Page 2 of Healing Conviction

It was pointless, but he still reached for her. He couldn’t stop the replay, but he never stopped trying to change the ending.

Like he’d done a thousand times before, he breathed through the discomfort as his arm popped out of socket from the effort, and the rest of his body crumpled. Sharp, small rocks cut into his left palm as he tried to catch himself, but the wound on that side screamed in agony. The taut veins in his outstretched arm threatened to burst at any moment with the tension.

Her lips trembled as tears flowed freely down her cheeks, and a pang of guilt joined the dagger-like ache in his chest. Whether she was terrified for herself, or him, he didn’t know, but he was dying to soothe her fear.

Like always, she wasthisclose as she leaned toward him, her fingers a hairbreadth away. He knew it was going to be for nothing, but that didn’t stop him from giving everything he had in the moment.

Her nails grazed the pads of his fingers, sparking a new, foreign surge of energy, unlike anything he’d experienced the many times he’d suffered through the nightmare. A part of him laughed at how gullible he was, telling himself to quit falling for the illusion again. Heshouldgive up. The outcome would be the same anyway. Why endure the hurt without the reward?

But the other part of him, the one that hoped, the one that remembered smiling for the first time in ages because she’d called him handsome, the one that always reached for her until his joints were surely going to dislocate. That part overrode all doubt, and with a roar from deep in his soul, he gathered his final threads of energy and put his strength into enveloping her hand.

The burning ache was torture inside and out, making it impossible to pinpoint the source of injury. But he didn’t care, not one goddamn bit.

Because why would pain matter when, for the first time since this godforsaken loop began, relief radiated from his fingertips all the way up his arm, finally settling into his chest as Nora’s soft, small palm slid smoothly into his—

Abrasive, rhythmic beeping pounded in his head, a song that’d blared for too long, somehow both jarring and ambient background noise.

Artificial, bright light beamed through his eyelids, so different from the moon and the dim streetlight.

Heaviness weighed down every inch of his body, threatening to exhaust him back to sleep.

His eyes fluttered open, blinking his new reality into existence as the old faded away.

A small, dark-haired woman sat in the chair beside his hospital bed. She’d fallen asleep with her head and arms draped over his blanketed legs in a way that suggested she’d figured out how to make it comfortable.

He studied her for a moment, understanding filtering through his thoughts as he took in her pixie-like features. They were marred by the slight tension in her brow, almost as if even resting she couldn’t relax. Her soft hand clung to his, tiny in comparison.

He flexed his fingers, trying to squeeze back. Even with all his might, they barely moved with the exertion. No way he’d give up now though. Once he had her, he was never letting go.

Sweat prickled on his brow as every ounce of effort went into squeezing until he finally managed to close it in a weak grip. It was enough for now.

Her hand was in his, and he’d fought an eternity to hold it.

Sleepy eyes flickered open until they settled wide on their clasped hands. She slowly raised herself up to a sitting position while drifting her gaze up his body.

How long had he been out? Everything prior to this moment was quickly becoming hazy. All he remembered was being shot, and the anguish in her face when she was stolen from him. She was safe now though. That’s all he’d cared about. Except something about her wasoff.

Behind rose gold glasses, emerald green orbs stared at him, slowly filling with moisture, as her cute button nose sniffed.

Her plump lips parted open.

Closed.

Opened.

Closed.

They finally rested closed and she seemed to settle for squeezing his palm while using her free hand to tuck dark, straight hair behind her ear.

That’swhat it was.

The faded black shade emphasized the bags under her eyes and the worry in her furrowed brow. How long had she been by his bedside? Hours? Days? She looked like she hadn’t slept in weeks.

This exhausted shell wasn’t her. He hardly knew the woman, but he knew that much. The change in her hair seemed to alter her entire existence, and his chest ached as he wondered what had spurred the drastic change. What had stolen her color?

He worked his sandpaper tongue around the words that itched to escape his dry throat. The old Nora played like a film in his memory, the purple-haired, violet-eyed pixie with sky blue butterfly glasses, an owl purse, and teasing smile. His addled mind couldn’t help pointing out the obvious.

“Your hair’s different.”