Page 119 of Hide From Me

“We’ll deal with it when you’re better,” she says, her voice now stern. “She’ll be safe, I promise.”

I grin. I know she will. I wasn't lying to my little ray of sunshine when I said this place is full of people who’d go to war for her.

Cordelia gives Caspian a nod. “Now come on, Cas. You’ve hovered enough.”

He lingers a moment longer than necessary, his gaze taking in every detail of me as if he were memorizing it, just in case. Finally, he steps away, and Cordelia’s fingers brush against mine.

“If you try anything, I will remove your teeth with a pen.” She doesn’t even look at Jonathan when she says this, but we all know the warning is meant for him.

Then they leave, the door clicking shut behind them.

Silence descends like dust in the room, and now it’s justus.

Jonathan doesn’t speak at first. He simply stands there, arms crossed, posture a little too still.

“So…” I shift slightly, biting back a grunt as a surge of pain licks up my thigh. “I take it I don’t have to beg for a paternity test.”

That earns a short, rough laugh from him—no sarcasm, just breath and weight.

“No,” he replies. “You don’t.”

I try to shift again, this time more slowly. “I might want one anyway. I’m still convinced it could be King.”

He raises an eyebrow. “King?”

“Yeah. Tall. Intense. Shouts like a disappointed gym teacher. I figuredhemust be the one responsible for this delightful emotional chaos. I was preparing for a very… different sort of daddy issues.”

Jonathan actually huffs; it’s like a laugh has sneaked past his defenses. “Sorry to disappoint, but I think we’re both smart enough to see all the facts here.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I say. “You’ve got less of a murder twinkle in your eye.”

That gets a real chuckle from him, but it fades as Jonathan glances down at his hands and slowly lowers himself into the chair beside my bed.

“If I’d known—if I’d had even a clue—you wouldn’t have been left behind. Not for a second. I would have moved heaven and hell to get you out.” His voice is low, as if he’s afraid that too much volume will break whatever fragile thread we’re holding onto.

I stare at him, and the words land heavier than I expected.

“I know,” I say. And I do. Somehow, Ireally do.

He leans back slightly, closing his eyes for a moment, as if that single acknowledgment has relieved him of some burden.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you were young. I’m sorry I didn’t know about you. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from any of it.”

I’m not sure what I expected—maybe denial, deflection, or excuses. But notthis.

“It’s not your fault,” I say, surprised by how easily the words come. “You didn’t even know I existed.”

Jonathan swallows hard. “Still. I should’ve… bloody hell, maybe if I had… or if I could have…”

The silence stretches between us. I look away, my throat tightening again. I press my palm to my chest, as if I can quiet the tremor building within me.

“I spent so long thinking I came from nothing but rot,” I murmur. “That maybe my mother’s madness was in me. That the blood in my veins was just…” I trail off.

“A loaded gun waiting to go off.”

Jonathan doesn't respond immediately.

"And now?"