Like someone hit rewind on her pain, only this time, she woke up in a world that moved on without her. And I’m helpless against the wreckage. Back then, I never questioned what to do. There wasn’t time for second guessing—only action. Be there. Be present. Keep her breathing. Make sure she ate, drank, slept… or at least pretended to.
And now?
Now I hold her like she’s made of glass. Not just any glass—she’s a Prince Rupert’s drop. A molten tear of fire and fragility. The head is strong, forged in pressure and pain, nearly unbreakable. You can strike it with a hammer, and it’ll dent the steel instead. But the tail? Snap that, and the whole thing shatters—explodes in a thousand shards you’ll never put back together.
That’s what holding her feels like.
My angel.
My warrior.
Strong enough to take on the world…but right now, I’m terrified she’s barely holding on.
I pull her tighter, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other locked around her waist, as if I can hold all her broken pieces in place with nothing but my grip.
I don’t say a word. There’s nothing I could say that wouldn’t feel hollow in a moment like this. So, I stay. I hold her through the storm—through every shattered sob and broken whisper of his name. Through the gut-wrenching silence that follows when the tears run dry, but the grief still screams.
Time folds in on itself. Hours pass. I don’t move. I don’t let go. I don’t leave. Because I did once. I had to. The tour, the band, life pulling me away before either of us was ready. Not again. This time I'mma stay.
I hold her as she drowns in the weight of it all—Braden, the lost years, the cruel trick her mind has played on her—and Ianchor her to the now. To me. Her breath hitches, then slows. Her grip on my shirt loosens, but I keep mine tight. Her body tenses, like she’s just realized how close we are, or maybe how there’s no space between us at all. Slowly, she pulls back—just enough to tip her chin up and look at me.
And those eyes—God, those eyes—red-rimmed and hollow, but still beautiful. Like dawn rising over the wreckage of a storm.
Her breath quivers on the way out, and I brace myself.
I let her go gently, reluctantly pushing to my feet and stepping back from the bed. My hands curl into fists at my sides to stop myself from reaching for her again. Her gaze follows me, studying my face like she’s trying to make sense of a puzzle she doesn’t remember starting.
The door clicks open behind me.
June steps in—a familiar nurse to me, but a stranger to Mac. Her smile is warm, knowing.
“Well, it’s good to see you sitting up, Mackayla,” she says gently, clipboard in hand. “How are you feeling, sweetheart? Any pressure in your head?”
Mac blinks, pulling her attention away from me. “Um…it’s okay, I guess.”
“Any dizziness? Nausea?”
“A little.”
“That’s to be expected. Obs are looking good, though.” June’s smile flicks toward me. “Maybe your boyfriend here can spoil you with some cozy PJs—get you out of our scratchy hospital wear, hm? Just a thought for later.”
Mac stills.
Completely.
Her mouth parts slightly. “Boyfriend?”
The word is soft, broken, fragile.
And when she looks at me—really looks at me—something inside my chest fractures. Her eyes are wide, confused,searching mine like she’s seeing a stranger in someone else’s skin. Like everything she thought she knew about me just tilted sideways.
I brace for it. For the crack that comes before the fall.
My breath sticks in my throat, sharp and impossible to swallow.
She doesn’t remember.
Not us. Not what we were. Not what we are.
