Chapter 38 The Happily Ever After #2
A wave of gratitude crashes over me, but the way he says “immediate signs” plants a seed of doubt in my mind. “And long-term?” I ask, biting down on my lower lip. “What are we looking at?”
Dr. Patel pauses, as if choosing his words carefully.
“Rafael will need time, both for physical healing and for us to fully assess any potential aftereffects. He’ll likely experience some fatigue, maybe some memory lapses or headaches as his brain continues to heal.
But from what we’ve seen so far, there’s every reason to believe he’ll make a full recovery. ”
I blink back tears, the pressure in my chest easing just enough for me to take a breath. “So… he’s going to be okay?”
The doctor writes something down. “Yes. He’ll need rest, rehabilitation, and patience, but he’s on the right path.”
I nod, my eyes stinging. “Thank you.”
He tilts his head. “Scarlett, remember to take care of yourself, too. You’re just as important as anything else in his recovery.”
Right now, I don’t care about anything else. He’s awake. He’s okay.
“You should go in.”
I thank him, slip past him, and push open the door, heart thumping in my chest.
Rafael is propped up against the pillows, his face pale but his eyes sharp, awake, and focused. The sight of him, fully alert and alive, almost undoes me.
“Hey,” I say tentatively.
“Hey,” he rasps. His voice is rough, like gravel, but the familiar warmth in it soothes me like a balm.
I have no idea what to say. How are you?
feels ridiculous. He’s awake, yes, but I can’t imagine the pain he must be in, the disorientation he must be experiencing.
I wonder if anyone thought to offer him water.
He must be thirsty. Or hungry. Do people wake up from comas starving?
Should I ask if I can hug him? Or kiss him?
The thoughts pile up and then dissolve into nothing as I take a hesitant step forward. My hands tremble at my sides, and my breath comes in shallow bursts. I’m half afraid this is a dream, a cruel one I’ll wake up from at any moment.
I glance at the tattooed skin peeking from the top of his hospital gown, my gaze trailing to his hand, open at his side with no rings—those are safely stored in the bedside table. Slowly, carefully, I take it in mine.
The second he squeezes back, a sob escapes my throat. He’s awake. He’s really awake. He’s okay.
And I know exactly what I need to say.
“I love you.”
His lips part slightly, and for a second, he just blinks at me. Then a slow, soft smile spreads across his face, like the sun breaking through a cloud.
“It’s… Scarlett, right?”
My stomach drops into free fall.
He doesn’t know who I am?
“Loves wontons, head always stuck in a book, face full of freckles?” he adds, his tone teasing.
“For fuck’s sake.” I exhale in relief as his laugh vibrates softly in the air. My hand itches to smack his chest, but I have to remind myself that he’s injured. “Jokes? Really? After you’ve been in a coma for eight years?”
His smile falters for a split second, and I let out a chuckle, biting back the urge to cry again.
Shoulders relaxing, he laughs, the sound weak but so utterly him that it makes my heart swell. “Mean. Really, really mean.”
“You started it.”
His thumb brushes over the back of my hand, sending a quiet shiver through me. Then, with infinite care, he raises my hand to his lips, kissing the top. The gesture is so tender, so achingly familiar, I want to throw myself at him and bury my face in his chest.
My Rafael is back, and I’ll die before I let him go again.
“Freckles,” he says softly, intertwining our fingers and resting our hands on his lap. “I—”
“Is it true?” Ethan’s voice booms from behind me, startling us both. I turn to see my brother standing in the doorway, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and awe. “Holy shit. You’re awake.”
“Hey, man,” Rafael says, his voice suddenly stronger, like he’s summoning all his energy to reassure Ethan. “Have you been holding down the fort for me?”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, he holds down the fort?”
Ethan steps closer. “Shit, dude. You look like hell.”
“Your sister doesn’t think so.”
I scoff, unable to hide my joy. He’s joking. He’s himself.
“Yeah, well, she has questionable taste,” Ethan quips, pointing at the nightstand. “Did you show him yet?”
Rafael turns his head, wincing slightly, and I quickly squeeze his hand in comfort. Ethan grabs the folded copy of the Whistle from the table and sets it on Rafael’s lap.
“ ‘The Prodigal Son Turned Hero,’ ” Ethan reads aloud, his tone exaggerated. Rafael’s brow furrows in confusion as Ethan snickers.
I grab the paper and shove it aside. “I can read that to you later. You should rest now.”
“Was that my picture?”
Ethan grabs the paper again. “Yep. It’s an article about you—how no one believed in you, and you saved everyone’s asses. They might rename the main square after you.”
Rafael turns to me, squinting. “That’s not what happened. You caught the killer.”
“And you caught a stalker I got credit for. Guess we’re even.”
“Scarlett…”
“I didn’t lie. And besides, people needed to know what you’ve done, Rafael. Who you really are.” I shrug, glancing away. “I didn’t even do it for you. It’s their loss they didn’t see it before.”
His eyes linger on mine, full of something I can’t quite name. Gratitude, maybe. Love, definitely. “What… what happened with that? Celeste and Quentin?”
“They’ve been arraigned, and both of them have pleaded guilty. Life without parole for him. She got life with the possibility of parole, which is…” I trail off, my chest tightening. Unfair? Insane?
“Well, he was the one who committed the murders,” Rafael says.
“Because she manipulated him.”
“Who cares?” Ethan groans from the corner. “They’re both in prison, where they belong. And the second we were assigned a social worker, she’s been flooded with letters and emails singing your praise from everyone in town.”
Rafael turns to me sharply, his brows knitting together. “What?”
