Page 41 of Fallen Empire

“That a stranger on the critical care floor—alone, without a badge, without a nurse—was justthere. At the vending machines. Talking to you. Giving you money.”

I turned slowly, meeting his eyes.

“He said his wife’s dying, Ben. You think he forged an identity just to buy me a Coke?”

“I think people lie,” he said flatly. “And I think we’ve seen enough of them do it to know better than to take anyone at their word.”

“He’s a grieving man, Ben. Get over yourself.”

I didn’t wait for a reply. I didn’t care if he had one. I turned back around and kept walking, jaw locked, pulse still pounding for reasons I couldn’t explain. Because whether Ben was right or not didn’t matter. Not right now.

I still had questions.

Ones only Jaxson could answer.

I pushed open the hospital room door to find him exactly where I expected, slouched in the chair to the left of where Savannah had been laying for days. His elbows rested on his knees, fingers threaded together, head bowed like he was praying to whatever god hadn’t answered him yet.

I crossed the room and took the chair on the right.

Ben didn’t follow. Didn’t matter.

I didn’t care where he was right now.

“What was Nic doing here?” I asked, keeping my voice even.

Jaxson didn’t look at me at first. Just exhaled slowly, his shoulders rising and falling before he finally muttered, “She was checking in.”

He shrugged like it didn’t mean anything. Like it was routine. Like I hadn’t seen him lie a hundred times before.

But I had. And I knew what it looked like when he did.

His left eye squinted, just a little. A twitch he couldn’t control, no matter how hard he tried to play it cool.

“No, she wasn’t,” I said flatly.

He didn’t respond.

“Jaxson.”

“Millie,” he cut in, voice hard now, “I’m not arguing with you anymore today.”

He finally looked at me, and there it was again—tired, raw, unfiltered anger that had nothing to do with me and everything to do with the weight he carried.

“They’ll be bringing Savannah back any minute now,” he added, tone dropping lower, more warning than explanation, “and I’m not going to be pissed off when they wheel her in.”

I leaned back in the chair, arms crossed, pulse steady.

Fine. But I wasn’t letting this go. Not for long.

As if on cue, the door opened and the two of us jumped up.

We weren’t agreeing on much right now, but her coming back to us won over it all.

The nurses pushed her in slowly, carefully, her body lying motionless but no longer attached to the vent. Just oxygen tubing now. It was light, unobtrusive, and her face wasn’t as pale. Her chest rose and fell on its own.

They positioned the bed back in place and locked the wheels. I could hear the soft click of the brake, but all I could look at was her. Still breathing. Still fighting.

The doctor trailed in a few moments later, peeling off gloves and pulling a surgical cap from his head. He looked tired, but satisfied, like someone who’d just walked a tightrope and made it to the other side.