’t know. Like one last safety net to make sure she’s okay? Maybe.

All I know is I’m ready to have her out of the hospital and coming home.

We reach the pickup area, where my car’s waiting for us. With my help, she gets into the passenger seat while a nurse takes the wheelchair back inside.

“How did your car get here?” she asks, avoiding the elephant in the space between us. We haven’t really had a chance to discuss it yet. “You were in the hospital with me the whole time.”

“Ricky and Billy dropped it off for me,” I explain. “They’ve both got spare sets of keys.”

She nods, and the car goes silent.

I drive to my home automatically, never considering that she would go anywhere else. We have some things to discuss, some decisions to be made, but she’s not going anywhere without me. And I need a shower and some fresh clothes.

At the apartment, I keep a steadying hand on her waist as we ride the elevator up. She’s eaten, and I know I’m being hyper-protective, but dammit, I think when the woman you love collapses in front of you because she’s not eating, you’ve earned the right for a little bit.

Not that Tiffany wants any help, of course. She’s stiff in my arm, refusing to admit to any weakness at all. “Shower?”

She nods again, and I’m a bit worried I can’t read her. Her usually animated face is stoic, pale with exhaustion, which worries me, and her silence is loud as hell.

In the bathroom, I help her strip and then pull off my own clothes, all business, no heat. I help her into the warm water. Taking the bodywash, I soap up a scrubber puff and bathe her. With gentle sweeps of my hand, I sluice away the smells of sweat, fear, and hospital nastiness until she’s soft and pink all over.

She lets me move her this way and that without resistance and then sits on the small bench while I wash myself.

Shutting off the water, I dry her off with a towel and consider taking her back to bed. Not for sex, but to sleep. The storm in her eyes is the only sign of life she’s exhibiting, and for a woman as bold as Tiffany, the contrast is stark.