I open my mouth, but Ethan beats me to it.
“All of a sudden, Chief Donovan said they didn’t have enough evidence against you on that criminal trespass investigation, so that’s gone too.
I’m telling you. You’re like the savior of Connecticut or something.
The only reason half the town isn’t in here groveling is that Scarlett forbade visits.
But Mrs. Brattle is downstairs, and so is that old guy from the pharmacy. And—”
“Wait, so…” Rafael’s voice falters as his eyes search mine, and I nod, my throat tightening. So our relationship isn’t a problem anymore.
“Steve said no one can challenge my custody of Ethan, even if you’re in my life,” I say.
“Assuming you find a job,” Ethan quips.
“I told you, Mrs. Brattle says they’ll hire me at the newspaper.”
“The newspaper?” Rafael asks, eyes jumping from Ethan to me. “What about the podcast?”
A pang of worry rises in me instantly. Is he confused? “Well, Celeste’s… gone, Gray. And so is the podcast.”
“Seriously, forget about those lunatics,” Ethan interrupts, his eyes darting between me and Rafael like those of a spectator at a tennis match. “It’s time for you two to DTR.”
I glare at him, then turn back to Rafael, checking his expression.
“Ethan, can you give us a second?” he says, eyes never leaving mine.
My brother hesitates, his face twisting with mock concern. “Not to have sex, right? ’Cause you don’t look like you should have sex.”
Rafael’s thumb brushes the top of my hand. “No, not to have sex. I’d like to tell your sister I love her.”
The air shifts. I freeze, my breath catching in my chest. He said it. He actually said it. My heart thunders in my ears, drowning out everything else. It counts. He said it. He loves me.
“Oh. Okay,” Ethan says before he steps toward the door. “I’ll be outside.”
The door closes with a soft click. I can’t tell if the million machines around Rafael are still beeping, because I can’t hear anything at all besides a loud ringing in my ears.
“Hi, Freckles.” His voice is the kind of soft that makes my heart stumble in its rhythm.
“Hi, Gray.”
He shakes his head slowly, as though marveling at something only he can see. “I have no memory of anything past what happened at Booked It, so how is it possible that I missed you so much?”
I cup his cheek. “Not as much as I missed you.”
He gently tugs at my hand. “Give me a kiss.”
My heart clenches, and I’m instantly reminded of the last time he asked me that.
That gut-wrenching moment, the way I refused at first, my lips trembling as I fought back tears.
I didn’t want to kiss him then—not for the last time.
But he’s back now. He’s here, and all I want is to kiss him for the rest of my life.
To kiss him until my lips are raw, until time stops, until the world forgets to spin.
I lean forward, the space between us vanishing, but just as my lips are about to meet his, his voice breaks through the fragile quiet.
“Scarlett?”
I pause, my breath hitching. “Yes?”
“I know I’ve hurt you, but I’d really like a last chance.” His smile widens, a little crooked, a little hopeful. It’s the smile that’s always undone me. “This time, I know I won’t screw it up.”
My heart flutters wildly. “You probably will,” I say, my voice thick with emotion, a watery laugh breaking through. “So how about I don’t give you a last chance?” I can see the question forming on his lips, but I press on. “How about I just give you a chance?”
His eyes close, his warm breath brushing over my lips.
“And then another,” I add. “And then another. As many chances as you want.”
He watches me, eyes brimming with relief, and slowly, he pulls me closer.
“I love you, Scarlett Moore,” he whispers on my lips. “I want to watch you fall in love with one book after another until we’re old and sore and our hair’s gone silver. I want to build a life that looks like us—I want boring Tuesdays and chaotic Sundays, takeout dinners and late-night chats.”
“Rafael,” I cry against his lips. I was so scared I’d never get to hear his voice again, and now he’s saying this. I don’t think my heart can take it.
“I want to watch you chase dreams, change your mind, grow into new versions of yourself—and love every one of them.”
He holds me close, his voice wavering like it’s not close enough.
“I want this life with you. And the next. And every one after that. If there are a hundred versions of me, I want every single one to find you.”
My chest is aching, breaking open, full of him.
And then he kisses me.
It feels like coming home. His hand cups my face, his thumb wiping away a stray tear, and I melt into him, every inch of me craving the closeness, the connection.
When we finally pull apart, he rests his forehead against mine.
“You know, I think I finally figured it out.”
I sniffle. “What?”
“I need you. When I have you by my side, I’m the best version of myself.”
I pull his hair back, savoring the feeling of his warm skin under my fingertips. “I’ll take any version of you, Gray.”
He cups my cheeks, thumbs swiping under my eyes. “Scarlett, about what you said, you know Celeste and Booked It have nothing to do with the podcast, right?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you are the podcast. Nobody who’s ever listened to Murders & Manuscripts has done it because of Celeste. They want to hear you. And you have a sound engineer. Whatever equipment you need, we’ll get. What’s stopping you?”
Nothing, I guess. My own podcast. I’ve always been so comfortable at Booked It that I’ve never considered leaving, but the thought of launching my own venture seems exciting. “Maybe. I just… I’m not sure I want my whole life to revolve around murders.”
I guess watching the man you love nearly bleed out in front of you will do that to a person.
“So don’t. It’s your podcast. Make it about whatever you want.”
I huff out a single chuckle, but the thought takes shape in my mind. My own bookish podcast about whatever I want. “Mystery novels and smutty romance?”
He weakly claps. “We’ll call it Fuck, Marry, Kill.”
“Or…” I bite my lip, an idea taking shape. “A Killer Kind of Romance.”