Page 74 of Twisted Fate

I nod and open the door before stepping inside. Everything is a different shade of purple. The bedding, the curtains, my desk—everything. “I haven’t lived here for, like, three and a half years,” I say as though it’s some form of explanation.

He presses his lips together against a smile. “Sure,” he says. “It’s...nice.”

“Oh hush, it’s overwhelmingly purple. It’s terrible.”

Tristan shrugs off his jacket, draping it over the chair at my desk, and slowly unbuttons his white collared dress shirt. “It’s fine, Rory.”

I sigh, guilt trickling in. I don’t care about my room right now. Not when Adam is stuck sleeping on a hospital bed instead of his own. “I’ll go grab you something to wear.” I slip out of the room and find a pair of sweatpants and one of my dad’s old T-shirts.

When I return to my room and close the door, I find Tristan sitting shirtless on the end of my bed.

It takes me a minute to find my voice; my head is in too many places right now. “I found these. I’m pretty sure they’ll fit.” I toss the shirt and pants at him and turn away, walking to my dresser to find something for me to wear to bed. I sneak into the bathroom across the hall and change into an old hoodie from high school and a pair of worn gray leggings. My reflection in the mirror makes me pause. I cringe at the smudged eyeliner and black tear stains running down both of my cheeks from the excessive amount of mascara I had on for the gala. My hair is still curled and set around my face, which makes it look odd. I grab a makeup wipe and do my best to get rid of it before flicking off the light on my way out.

Tristan is dressed this time when I walk into the room. I turn the lamp on and turn off the main light, giving the room a soft golden glow.

“I should let you get some sleep,” he says, stepping toward the door.

I pick at the hem of my hoodie. “You don’t have to sleep in the guest room.”

“It’s not a problem, Rory.”

I look away. “What if I want you to stay with me?”

“You’ve had a long day.” His tone is gentle.

I press my lips together. “Stay. Please.”

“I don’t want to upset your parents.”

“They sleep downstairs. So long as you don’t snore obnoxiously loud or something, they won’t have reason to come up here and check where you’re sleeping.”

He exhales slowly, nodding. “Okay.” He watches me crawl into my bed, then walks around to the other side and sits on top of the bedding.

“This doesn’t feel real,” I whisper.

He nods. “That’s understandable.” He reaches over and tucks my hair away from my face.

“My head is spinning so fast right now. I’m trying to figure this whole thing out, but I know there’s no explanation.”

He frowns. “You’re right. There isn’t. You’re doing what you can, Rory. You’re here with your family.”

“But I can’t help him,” I whisper as I lie back and stretch out my legs. “I...” I choke on a sob, and turn my face to look at him.

His eyes search mine as he gets under the sheets and lies on his side, and then he wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me against him. There’s plenty of room for two people in my queen-sized bed, but Tristan is pressed right against me; I’m not about to ask him to move.

I press my face into the crook of his neck and cling to him.

He holds on to me until the sobbing quiets. I knew the silence would come in time, after crying for so long, but the fear of the unknown still weighs on my chest.

He cups my cheek in his hand and draws my face away so that I’m looking at him. An idea hits me so fast I don’t have time to register it before I say, “Can you use magic to heal him?”

Tristan’s face falls. “Sweetheart, no, I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“But you healed me—the day we met after Max hurt me—you healed me.”

“You had cuts and bruises and a mild concussion. I can heal those injuries, but I can’t fix this. Fae magic is powerful, but it can’t cure cancer or sickness.”

It’s not fair. What the hell is so great about having magic if it can’t cure a human illness?

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