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Her name is the first thought on his mind.

The first word on his lips.

The only thing that pulls him through.

I don’t move for a long, long time.

No one comes to find me for a long, long time.

When someone does, when I feel eyes burn my skin for the first time in what feels like a year, I assume it’s Lux’s watchful gaze.

It’s not.

As boots I don’t recognize appear in my line of sight, I crane my neck back, flinching when I find a face I do recognize peering down at me.

Wearing plain jeans and a shirt adorned with the Akello Cattle logo, Finn’s mom sets her mouth in a tired, strained smile. “You must be Lottie.”

I would deny it, if I thought she didn’t already know exactly who I am.

Swallowing, I smooth my clammy palms down my thighs, figuring I should probably get up, but lacking the energy to do so. I can barely muster up a croaky, “Hi.”

Mrs. Akello, Finn’s mom, I don’t know what I’m supposed to call her, returns the greeting apathetically.

She shifts her gaze from my face, dropping it to my hands, and I don’t know if it’s the rusty tinge still staining my skin that has her rolling her lips together, or if it’s the horseshoe still clutched between my fingers.

She stares long enough for even more discomfort than I’m already feeling to wash over me, to make me squirm and shift so my hands are hidden beneath my thighs.

Though, locking gazes with her again is hardly any more comfortable. “He’s asking for you.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

She looks like she agrees, but still she says, “I’m gonna have to insist.” She drops to her haunches, resting her elbows on her bent knees. “My son said he’ll come get you himself if he has to.”

“Just tell him I’m not here.”

“He won’t believe me.”

“Then I’ll leave.”

“I don’t think you will.”

No. I won’t. I can’t. But I can’t go in there either. “Listen—”

“Charlotte,” she cuts me off, and I wince at my full name, at her tone, at the unwelcome, throwaway realization that I can’t remember the last time my own mother said that name; I was always Lottie to her.

Bracing her hands on her knees, she pushes upright again, gesturing with a flick of her hand for me to get up too. “Come with me.”

She takes off before I can object any more.

As the chapel doors swing in her wake, I get up.

On numb feet, I follow her out into the hallway, that pesky dread settling a little deeper with each unsure step.

She doesn’t check if I’m behind her, but she does slow her brisk pace, and when she finally reaches what I guess must be Finn’s room, she pauses outside.

As I cautiously approach, she watches me.

She opens her mouth only to quickly shut it, to blink, to nod once before opening the door and quite literally shoving me into the room.

As she breezes inside herself and takes up guard at her son’s side, she announces. “Found her.”

Every eye in the room shifts to me.

I don’t meet a single one of them as I dither in the doorway. Instead, I stare at the neckline of the thin hospital gown covering the chest I watched get ripped apart, and I wish the ground would swallow me whole.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone approach me—Mr. Akello. As cautious as his wife, but when I briefly glance his way, I’m met with a softer, warmer smile. He doesn’t look at me like I was holding the gun that maimed his son.

I really, really wish he would.

“We’ve heard a lot about you, Lottie.”

Shards of glass line my throat, tearing into it as I return the sentiment before dropping my gaze once more. I cross my arms over my chest, pressing my fingers against the hidden scab on my arm until I feel it tear.

“Alright, everyone.” A loud clap behind makes me jump, and I shift to the side as a nurse putters into the room. “Visiting hours are over.”

I don’t know if I’m disappointed or relieved. I do know I’m the first to step towards the door, I know I’d probably be the first one out if a quiet murmur of my name didn’t have me freezing in place.

Clearing his throat, Finn hits the poor woman with the sweet, soulful eyes I know first-hand are so damn hard to say no to. “Can my girl stay a little longer?”

The nurse squints and Finn pouts and my heart hurts, and I almost want her to say no, but she doesn’t. She sighs. “Five minutes.”

Flashing a smile, that smile, Finn winks. “I promise.”

The nurse huffs like she doesn’t believe him. Checking him over one last time, she shuffles out of the room, beckoning for everyone to follow. Finn’s mom nods without looking at me, his dad pats my shoulder, and then the door clicks shut and it’s just us.

“Can you look at me, please?”

Slowly, reluctantly, I lift my gaze.

Finn is smiling. Of course, he is. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“You okay?”

“Think I’m supposed to ask you that.”

“I will be.” Finn pats the empty space by his hip, another gentle command that I’m just as wary to obey. But I do, I cross the room on wobbly legs, I sit gingerly on the edge of his bed, practically hovering until a firm hand on my thigh pushes me the rest of the way down. “Much better.”

