Ambrose’s shaking fingers pad across my face.
“There are so many bruises.”
“I didn’t want you two to fight.”
The hate in his glare, the tightness in his jaw, couldn’t disagree more.
Leaving my face, his hand moves to mine, and I look down at where they’re connected, to all the scars melding perfectly and the desperation in his grip that’s exhausting him. “Just tell me what happened?”
“I’m okay. Really. I’m just glad you’re awake and you’re okay, too.” I pause before sucking in a big breath and continuing. “I think I know what hurt you, but I hope you realize it’s not worth it. There are people who care about you too much for you to leave them that way. Valaria and Annabelle are outside. They’ve both been so worried.”
His eyes drop from my face, and his grip loosens from my hand because that isn’t what he wanted to hear. He’s pulling away, creating a safe distance between us that I can’t allow.
This time, I’m the one to wrap my fingers around his hand, avoiding his bandaged wrist and the hint of blood seeping through.
“I had no idea my heart could break into so many pieces until yesterday. It was so much worse than losing you before. So different. So final.”
Feeling tears fill my eyes again, I look away, glancing in the direction of the psychologist.
“He won’t need to be institutionalized again, right?”
Those words trigger something inside him, something that forces him to sit up again, his head shaking, eyes pleading. The blanket slips down his chest, revealing the most unflattering gown.
Amusement pulls at my face, all the muscles moving into a forced position. As if he senses it, his eyes move to me, the plea falling away as he stares at me with wild curiosity.
“Duck egg blue and baggy is not your style.”
His side smile strikes again, stretching the red paint I’m growing to love. “I’d tell you to fuck off, but I don’t really want you to go.”
That little freckle cluster in his eye—the heart—twinkles under the lights that make him squint.
“I’m not going anywhere. And you’re not either.” I squeeze his hand, my eyes moving back to his psychologist. “Right?”
“We’ll need to do an assessment for forty-eight hours,” she begins. “But I do feel that time in our facility?—”
I cut her off. I may not know mental health better than her—or at all, given my fraying sanity—but I know Ambrose better than anyone, and we only need each other to make it through.
“If he doesn’t have to stay there, I’m confident I can look out for him at home. I’ll be there whenever it’s hard.” I nod, praying she’ll understand how badly he needs me to survive. How much I need him. “We can go back to our buddy reads. What do you say?”
His eyes soften, ignoring the strain from the white lights. And I take that as a yes.
“As I was saying,” her words pull us from each other. “I think some time in the facility could be beneficial, but I don’t want to push him into a live-in plan, based solely on the fact that he has regrets about his actions.”
“He does. When we found him, he’d tried calling for an ambulance, but it looked like he’d dropped his phone.”
“The doctors filled me in on all you’ve said to them. We can discuss things during the assessment. I’ll give you guys a moment alone while I visit the bathroom, and I’ll be back in five minutes, and then I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
Disappointment encourages me to fight my case, the argument on the tip of my tongue. My mouth opens to let them all out, then closes. Submissively, I nod.
Dr. Harrison, whose name tag is much easier to read up close, struts across the room. My fingers fidget again as her small heels click and clack until she’s out the door.
“You’re stressed.”
“I am,” I reply honestly. “Can I give you a hug?” My lip trembles as I whisper. I rock, getting closer each time I move forward.
He nods, stretching an arm out in invitation. The look in his glazed eyes tells me he needs it as much as I do as I tuck myself in at his side.
His fingers don’t tighten on my body as much as usual. The injuries that cause him pain show as his usually full lips press into a thin line. The scrunched expression has to be because of his wrists and the discomfort… or because of me, and what I did with Shane.
