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CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

ELENA

Stepping into the hallway, I pull the door to Conor’s room shut behind us, silencing the beep and soft hum of machines. Carrying the bulk of Victoria’s weight is nothing compared to the emotions I’ve been harboring for days. “Just a little further,” I murmur, keeping my voice steady as Vic leans her head on my shoulder. She blinks at me, her dark eyes tired and distant. Holding her against me, I can feel her trembling beneath the thin fabric of her shirt, and it’s nearly too much. Enough to break me. “I’m here, Vic”—I tighten my hold on her and force her to take a few more steps—“I’ve got you.”

I guide her down the hallway. Her feet shuffle against the floor, her body and mind both too tired to lift them. We reach a private room at the end of the hall, and I push the door open with my shoulder as I lead her inside. Passing the bed—where someone graciously left us both a change of clothes and takeout—we step into the adjoining bathroom. It’s small, but it’ll do. I pull her up to the counter of the sink for balance. “All right. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Her eyes fall shut, the weight of exhaustion obvious. The lines under her eyes are darker than they should be, and she’s like a broken doll in my hands. I step away for a moment to grab a towel and turn the shower, giving the water a second to warm as I strip us both out of our clothes.

She takes a few shaky steps as I lead her into the shower. Once under the spray of the water, the tension in her shoulders loosens a little. Gently, I press a damp washcloth to her face, wiping away days of sweat, exhaustion, and the remnants of tears still staining her cheeks. She doesn’t flinch as I rub the terry linen over his skin. Instead, she stands before me like she’s too tired to care. About anything but Conor .

“It’s gonna be okay,” I whisper, more to myself than to her. She needs it, even if it only echoes in this shower. “I’m here, Victoria. You’re not alone.”

Her lips part slightly, but she stays silent. I add an orange-scented soap to my cloth and continue to work it over her skin in slow, rhythmic motions. I clean every inch of her as though I’m trying to wash away the weight of worry and fear she’s shrouded in. Adding more soap, I use the same cloth to quickly clean myself before joining her under the warm spray. My arms wrapped around her, I hold her for a moment as the water washes our fragrant suds down the drain.

Turning off the shower, I help her step on the bath mat. I wrap a towel around her, and then one around myself, before gently drying her. “You’re doing so good,” I whisper as I run the towel over the water on her legs.

When both of us are dry, I lead her from the small bathroom and into the room. I hand her a soft pair of leggings and a loose shirt when we reach the bed. They’re nothing fancy, but they’re clean and will hopefully make her feel a little more like herself again.

“Do you need help getting dressed or…?” Her eyes glance up at me briefly, the look behind them unreadable, but it’s enough to give me pause. I allow her a moment to answer or begin dressing, but I don’t get either. “All right. I’m here. I can help you.”

Carefully, I pull the leggings up her legs and slip the soft shirt over her head. I can’t help but notice the way her bones feel as I dress her. She’s too thin, too fragile. The last few days have taken everything from her. With my hands on her waist to steady her as she sits on the edge, I put on her socks before taking the seat beside her.

“I’m so proud of you,” I praise, reaching behind her and opening one of the takeout containers to find a BLT and chips. Lifting half the sandwich, I hold it in front of her. “But I need a little bit more from you.” I expect resistance, but she opens her mouth and wraps her hand over mine. She pulls the sandwich toward her mouth and takes a child-sized bite. Good girl… I don’t push, letting her take what feels like an eternity to eat most of the sandwich. Grabbing a napkin, I clean her face and clear the bed of the remaining takeout containers.

I draw back the covers, and Vic slowly falls toward the pillow. I slide into the bed beside her before covering us both. I wrap my arm over her and roll, curling into me and resting her head on my shoulder. The room falls silent, except for the soothing hum of the heater, our soft breaths, and the occasional shuffle of footsteps in the hallway.

I run my fingers through her damp hair, breathing in the rich citrus lingering on her skin, trying to offer some small comfort, even if it’s only for a few minutes. “We’re going to get through this,” I whisper, even though I’m not sure if I believe it myself.

She shifts slightly, her body relaxing against mine, and momentarily, the tension in her body eases. I hold her tighter, just a little, and let myself finally succumb to the exhaustion I’ve been fighting.

We’ll rest. For now. I’ll take care of her. And when she’s ready, we’ll face whatever comes next. Together.