Page 47

“Come here,” I whisper.

Angelique lifts her head, her curls tangled and wet, face blotchy, but her eyes find mine like they always do. She hesitates, fingers still clinging to Lando’s jacket. Then, finally, she lets go and stumbles into me and I catch her instantly.

My arms wrap around her tighter than I mean to. I’m scared if I let go, she’ll vanish, like this is still a nightmare I haven’t woken up from. She sinks into my chest, and I kiss her temple, holding her like my life depends on it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, barely audible.

“Don’t,” I murmur. “Don’t apologize for hurting.”

She shakes her head, crying harder now. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Then you don’t know me at all,” I whisper, pulling back enough to look at her. “Because I’d rather see you broken than buried.”

Her lips tremble, and her eyes spill over again. I brush her cheeks with both thumbs, wiping the tears away, though they keep coming. That’s fine. I’ll wipe away every single one for as long as it takes.

“You want to die,” I say quietly, “but I need you to live.”

She closes her eyes.

“I need you to wake up next to me and fight with me. To rehearse with me and to fucking laugh again. And I know that’s a tall fucking order right now, Angel… but I’m not going anywhere.”

My voice cracks.

“I’m not leaving you. So please, don’t leave me. Don’t give up.”

She opens her eyes again, the guilt in them pulling at my heart, and I take her hand, kissing her knuckles. “Let’s go home.”

She nods against me, and I glance at Lando, who’s wiping his face like he’s trying to get it together.

“You coming?” I ask as the sound of sirens in the distance grows closer.

He lets out a shaky breath and nods. “Yeah.”

I lead Angelique back toward the car, one arm tight around her, her head resting against my shoulder.

Every step we take away from that ledge feels like a small miracle, but I know this isn’t over.

Tonight was the warning shot, and I’m not letting the next one be fatal.

If I have to stand between her and the dark every fucking day—I will. Even if it kills me.

Angelique sits curled in the passenger seat beside me, her knees pulled up to her chest beneath Lando’s oversized hoodie that he passed to her from his duffel bag.

She has said little since we left the bridge.

Her head leans against the window, eyes unfocused, watching the streetlights flicker past as we wind back toward the estate.

The silence in the car isn’t tense, but exhausted.

Lando’s quiet in the back seat too, just letting her breathe.

But when we pull into the long drive and the car finally rolls to a stop in front of the guesthouse, I kill the engine and glance over at her.

She’s still staring out the window like she’s not here.

Like she never really came back down from that ledge.

I rest my hand on hers and she blinks slowly, turning toward me.

“You don’t have to say anything,” I murmur, keeping my voice low. “But I want to ask you something. Just one thing.”

She nods, barely, and I give her hand a gentle squeeze. “Would you consider talking to someone?”

Her brows crease and I hold my breath, but she doesn’t pull away or lash out like last time.

“Not because we’re tired of you,” I say, my voice rough. “And not because we can’t handle you. But because we’re not professionals, Angel. We’re just two broken idiots trying to patch up our favourite person with duct tape and a bit of panic. ”

She huffs a breath. It’s not a laugh exactly, but it’s close.

Lando rests his chin on the back of the seat. “You scared the fuck out of me tonight,” he says gently. “And if there’s even the smallest chance something might help… even a little… would you try?”

Her eyes jump between us, filled with pride and shame, fear and exhaustion, before she nods slowly.

“Okay,” she whispers, her voice hoarse. “I’ll try.”

Relief barrels through me so fast I almost sag in my seat. Lando makes a choked sound behind me, like he’s holding back a sob of his own.

“Thank you,” I say gently.

She turns her face away again, but not before I see the shine in her eyes. And this time, I know it’s not because she wants to give up. It’s because, for the first time in a long time, she might be ready to fight for herself.

The guesthouse is silent when we step inside, except for the wind pressing against the windows. I lock the door behind us, switch off the porch light, and keep her hand in mine as we move through the hallway in the dark while Lando takes himself to the couch.

“Come on,” I murmur, leading her into the bathroom. “Let me help.”

She nods once, too tired to argue while I turn the shower on and let the steam fill the space. She undresses behind me, and when I turn around, she steps into the spray, eyes closed, arms wrapped around herself.

I strip off my clothes and join her, allowing her to lean into me like she needs my hands to stay upright. I wash her hair gently, my fingers combing through the wet curls as her forehead rests against my shoulder. She breathes in slow, steady pulls while I press a kiss to the crown of her head .

“I’ve got you,” I whisper. And I do. For as long as she needs me. For as long as she’ll let me.

When we step out, I dry her off carefully with the softest towel I can find, dressing her in one of my long black shirts and a pair of boxers.

She looks impossibly small in them, and I bite back the urge to call her cute.

I carry her to my bed and tuck her in as her eyes drift closed from the kind of exhaustion that’s more mental than physical.

I sit on the edge of the bed and watch her breathing, count the rise and fall of her chest, memorize the lines of her face in the shadows.

Minutes pass. Then hours. I lie beside her eventually, but I don’t sleep.

I keep my eyes on her, one hand resting lightly against her stomach just to feel the rhythm of her breath.

The fear never leaves, not completely, because I’ve seen how fast the light can leave her eyes.

How quick the shift from “okay” to “gone” can come.

So, I stay awake all night, listening to the storm outside while watching the girl I love sleep in the bed that I’d tear the world apart to keep her in, and pray to a God I don’t believe in that when the sun rises, she’s still here.

Still choosing to stay.