Page 43 of Stormy Knight

“I think it would be fine, Mr. Salvador.” When she got to the door, she turned back and smiled. “You have a waiting room full of loved ones. Would you like them to come back?”

“Yes, that would be nice,” Stormy said giving the nurse a genuine, but exhausted smile.

When the door closed, she felt the impact of the night’s events slam into her. Everything that she’d been through, everything that could have happened. “Hey, I’m right here. Your safe, sweetheart. Paul won’t be hurting you ever again,” she heard Reeves say.

Whiskey’s words came back to her,he’s not the guy you meet two years ago… he’s… dangerous.She was thankful he was who he was.

28

Stormy struggled to get out of the bed she was sick of being in it. Tired of everyone doating on her. Her independence was part of her identity. Always one to handle things on her own, she never wanted others to see her weak. To see she wasn’t always able to be the pillar of protection and strength.

The sudden need for help made her question her identity, overcome with feelings of shame or inadequacy, she felt like she was in some way. An overwhelming feeling of embarrassment left her vulnerable, especially in front of her friends.

Still, there was the quiet voice inside telling her they cared about her, the thought gave her some relief.

When Whiskey and Parker climbed into bed with her, she struggled to see it for what it was, her friends wanting to be close, not them seeing her as fragile. No matter how much she told them she was fine, the more they smothered her with attention.

Pushing through the pain and discomfort she forced herself to walk across the floor. She wanted to look outside to see if the world was still moving. With every step the guilt and fear crept in.

Stormy’s legs wobbled as she took another shaky step, the weight of her body feeling heavier with each movement. The room was dim, the curtains drawn tight, but she could still sense the change in the air.

She reached the window, her hand resting lightly on the cool glass. The world outside felt so distant, so separate from the quiet, oppressive space she had been confined to for what felt like forever. She pressed her forehead against the window, staring out at the familiar landscape she had barely seen in days, wondering if it had changed while she lay there, isolated and stuck in her own head.

The guilt swirled in her stomach, sharp and bitter. Everyone had been so concerned, so focused on her. But it wasn’t their fault. It was her own.Why did I let this happen?she thought.

The fear came next, like a creeping fog. She had been too stubborn, too proud. What if she couldn’t handle this on her own, couldn’t trust herself to push through without the support she had been resisting?

She took a slow, shaky breath, her hand slipping away from the window.

But deep down, she wasn’t sure if the battle against her body was the hardest part or the fight against the fear that had been slowly consuming her.

The warmth she craved seemed to slip just out of reach, like trying to catch a fleeting memory in the haze of her mind. It was that feeling—the comfort of being held, of being cared for in the way only Reeves had ever done—that she couldn’t shake. His absence was the sharpest pain of all, even more so than the ache in her body or the gnawing uncertainty in her heart.

She wanted him, needed him, in a way that felt raw and desperate. His presence had been her anchor, her safe place. The way his arms would wrap around her, a steady reassurance that no matter what the world threw at them, they could face ittogether. But now, with him not there, all she had was the echo of that feeling.

Her hand instinctively reached for the space next to her on the bed, her fingers brushing the cool sheets, as if by some miracle, he would materialize out of nowhere, his familiar warmth flooding the empty space. But there was only silence.

She could hear the soft rhythm of her own breathing, the quiet hum of the world beyond the walls, and the unspoken weight of everything that had gone unsaid.

Why isn’t he here?the thought lingered like a question with no answer, as if she had asked it too many times already, and yet it still remained.

She had been so stubborn, so convinced she could handle this on her own, that she had pushed him away when she needed him the mostWhat if I’ve lost him?

The idea was unbearable, doubt gnawed at the edges of her mind.

He had been there, the first few nights after coming home, then slowly, little by little he started staying away.

But without him by her side, the silence of the room felt louder than anything she could endure.

She turned back to the window, trying to calm the storm inside her. There was a part of her that knew she had to face the idea he might not be able to handle what had happened. She couldn’t ignore the ache his absence brought to her.

Hearing the door open, she turned to see Whiskey coming into the room. The shocked look on her best friend’s face brought another round of disappointment in herself.

Whiskey stood in the doorway, her eyes wide with concern. The moment she saw Stormy, her expression faltered—half relief, half shock. She hadn’t expected to find her up, much less standing, her body swaying with each step. The weight of the moment seemed to hang between them.

For a moment, Stormy didn’t know what to do with herself. Seeing Whiskey’s face, the quiet concern reflected in her eyes, made her feel smaller, like a child caught in a lie. She felt the guilt flood her again, deeper this time, swirling like a dark cloud around her.

“I can’t, Whiskey,” she repeated, her voice cracking slightly as she took a step back toward the bed. “I’m done lying in bed all day. I don’t care if I’m still hurting, I can’t keep pretending. I need to feel something else… anything else,”

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