Page 101 of The Thinnest Air

Harris pauses before rubbing the back of his neck. “Never. Not once.”

“What the hell are we doing?” I ask.

He shakes his head, exhaling. “I never should’ve let you go, Greer. It’s just, you went so quietly, without a fight. I thought you were over me. Over us. And you seemed fine on your own, like you didn’t need me.”

“Harris.” I bite my bottom lip, blinking away the tears threatening to fill my eyes. “You’re it for me. I couldn’t get over you if I tried. And trust me, I tried.”

His mouth pulls wide. “Want to go somewhere and talk? Alone?”

Turning toward my sister, I watch her eyelids grow heavy. I’d hate for her to wake up to an empty hospital room.

“I can’t leave her,” I say. “Not yet.”

“Right. Of course. Getting a little ahead of myself.” Eyeing a spare chair in the corner, he takes a seat. “Then I’ll just be here. Waiting. And when you’re ready, I’ll take you away, anywhere you want to go.”

“I just want to go home,” I say. “To our apartment. With you.”

His face lights. “Then that’s where we’ll go.”

CHAPTER 49

MEREDITH

“She’s right in here, sir.” One of the officers outside my door steps out of the way as my husband pushes past.

His eyes widen when he sees me, and he takes careful steps toward my bed, falling to his knees. His amaretto-colored gaze never leaves mine, and I see it—I see that he’s sorry. He’s sorry he wasn’t able to protect me.

“What did he do to you?” Andrew’s voice shakes, which sends a fullness to my heart. Looking at this man, I wholeheartedly believe he was beside himself in my absence, even if he didn’t show it—and knowing him, he kept his cards close. Rising, he sits next to me. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. You’re safe now. You’re with me.”

He bends forward, pressing his lips against my forehead, and I cower at first, thinking of Ronan until I inhale my husband’s familiar musky aftershave.

Andrew cups my cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t worry more about you.”

Shaking my head, I say, “Worrying about me never would’ve stopped him. He had this planned for years.”

“I heard they shot him,” Andrew says, huffing. “Serves him right.”

I say nothing. Despite recent events, a part of me still struggles to believe that the Ronan who was once so sweet and unassuming and affable was capable of all this. He was always so normal. That was what I always liked most about him.

I know now that he was mentally ill, deeply disturbed, and he was only ever pretending to be the person I thought he was.

“How’s the baby?” Andrew rests his palm across my belly, and for a flicker of a second, I imagine him holding a swaddled baby—our baby—and my chest swells. If I can make it to that day, to that moment, everything’s going to be okay.

“I had an ultrasound,” I say, eyes resting on his. “Everything looks good. I’m just over six weeks. Heard the heartbeat and everything.”

“Thank God,” he whispers, taking my hand in his. “How are you holding up, though? Other than being traumatized and wafer thin?”

My gaze follows the line of the IV drip they’ve had hooked to me since the second I got here. I’m guessing we’re on bag number four in less than twenty-four hours. Despite the fact that nothing feels real, I’ve never felt more alive.

I just want to get out of here.

I want to forget this happened.

I want my life back ... the life I signed up for.

I want to be a good person. I want to live a life void of secrets and shame and guilt.

I want to make it up to my husband, give him the wife he deserved. The one he married, the one he ravished in a Parisian honeymoon suite, vowing to love her until her dying day.