Page 32 of Love Loathe Devotion (Tightrope #3)

Merlyn’s in the passenger seat, her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth, ears perked like she’s on her way to a royal audience rather than an afternoon visit to Sam and Lucas’s.

The little pink bandana I tied around her neck flutters with every gust of air from the window, and every now and then she sneezes, startled by her own excitement.

I can’t help but smile.

“I think you’re going to love Joey,” I tell her, glancing her way. “He might be the only human on earth more dramatic than you.”

She barks once like she agrees, then climbs halfway into my lap, tail thumping against the seat.

It’s been… a weird few days. Good, in that Eddie calls me constantly—between rehearsals, after sound check, when he’s half-asleep in some fancy hotel bed in Berlin. His texts light up my phone like a lifeline:

Just ate the worst airport sandwich of my life

Send me a pic of Merlyn, I miss her (and you, obviously). Band says hi.

Every one of them makes me smile. But they also make me ache.

Because I miss him.

His hands, his voice, the way he hums when he walks around the kitchen barefoot in the morning. The space he took up in my days—and nights. Now, everything feels too quiet, even with Merlyn’s boundless energy filling in the silence.

I’m just hitting the main road when my phone buzzes in the center console. I glance at it—Unknown Number.

A chill slides up my spine.

I ignore it.

Merlyn growls low, like she senses my tension. I stroke her head. “It’s nothing.”

The phone buzzes again. Unknown Number.

And again.

My jaw tightens.

The fourth time, I stab the button to accept the call and answer, voice clipped. “What the hell do you want?”

There’s silence at first.

Then—his voice. Low. Slimy. Too familiar.

“Laney,” Randy drawls. “Jesus. You don’t have to get all crazy. I just wanted to talk.”

My grip on the steering wheel goes white-knuckle. “You lost the right to talk to me a long time ago.”

“Come on. Don’t be like that. I’ve been trying to reach you. You’re ignoring me, you owe me after you mutilated me with that disgusting tattoo.”

“I don’t want to hear from you,” I snap. “Leave me the hell alone.”

He deserved what he got after the way he treated me.

He laughs. “You think you’re so above everyone now, huh? With your superstar boyfriend and your fake little charity act? You’re not special, Laney. You’re just a warm body until he finds someone new.”

I slam the brakes harder than I need to at the next stop sign.

“You know nothing about me and Eddie.”

He mimics me. “You know nothing about me and Eddie. You’re delusional, Laney. I can’t fucking wait for you to crawl back to me when he’s used you all up.”

“I’d rather die than come back to you.”

“Careful what you wish for, Laney.”

“Go to hell,” I spit, and hang up.

My hands are shaking. Merlyn whines beside me, pressing her face to my thigh like she knows something’s wrong.

I take a deep breath.

It’s fine.

It’s just words.

He’s not here. He can’t touch me.

I stroke her ears, calming myself as much as I’m calming her. “We’re okay. Right, girl?”

She lets out a huff and licks my hand.

By the time I pull into Sam and Lucas’s driveway, the sun’s pushed past the clouds, and the day has taken on that soft, golden warmth that only really shows up in spring.

Joey’s already at the front window, bouncing like he’s caffeinated, which, knowing Sam, he probably isn’t, but that kid runs on raw energy alone and I love seeing it because those short bursts of energy are getting shorter and shorter and less frequent. He needs a transplant, and soon.

I barely have the truck in park before the front door bursts open.

“Auntie Laney!” Joey yells.

“Surprise delivery!” I call back, opening the door and unclipping Merlyn’s harness. She bounds out of the truck like a tiny rocket.

Joey screams. “PUPPY!”

Sam’s right behind him, barefoot, coffee in hand, hair up in a messy bun. “Oh my God, you brought me therapy on four legs. Bless you.”

Merlyn launches herself into Joey’s arms—well, more like topples him into the grass—and, within seconds, it’s chaos.

Joey is giggling uncontrollably, Merlyn is licking his face like she’s found her soulmate, and Sam is recording the whole thing on her phone with literal tears in her eyes.

