Page 13 of Twisted Violet
I didn’t tell Rome, Dallas, or Niko the news.
Ever since my little breakdown a few days ago, they’ve all been keeping their distance from me.
They’re trying to hide it, but I can sense the shift. I feel it in every conversation that trails off the moment I enter the room.
I’ve overstayed my welcome. That much is clear, and maybe it’s pathetic, but I’d rather pull away now than wait for them to finally get the nerve to say it.
So once I ended the call, I packed my things, called a taxi, and headed straight to the hospital.
Now I’m standing just outside of her room, trying to find the courage to walk in.
She’s in there.
I can see her through the window. She’s propped up slightly with her eyes open, blinking slowly like it’s hard for her to stay awake. Her face is bruised, her throat is bandaged, and there’s a bunch of wires sticking to her.
But she’s awake.
That’s good.That’s everything.
Her guys are all stationed around her room like personal guard dogs. Cyrus is holding her hand. Tristan is brushing her hair behind her ear. Atlas is speaking with her nurse. And Ezra is watching her heart monitor like it might try to pull something over on him.
My stomach knots. My fingers twitch against the strap of my bag.
They look so happy. So in love. Like they’ve lived a hundred lifetimes together and would still choose her in the next.
I shift my weight and the strap of my bag bites into my shoulder.
God, I don’t want to intrude. This feels like a moment that belongs to them. Something sacred and hard-won. I should come back later.
Besides, watching them orbit around her like she’s gravity itself is hard enough to watch out here; I can’t imagine what it’d be like to see it up close.
I’m happy for Stevie.Of courseI am. But seeing them together is also a reminder of everything I’ll never have. I’ve already accepted that love like that isn’t made for someone like me, but that doesn’t stop it from stinging a little every time I see it.
I turn to leave, and just as I’m about to walk away, Stevie spots me and gestures for me to come in.
I set my bag on the floor and step inside before I can talk myself out of it.
I approach her bedside, and she grabs my hand and gives it a weak squeeze. She doesn’t say anything, but it’s like I can feel what she’s thinking.
She’s okay.
We’re okay.
Everyone is okay.
I sit there for hours with her, not saying much. Just holding her hand and trying not to cry. I want to say thank you. I want to say I’m sorry. But none of the words will come out.
Eventually, a team of nurses comes in to check her vitals.
I step out of the room to give them space, and Atlas follows behind me.
“Hey,” he says gently, keeping his eyes on Stevie through the window, “You doing okay?”
I nod. “What are the doctors saying?”
“She’s okay. She’ll heal.”
I glance at her. “Good.”
