Page 42 of Love Loathe Devotion (Tightrope #3)

The echo of Eddie’s voice still lingers in my ears as I walk down the corridor, the phone cool in my pocket, tucked close like it’s holding the warmth of him.

Just hearing him—steady, calming, there—has soothed something jagged inside me. I can breathe again. Not easily. Not fully. But enough.

Enough to put one foot in front of the other.

The hospital lights hum above me, sterile and bright, casting soft shadows on the floor. I move slowly, letting my shoulders loosen, my arms swing freely for the first time in hours. I still feel raw, but I’m not unraveling anymore.

Eddie did that.

He anchored me.

Told me to hang in.

Promised he’s coming.

I believe him.

I round the next corner, heading toward the exit, when two figures blur past me so fast I nearly step into the wall.

A nurse in powder-blue scrubs.

And a woman in a dark fitted suit, clutching a file.

The woman’s voice is urgent, clipped with excitement. “We’ve got a match—Joseph Ryan, pediatric nephrology. It just came through.”

I freeze.

My heart slams against my ribs.

Joey.

Oh my God.

I turn on instinct, feet reversing, pulse racing as I follow them. They don’t even notice me in their focused rush toward the ward, but I keep my distance, my breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a prayer.

The nurse slaps her badge to the access panel and the doors glide open.

I slip in behind them.

Inside, just outside Joey’s room, I see Dr. Scott standing with Lucas and Sam. They look exactly how I left them—exhausted, worn raw, like they’ve aged ten years in one night.

Then the woman steps up and speaks. “We’ve found a match for your son.”

The world tilts.

Sam goes completely still.

Lucas doesn’t blink.

Dr. Scott’s head snaps toward the woman. “What did you say?”

The file is handed over. “A new crossmatch just came in. Expanded donor intake. Type O. Perfect match. Local. Donor signed up after the Berlin show.”

My hand flies to my mouth.

Oh God. Eddie.

Dr. Scott scans the paper, and the moment his eyes lift, everything changes.

He smiles.

Not small. Not professional.

Radiant.

He turns to Lucas and Sam. “We’re prepping him now. He’s getting his transplant today.”

Sam’s sob bursts from her chest, and Lucas pulls her into his arms just as his own legs seem to give way. They fold into each other like a house made of pain that’s just found its foundation again. There’s joy. Disbelief. Trembling hope.

I press myself back against the wall, tears falling freely now.

I don’t belong in that moment—not in it. It’s theirs. It belongs to them, to Joey.

To that beautiful, fragile, impossible word.

Hope.

I slip away.

Back through the doors, down the hall, wiping at my cheeks with trembling fingers. I don’t want to intrude. I don’t want them to see me cry.

But this time—this time, it’s not out of fear.

It’s relief.

It’s something warm rising in my chest.

Outside, the night is cold, but I barely feel it as the wind rushes over my skin. The stars are out. The sky is open. Wide.

I press my hand to my chest, right over the ache and I whisper, “Thank you, Eddie.”

I stand under the awning just outside the ER entrance, the cool night air washing over my flushed face like balm. My lungs finally fill the whole way for what feels like the first time in hours.

Joey has a kidney.

Those four words repeat in my head, soft and shining like a lullaby I never knew I needed.

Joey has a kidney.

He’s going to have a chance.

I wipe the last of the tears from my cheeks and tuck my hair behind my ears, my fingers still shaking a little but steadier now.

A deep breath. Then another.

I’m not needed right now. Sam and Lucas have their moment. Joey is in the best hands. Eddie is on his way.

I just need to do something normal.

I head back inside, making my way toward the ward. Lucas is seated just outside Joey’s room again, this time looking like a man coming down from the edge of the world. His shoulders are still tight, his hands clasped, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes now—relief.

He sees me approach and stands. “You heard?”

I nod, a small smile breaking across my face. “I did. I heard. I’m so happy for you guys. You deserved a miracle.”

His expression softens. “Thanks, Laney. For everything tonight. For staying. For being there.”