I know Merlyn licking his face isn’t ideal because his immune system is compromised but I also know Sam wants him to enjoy things other kids do.

“I can’t,” she whispers, wiping under her lashes. “This is too cute. I’m going to die.”

Lucas comes out with his keys in one hand and a box of hardware supplies in the other. “Hey, Laney,” he says, nodding toward the truck. “How’s she handling?”

“She’s perfect,” I say, smoothing a hand over the hood like I’m praising a thoroughbred. “Thank you again for making sure everything’s working before Eddie left.”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “You need anything while I’m out?”

I hesitate for a half-second, but smile. “Nope. All good. Just puppy wrangling today.”

He studies me a second longer than necessary, like he’s thinking about asking something else—but then he just nods and kisses Sam on the temple before heading for the car.

I watch him go, heart aching a little at how easy it would’ve been to just tell him. About Randy. The call. The things he said.

But I don’t

We’re sitting on the back porch, coffee cups warm in our hands, our legs tucked up on the weathered wood bench as we watch Joey and Merlyn play in the grass like they were born to be a team.

Joey’s in heaven—laughing, squealing, tossing a chewed-up rubber ball that Merlyn brings back every time, her tail wagging like she’s just saved the world. The sun’s out now, that soft late-morning glow that makes everything look gentler, golden.

“He’s smiling more today,” I say, glancing over at Sam.

She’s quiet.

Her fingers are curled tight around her mug, the faint tremble in her knuckles giving her away. She’s trying to smile, but it’s tight around the edges.

“Yeah,” she says after a moment. “He’s having a good morning.”

She doesn’t say ‘He’s doing great.’

She says ‘morning’, like she’s counting the good ones in half-day increments now.

I reach over and nudge her arm gently with mine. “What’s going on?”

She takes a sip of coffee like it might buy her time. But then she exhales and says quietly, “His consultant called yesterday after his labs came back. They didn’t like his numbers.”

I freeze, my heart thudding. “What kind of numbers?”

Sam’s eyes are fixed on Joey, her voice even, but her grip on the mug tightens. “Kidney function’s down again. Creatinine’s up. They’re adjusting his meds. Again. But…” She trails off.

“But they’re worried?” I finish for her.

She nods. Her throat moves like she’s trying to swallow the fear back down. “They didn’t say anything definitive, but the way she said ‘let’s keep an eye on things’…” She shakes her head. “I’ve heard that tone before.”

“Sam…” I set my cup down and turn toward her fully, laying my hand over hers. “You’re not alone in this.”

“I know,” she says softly. “God, I do. And Lucas has been amazing. But sometimes I look at Joey and I just—” her voice breaks. “I want to scream.”

I grip her hand tighter, just as Joey, laughing a second ago, suddenly slows. His arms sag a little as he watches Merlyn bounce in front of him.

“I’m tired,” he says quietly, looking at Sam. “Can I sit with you now?”

Sam’s already halfway out of her seat, setting her mug aside. “Of course, baby. Come here.”

Joey stumbles a bit on his way over—not dramatically, just enough to notice—but Sam catches him and eases him into her lap like he’s still her baby and, at four, he still is, and it breaks my heart.

He leans against her chest, eyes fluttering closed almost immediately, little fingers fisting the hem of her shirt.

Merlyn trots over and circles twice before curling into a tight ball at their feet, her head resting across Sam’a feet.

Sam holds her son like he might break if she lets go. Her hand strokes his hair, over and over, her gaze unfocused and wet around the edges.

“He used to run for hours,” she whispers.

I lean against her side. “He will again.”

She gives a quiet, bitter-sounding laugh. “Do you believe that? Or are you just saying it?”

“I believe it,” I say, and I mean it—because I have to. For her. For Joey.

For the part of me that’s already bracing for what happens if this chain we’re building doesn’t lead to a donor fast enough.

She exhales shakily and rests her chin on the top of Joey’s head.

