Page 44 of Freestyle (Boys of Frampton U #2)

Rowyn

T he sterile scent hits first.

Antiseptic. Bleach. Too clean to feel safe. It scrapes the inside of my nose like sandpaper, and makes my stomach turn.

Then comes the sound, a steady beep-beep-beep keeping time with the slow, rhythmic thud in my chest. It’s not loud.

Not urgent. But it’s relentless, reminding me that I’m still here, still tethered to this body.

Still fighting through the fog that clings to the edges of consciousness like thick smoke.

Everything hurts.

Not sharp, not screaming. Just a dull, blooming ache in my thigh and a heavy tightness in my chest, like I’ve been buried beneath something I barely clawed my way out of.

I blink.

The lights overhead are dimmed, thank God, but I still squint against the silvery haze of the fluorescents. The ceiling tiles blur and settle again. I can hear the slow tick of a clock, a soft shuffle of movement.

Then a touch.

Warm. Familiar. Anchoring.

Fingers lace with mine, bigger than mine, rougher. I turn my head toward the source of heat, and there he is.

Gray.

Slouched in an uncomfortable-looking plastic hospital chair beside my bed, his jacket long since discarded, his knuckles scraped and bandaged. His eyes are rimmed red from exhaustion, but they’re wide open, locked on me the second I stir.

“You’re awake.” His voice is ragged. Gentle. Like he’s afraid if he speaks too loud, I’ll disappear.

“Gray,” I whisper. My lips are cracked, my throat sandpaper, but he hears me like I shouted.

He exhales, a sound that’s half-laugh, half-relief. He leans forward, his free hand brushing a piece of hair out of my eyes, fingers trembling.

“You scared the hell out of us when you passed out in my lap. I couldn’t wake you.” His voice sounds pained as he tracks my body, making sure I’m really here.

I blink up at him, lids heavy, throat dry, but my fingers manage to curl around his.

“I didn’t mean to,” I whisper, voice shaky. “I—I didn’t know I was fading.”

Gray shakes his head slowly, jaw clenched like he’s holding something back. “You were in my arms, Rowyn. One second you were here and the next…” He trails off, swallowing thickly. “I thought we lost you. I thought I lost you.”

I can feel it now, the way my body gave out in the aftermath. The burn, the adrenaline that got me through finally demanding its price.

“I’m okay,” I say, because it’s what he needs. What I need.

“You’re here,” he agrees softly, brushing his knuckles down my cheek. “But I didn’t breathe the whole ride over, neither did Nix. He’s been trying to act chill, but I saw his hands shaking.”

That’s when I realize we’re not alone.

Across the room, sprawled half-on and half-off the tiny couch, is Nix.

He’s curled into himself, face turned toward me, one arm wrapped in gauze and bandages, chest rising and falling slow and steady.

He’s got a blanket pulled haphazardly over his legs, one foot sticking out, and he’s snoring.

Barely. But it’s the soft, breathy kind of snore that makes my eyes sting with something too big to name.

He looks like home.

They both do.

I shift a little, and pain flares in my thigh. I wince, sharp and sudden, and Gray’s hand tightens instantly.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

The words land somewhere deep, in that hollow space where fear used to live.

“You stayed.”

“Of course we did.” His gaze flicks over my face like he’s memorizing me. “We’re not going anywhere.”

The tears hit then. I try to blink them back, but it’s useless. They spill anyway, hot, silent, unstoppable.

Gray leans closer, forehead resting gently against mine, and Nix stirs.

His eyes crack open, bleary and bloodshot, and for a second he just stares.

Then he grins. Sleepy. Crooked. So him it hurts.

“Hey, baby girl,” he rasps. “You back with us?”

I nod through the tears, and Gray chuckles softly beside me.

“You bled to protect me,” I murmur, then realize I said it out loud.

Gray freezes like I struck a chord he didn’t know was exposed. The silence stretches between us, thick and reverent.

“I—I didn’t mean—” I start to backpedal, but his hand tightens around mine gently, grounding me.

“I said I would,” he whispers. “So did Nix. We both did.”

My voice is softer now. “I didn’t know anyone meant it like that.”

Gray leans in, his forehead brushing mine, breath warm and steady.

