Page 178 of Buried in Blood
Not the kind you can blink away or bury.
The kind that come when you’ve been holding someone’s soul in your hands, praying they wouldn’t slip through your fingers.
“You’re okay,” I whisper. “You’re okay.”
She swallows hard, lips cracked, voice barely audible. “Reese…”
Ipress her fingers to my lips. “I’m here.”
“Why…” Her throat works around the question. Her voice is hoarse. “Why did you save him?”
The words are a blade.
I know who she means.
And I deserve the cut.
I nod slowly, wiping at my eyes before leaning close to her ear. “Because I had a deal.”
Her brow furrows. I can see the memory chasing her down. The gun. The blood. The betrayal. Theboom.
“I made a deal with Dante,” I say quietly. “If I could get Damien vulnerable—ifI set the scene right—Dante would take the shot. But I had to be there. Had to make sure he didn’t die too soon. Had to keep the story straight. Had to keep Damien’s trust.”
Harmony’s eyes shimmer. “So… you never really—”
“No.” My voice breaks. “I never picked him. Not over you. Not once.”
I reach up, brushing the tangled strands of hair from her forehead, smoothing them back like I’m trying to memorize every inch of her face all over again.
“You were the only thing that ever felt real,” I whisper. “The only thing that made mewantto get out.”
She leans into my touch, barely nodding, tears slipping sideways into the pillow.
“I thought I lost you,” I say, my voice cracking under the weight of it. “And I didn’t even get to say it.”
“Say what?”
I swallow the lump in my throat and slide closer, my forehead resting gently against hers.
“That I’m so fucking lucky I ever met you,” I whisper. “That you’re the strongest thing I’ve ever seen. And that if I get evenone more daywithyou—I won’t waste it.”
Her eyes close, lashes wet.
She doesn’t speak.
She doesn’t have to.
Because her hand curls around mine, pulling me closer, like she already knows—
I’m hers.
And I always have been.
* * *
The hospital tray creaks as I slide it across her lap, the wheels sticking like everything else in this damn place. She raises an eyebrow at the meal—soggy fries, a sad grilled cheese, and a cup of something pretending to be soup.
“Gourmet,” she murmurs, her voice still a little raspy, but stronger today.