I shake my head. “You don’t have to thank me.”

I pause, hesitating before adding, “Would it be okay if I stopped by your place and grabbed Merlyn? I don’t want her to be on her own too long. I’ll bring her home and come back here after.”

“Of course,” Lucas says, pulling a key from his pocket. “You know where everything is.”

I take the key, squeeze his hand gently, and turn to go.

The drive back to Lucas and Sam’s is quiet. The streets are mostly empty, the city winding down into that strange in-between place where the night blurs into morning.

When I unlock the front door, Merlyn rushes to greet me with an enthusiastic tail wag and excited hops, clearly ready for company. But my eyes immediately go to the small wet spot on the tile near the sliding door.

“Oh, sweet girl,” I sigh, crouching down to scratch behind her ears. “It’s okay. You did your best.”

I grab paper towels and cleaner from under the sink, moving on autopilot, heart still thudding with everything this night has thrown at me.

Once we’re cleaned up, I clip her leash on and lead her out to my truck, giving her a small treat when she hops into the back seat and head home. Eddie’s place, but it definitely feels like my home too—our home.

The house is quiet when we step in. Too quiet.

I pause in the entryway, keys in my hand, Merlyn’s leash loose in the other. There’s something… off. The air feels thick. Still. Like the space has shifted somehow.

I shake it off.

You’re exhausted, I tell myself. You’re emotionally wrung out. Everything feels strange right now.

I unclip Merlyn’s leash and let her wander, watching as she pads softly toward her dog bed near the fireplace. She yawns, circles once, and curls up like the sweet, sleepy pup she is.

I head for the bathroom, peeling off my clothes and stepping under the hot water. The steam wraps around me like fog, washing away the last few hours with each slow breath.

But halfway through rinsing my hair, Merlyn barks.

Sharp. Short. Alarmed.

I still, my heart lurching.

She’s never barked like that before.

“Merlyn?” I call, cutting the water, foam still clinging to my skin. My pulse kicks up instantly. I grab a towel, then fumble into my yoga pants and one of Eddie’s hoodies, still damp, my hair soaking the back of it as I step into the hallway.

The house is still.

Too still.

I walk slowly through the living room, barefoot on the hardwood, eyes scanning for anything out of place. Merlyn sits near the door now, alert, tail rigid. Growling low in her throat.

But nothing’s there.

Nothing I can see, anyway.

Maybe she sensed my nerves. Maybe she’s just reacting to everything.

I squat down beside her, running my hand down her back. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

She gives a small, uncertain whine, and I plant a kiss on her head.

“Let’s eat something,” I whisper, forcing calm into my voice. Popping my hair up into a wet bun to keep my neck dry, I head to the pantry to see what I can rustle up. Nothing heavy, because it’s so early but my body needs something after expelling all of that nervous energy.

Eggs. Toast. Tea I don’t drink. I curl up on the couch with the plate, flicking the TV on low for some background noise and eat slowly, Merlyn curled at my feet.

The TV murmurs quietly in the background, a re-run of some cooking show playing with cheerful commentary that doesn’t quite match the storm still rolling in my chest.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, I drift, the emotion and exhaustion wiping out all my energy.

Click.

The sound startles me awake.

Merlyn stirs at my feet.

I blink sleepily, disoriented. The TV is still playing. The house is still dim. I note that the time on the clock in the corner of the screen says 07:15am.

I hear a soft creak near the door.

Merlyn stands.

Tail high, ears pricked up, the fur along her spine raised, as she begins to growl low in her throat.

I rise, half-groggy, and open the front door.

A shadow steps forward.

My brain barely has time to process the shape of him.

The smirk.

The cold glint in his eyes.

“Hey there, Laney,” Randy says. “Did you miss me?”

Then pain slams into my neck like a lightning bolt.

The stun gun makes no sound—just the searing flash of electric fire that arcs through every nerve in my body.

I gasp. My knees buckle.

The world spins sideways.

And just before the dark takes me, I hear Merlyn growling—feral, furious, protecting.

Then everything goes black.