“We did. We do. It wasn’t a promise out of panic. It was real the second you walked into our lives, and we started choosing you without realizing we already had.”

I swallow hard. The tears burn again, but this time they don’t fall from fear. They fall because it’s the first time in a long time I truly believe I’m worth fighting for.

“He could’ve killed you,” I whisper.

His answer is immediate. “And I’d have taken that shot a thousand times if it meant you’d be here now. Breathing. Healing. Mine .”

I reach for the hand not holding mine, threading our fingers with slow, deliberate care, and say the only thing left in my chest. “I’m yours. Both of yours.”

Nix pulls himself from the couch with a small wince and strides over to the other side of my bed .

“And we’re yours, sunshine. Always .”

I hear them before I see them, Fallon’s soft knock followed by Lyndsy’s not-so-subtle, “If you’re decent, we’re coming in.”

The door creaks open and in they come, a two-person hurricane of dry shampoo, oversized hoodies, and concern barely contained beneath sarcasm.

Lyndsy marches straight to my bedside, her jaw tight and eyes scanning every inch of me like she’s trying to memorize the damage. “Okay, I officially hate hospitals,” she mutters, arms crossed. “Why do you look like a ghost and still manage to be hotter than me?”

Fallon slips in behind her, quieter but no less present. Her eyes land on mine, and when I see the shine there, barely restrained emotion, I feel the tears threaten again.

“Hey, Row,” she says, her voice gentler than I’m used to. “You scared the hell out of us.”

They don’t try to sit, not yet. They just hover. I imagine this is what it looks like when people don’t know whether hugging you will make you stronger or break you completely.

“I’m okay,” I lie, voice scratchy and barely above a whisper .

Lyndsy gives me the patented sister-stare Gray must’ve taught her, equal parts skeptical and unyielding. “You’re not okay. You’re in a hospital bed with IVs and battle wounds, and a look in your eye like you just saw the underside of hell.”

Fallon drops her bag onto the chair near the window and finally makes her way to the opposite side of my bed. “But you’re alive, and that counts for something.”

The tension coils in my chest like barbed wire, and I don’t even realize I’m crying until Fallon’s fingers are brushing the tears from my cheek.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she says quietly.

Lyndsy exhales, softer now, like the fight in her has made room for something else. “Gray didn’t tell me everything. He couldn’t, but he said he thought he lost you. And I—” Her voice cracks. “You’re my sister, Row. Maybe not by blood, but definitely by choice, and I wouldn’t have survived if…”

I reach out, grabbing both of their hands, mine shaky and pale in theirs.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” I whisper.

Fallon scoffs, eyes shimmering. “Then you’re dumber than you look. You could be almost frozen to death and I’d still show up. Okay, bad metaphor, but you get it.”

Lyndsy squeezes my fingers. “You are not alone in this. Not in healing, not in grieving. Not in loving the people you do. ”

Her eyes flick toward the door, probably thinking of Gray. Of Nix.

Lyndsy isn’t even pretending to play it cool anymore. She’s perched on the edge of the bed, knees tucked under her chin, her eyes red-rimmed but blazing.

“You didn’t have to go through this alone, Row.”

I swallow hard, the words thick in my chest. “I didn’t know how to ask. I thought if I said it out loud, it would make it more real.”

Fallon leans back in the chair and exhales slowly. “It was real. But you’re still here, and so are we.”

There’s a long, aching beat of quiet.

Then Lyndsy says softly, “Gray hasn’t left the hospital once. Not even for a second.”

My stomach flips.

She looks me dead in the eye, voice gentle but unwavering. “He looked at me like he thought I was going to pull you away from him. Like you were already part of him, and he couldn’t figure out how to survive if you weren’t.”

Fallon nods. “And Nix… he’s different. Quieter. Like something in him broke open and he’s not even pretending to patch it back up this time.”

I stare down at the blanket across my lap, trying not to shatter all over again.

“He’s been watching you breathe like it’s gospel,” Fallon adds, softer now. “Like every inhale means he gets to believe in second chances.”

I don’t respond. I can’t. The tears are too close.

But Lyndsy reaches for my hand.

“You’re not just loved, Rowyn,” she says. “You’re wanted . Every jagged piece.”

And for the first time, I think I’m beginning to believe that maybe they’re right.