Page 53 of Pretty When It Burns (When The Lights Go Down #1)

Chapter forty-nine

"Deep End" - I Prevail

Mia

It’s a relief to be moved out of the ICU, but the regular hospital room is an upgrade in the loosest sense.

I still hurt everywhere, still rely on pain meds to keep the edge off, but at least I’m not scared I’m going to die anymore.

There are still those buzzing fluorescent lights and a sterile kind of stillness—but no ventilator.

No tight visitor restrictions. No constant machine humming to remind me how close it had been.

Rylee had swung by earlier to drop off a stack of magazines I didn’t ask for but she swore they would “promote healing.” Macy had left a giant vase of sunflowers that completely swallowed the side table.

Now, everyone else has gone off in search of dinner that doesn’t come with a side of despair and plastic utensils.

It’s a little surreal to think about my mom and sisters having a meal with the band—plus Jake, Rylee, and Johanna. I picture Jake proudly presenting his clipboard, explaining how he keeps the trains running on time and that yes, the clipboard is essential to the entire operation.

I can’t help but laugh to myself as I also picture their responses. Makenna’s judgemental eyebrow, thinking, is this guy serious? Macy asking if it comes in pink. My mom politely pretending to be impressed as the band, Rylee, and Johanna stifle laughter.

I catch myself wishing I could be there to see it all unfold when a soft knock sounds at the door… and Grayson walks in.

His dark hair is a mess. He hasn’t changed clothes since the last time I saw him in my ICU room. His eyes are still tired, rimmed red around the edges, making them look even more impossibly blue—but they still find mine like they always have.

“Hi,” he says with a soft smile, hovering in the doorway as if he’s waiting to be invited in.

“Hey,” I say, aching for him to close the distance between us—because I can’t. “I thought you’d be at dinner with everyone.”

“And leave you to eat hospital food alone? Never.” He steps inside, eyes soft and relief painted all over his face. “God, it’s so good to hear your voice.”

He pulls a chair beside the bed and sits, close enough that I can feel the air shift. I reach out for his hand, and he takes it without hesitation.

“You okay?” he asks.

There’s weight in his voice. He doesn’t just mean physically.

“I’m okay,” I say, and I mean it more than I have in a while. There’s even a little laugh in my voice. “What’s going on with you?”

He exhales, like the weight of everything is still sitting on his chest and he doesn’t realize he’s still holding on to it all.

“I just need to explain to you what really happened that night,” he begins. “When I left. Because I think—at least, I hope—you know, that isn’t who I am. That’s not the kind of partner I want to be for you, and I—”

“Gray,” I interrupt gently. “I was upset. But I know you were hurting. You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

“But I do,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Sweetheart, I broke you. I know I did. I saw it in your eyes before I walked out that door. And after what happened—after ending up here—you deserve to know why.”

I can’t argue with that. He did break me.

Even though I’d reasoned through it all in my head while I was on my way here—before everything went black—I still need to know what possible reason he could have besides the obvious ones.

What could’ve caused him to blow up everything we’d built like it never meant anything?

“Lily called me.”

My breath catches in my throat. My brain is still too fuzzy to form a response.

“She got the call when hospice couldn’t reach me or Johanna.

I guess she was still listed as an emergency contact somewhere,” he continues.

“It wasn’t a long conversation, but it threw me.

I didn’t expect it. I definitely didn’t want it, and after finding out about Mom, then having to deal with that…

I lost it. I didn’t handle it well. I didn’t handle any of it well.

I’m so sorry, sweetheart. So damn sorry. ”

He drops his head and rests it on our joined hands as if he’s praying that I’ll accept the apology. I use my free hand to run my fingers through his hair, knowing it always calms him. After a moment, he looks up at me, fighting to hold the tears back.

He keeps one hand on mine and uses the other to reach into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a small velvet box.

My heart stutters, and I almost stop breathing.

Oh.

“Grayson…”

He doesn’t open it. Not yet. Just turns it over and over in his hand, like he’s trying to find the exact right words.

“I told the hospital you were my fiancée,” he murmurs. “They were giving me hell about seeing you and it just… happened. But the thing is—I meant it.”

The air gets thicker between us.

“I meant it then. I mean it now. I don’t want anyone to ever be confused about who you are to me. Or how much you mean. Ever again.”

He sets the box gently on the edge of the blanket. He doesn’t push it towards me—it just exists. It’s a question, not a demand.

“I love you, Mia Michele Alexander,” he whispers, his voice like gravity. “I love you in a way I never thought possible. I want to build a life—our life—with you. I want the chaos and the calm. The darkness and the light. Marry me, beautiful. Make me the luckiest man alive, and marry me.”

My heart cracks wide open.

Because I love this man more than anything I’ve ever loved before.

But I put my hand over the box to keep him from opening it.

“No, baby,” I say softly.

His face falters.

“Wha—” he stumbles. “No?”

“Not like this.”

He stares at me like I’ve knocked the air out of him. I watch all the hope drain from his face, and it shatters something in me.

He nods slowly, swallowing hard.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, his voice rough. “You’re not there yet. Got it.”

“I am there,” I say quickly. “Grayson, I love you. So much. When I got in the accident, I was on my way here to tell you that. I never want to be without you again.”

He meets my eyes again—and God, he looks wrecked. Not angry. Not bitter. Just broken.

“I’m not saying no,” I tell him, squeezing his hand as hard as I can. “I’m just saying not yet.”

He blinks, but doesn’t pull away.

“I don’t want this to be the story of how we got engaged. I don’t want it to happen in a hospital room because I almost died, because we’re traumatized and scared.”

He nods again, his eyes flicking down to our joined hands.

“I will say yes,” I continue. “But when I do… I want to be standing. I want to feel like myself again. I want us to be us again. Can you understand?”

He takes a moment, rubbing soft circles into my palm. And then he nods for real—slower, fuller. Like he’s finally breathing again.

“Yes, sweetheart,” he says. “I’m sorry. I understand.”

I watch him take the box back and carefully tuck it back into his pocket—for safe keeping.

“I just need some time,” I whisper. “For the scars to heal. To feel pretty again. To feel whole.”

He smiles then, so full of love it nearly undoes me.

“You’re beautiful—pretty even when the world around us is burning,” he says, like a vow. “I’ll wait. As long as it takes.”