Not for me. This is worse, so much worse.

Because Finn winces as I sit, as he shifts to make more room for me, and guilt surges like a tidal wave.

It manifests as physical pain, making my stomach hurt, my head hurt, my cheek hurt when a hand cups it gently, a thumb swiping a tear that’s finally started to leak. “No tears, baby.”

I sniff and shake his hand off. “I’m so sorry.”

He rebounds like a damn yo-yo, two hands on two cheeks now, two thumbs wiping away twin salty streams. “Stop that.”

I grip his wrists, torn between pushing him off or pulling him closer, but I don’t get to do either.

I don’t have time. Finn tugs me down until my forehead is flush against his, until gentle shushing brushes my lips before his lips do, and then they travel upwards, kissing the wet, dark circles beneath my eyes, lingering over the bruise on my cheekbone that I’ve barely spared a second thought until now.

“You’re okay,” he tells me, oblivious to the fact I don’t care about that, I’m the least of my worries.

I open my mouth to argue, but all that comes out is a sob.

Finn swears. A hand drops to my thigh, hiking it higher on the bed.

I should protest. I don’t want to hurt him anymore than I already have. But I’m weak and I’m selfish and I can’t resist curling up beside him at his urging, curled up on my side with my dirty boots hanging off the edge of the bed.

Rougher than I should be, I bury my face in his chest, breathing him in, feeling the solid thump of his heart.

Gentler than I deserve, Finn curls his fingers around mine, bringing our hands up to kiss my knuckles.

His other hand, he drags down my other arm, my injured arm, and as much as I try to hide a flinch when he grazes my wounds, I don’t think I do a very good job.

Or maybe I do, but he’s just watching me that intently—he couldn’t possibly miss it.

He pauses. A disgruntled noise rumbles in his throat, like he knows what he’s going to find before he even peels my flannel away. “Jesus, baby.”

I don’t look. I know exactly what he sees. Dried blood and angry, blistered skin. I gaped at it the same way he does now for what felt like hours earlier before covering it up, pretending it didn’t exist, deciding I deserved the ache.

Finn disagrees. He clucks his tongue, his pulse throbbing an angry beat as he reaches for the call button beside his bed.

I don’t even try to protest. I’ll do whatever he wants.

I’ll let the nurse that bustles into the room, the same one as before, tend to my wounds if it makes him stop scowling—I do, and it does.

The moment she leaves, casting a warning glance over my shoulder, but not objecting to my presence, Finn tugs me to his side again. Mouth to my temple, he murmurs, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

I don’t answer. I don’t think I need to—I think he knows exactly why I let my injuries fester, why I would’ve let my damn arm rot off, if he hadn’t noticed my pain.

His soft sigh reeks of disappointment. It makes my eyes sting so I squeeze them shut, huddling deeper into the crook of his neck, hiding.

“Is anything else hurt?”

The Applesauce-sized hoofprint stamped across my abs ache. My trampled fingers won’t be writing essays any time soon. But none of my physical ailments compare to the agony burrowed deep.

Soothed only by the undeniable thump of a very alive heart beneath my palm.

Low voices wake me up.

As if the sneaky, nosy part of me prevails even in sleep, I don’t open my eyes right away. I don’t move a muscle. I keep my breathing even and slow.

It’s not like I’m eavesdropping. It’s not like they don’t know I’m in the room, in the arms of one of the people talking. I’m not an active participant in the conversation, but I am a part of it—they are, after all, talking about me.

“She’s very pretty,” I recognize Mrs. Akello’s voice, and I wonder how much it cost her to pay me that quiet compliment.

From Finn’s tongue, another flows easily. “She’s beautiful.”

His mother sighs. “Have you told her?”

“That she’s beautiful?” A mouth brushes my temple, and I feel its upward curve. “She knows.”

Another exasperated exhale. “The other thing, Finn.”

“She knows that too.”

My heart skips a beat. I can only pray the arm clutched to my chest doesn’t notice.

Plastic creaks, and I picture the Akello matriarch leaning back in her chair, spine straight, arms folded, chin lifted. “I take it this means you won’t be coming home any time soon.”

“Depends what home you mean, Momma. We don’t have the same one.”

Silence. Loaded looks are exchanged, I imagine, and then, “She’s not what I pictured for you.”

Despite my best efforts not to, I tense.

The arm slung loosely across my hips does too. “Enough, Momma.”