“I hate being scared all the time,” she murmurs. “It’s like there’s this… countdown, ticking in the background of every good moment.”

I glance down at Merlyn, who looks up at me with those warm brown eyes and lets out a sigh like even she understands the weight in the air.

“Then we just hold on to the good ones harder,” I whisper. “And we keep going.”

Sam nods slowly.

But her hand doesn’t stop stroking Joey’s hair.

And mine doesn’t let go of hers.

The house is dim, lit only by the golden glow from the kitchen where I’m pacing with my phone pressed to my ear. Merlyn’s curled up in her dog bed, paws twitching as she dreams, blissfully unaware of the storm spinning inside me.

Eddie answers on the third ring, his voice warm but tired.

“Hey, baby.”

The sound of him—just that—makes my heart pull in my chest like it’s reaching for something it can’t quite hold. “Hey,” I whisper, sinking down onto one of the kitchen stools, curling my legs beneath me. “You free to talk?”

“Always for you,” he says. “What’s going on?”

I hesitate for a second, but then it all comes tumbling out. “I went to Sam’s today. Took Merlyn. Joey and the pup were inseparable—adorable, honestly. He laughed so much… but then he got tired. Like, really tired. Crawled into Sam’s lap like he couldn’t hold himself up anymore.”

Eddie doesn’t speak right away, but I hear the soft shift of fabric, like he’s sitting down.

“Sam told me the consultant’s worried about his numbers. It just hit me harder today. He looked so small.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then his voice—quiet, thick. “I talked to Lucas earlier.”

I blink, surprised. “You did?”

“Yeah. He didn’t go into detail, but… he’s hurting. You know how he is. Keeps everything locked up until it’s too heavy to carry.”

I picture it—Lucas’s tired eyes, the way his voice sometimes tightens when he talks about Joey, like he’s trying to keep the cracks from showing.

“He’s scared, Laney. Just like Sam. Just like all of us.”

I nod, even though he can’t see it. “I hate feeling so helpless.”

“You’re not,” Eddie says firmly. “You’re doing more than anyone. This donor chain, being there for Sam, just being present. That’s more than you know.”

I swallow hard, trying to keep the emotion from spilling out. “I just… I want him to be okay.”

“I know, baby. Me too.”

His voice is like a balm—rough and steady, but soft where I need it most.

But then, in the background, I hear something. Movement. Footsteps. Laughter.

Then a woman’s voice—faint, but sharp enough to pierce through the fragile bubble of our conversation.

“Eddie?”

I freeze. It’s not familiar, just a voice. A woman’s voice. Saying his name.

He exhales into the phone. “Shit. I have to go.”

Just like that.

My stomach twists, even as I scramble to push it down. “Okay. Um… I love you.”

There’s a pause, and then, softer now, almost like he knows I need to hear it twice: “I love you, Laney. So much.”

The line goes dead.

I stare at the phone screen, even though the call has ended, my thumb lingering over his name, tempted to call him back—but I don’t.

Instead, I set the phone down and head upstairs like I’m walking through water.

The house feels too big tonight. Too quiet. Every creak of the floorboards feels louder in the absence of his voice.

In the bedroom, I change into one of his old shirts and pull my hair back, brushing my teeth on autopilot, staring at my reflection without really seeing it.

I hate this.

The silence.

The distance.

The not knowing.

I trust him, I do. But that voice. That voice…

It’s not even about who she is. It’s what it pulled out of me. That raw, ugly little flicker of jealousy, like a whisper in the back of my mind: He’s surrounded by beautiful people. You’re here. Alone.

I shake it off. Try to, anyway.

By the time I crawl into bed, Merlyn hops up beside me and curls against my hip with a sleepy sigh. I run my fingers through her fur and stare at the ceiling.

I miss him.

More than I ever thought possible.

And the ache in my chest isn’t just distance, it’s fear. For Joey. For Eddie. For us.

But I won’t fall apart.

Not yet.

Not while he’s still mine.

Not while there’s still hope.