Chapter 32
Sebastian
Iweave through traffic with a recklessness that would normally make me wince.
At a red light, I barely slow down, scanning for cops before blasting through the intersection.
She can't be gone. The image of Mia's face as she ran from Cheryl's room is burned into my retinas, that look of absolute devastation that made my chest physically ache.
Fifteen minutes later, I screech to a halt in front of her apartment building, parking half on the sidewalk like some kind of lunatic.
I don't bother locking the car, just sprint toward the entrance, taking the stairs two at a time because waiting for the elevator feels impossible.
My heart hammers against my ribs like it's trying to punch its way out of my chest.
I practically crash into the hallway when I reach her floor, scanning the numbers until I find the door I’m looking for. Breathing hard, I raise my fist and knock.
No answer.
I knock again, harder this time. "Mia?" My voice sounds as broken as I feel. "Mia, open the door."
Still nothing. Not even the sound of movement from inside. Panic claws its way up my throat, constricting my airway until each breath feels impossible. What if she's already gone? What if she's packed up and left, driven by the same impulsive energy that made her quit her job?
Pulling out my phone, I dial her number again as I press my ear to the door. One ring. Two. Three. Then, finally, I hear the faint melody of her ringtone coming from inside the apartment. She's in there. Relief floods my system for a half-second before new worry crashes in.
If she's home, why isn't she answering?
"Mia!" I pound the door with the flat of my hand, loud enough to disturb the neighbors. "I know you're in there. Please open the door."
Nothing.
I rest my forehead against the cool wood, my mind racing through possibilities.
I could call the building manager. Could try to find another way in.
Could wait her out. None of those options feel right.
Not when I can still see her face crumpling in Cheryl's room, not when I can still feel her body shaking with sobs against mine.
"Please," I whisper, palm flat against the door. "I just need to know you're okay."
I'm about to knock again when I hear soft shuffling from inside. My heart leaps into my throat as the door opens just enough for me to see a slice of Mia's face peering through.
My breath catches.
She looks worse than when I last saw her at the hospital. Her eyes are red-rimmed and swollen, skin blotchy from crying, those wild curls a tangled mess around her face.
"Go away, Sebastian." Her voice is raw, like she's been screaming or crying for hours. Probably both.
I wedge my foot in the door before she can close it. "No."
"Please." The word sounds torn from her throat. "I can't... I can't do this right now."
"Can't do what?" I press my palm against the door. "Talk to me? Let me help you?"
"All of it." Her voice cracks on the words. "Just go."
Instead of backing away, I gently push against the door. It gives slightly, widening the gap until I can see more of her face. Her lower lip trembles, tears welling in those green eyes that usually sparkle with mischief or determination.
"I'm not leaving you alone like this."
Something in my tone must get through to her because she stops pushing against the door. Shoulders slumping in defeat, she steps back.
I quickly move inside before she can change her mind. Books are scattered across the floor, a shattered mug lies in pieces by the wall like it was thrown. One of her plants has been knocked over, soil spilling across the hardwood.
Still in her scrubs from this morning, Mia stands in the middle of this chaos, arms wrapped around herself as if trying to physically hold herself together.
"Mia," I breathe, slowly moving toward her the way you might approach a wounded animal. "I was so worried."
She flinches as if my words physically hurt her. "Why are you here?"
"Because you disappeared." I take another step closer. "Because you quit your job without talking to me. Because I—" I swallow hard, the words sticking in my throat. "Because I care about you."
A sound escapes her that's half-laugh, half-sob. "You care about me." She shakes her head, hair falling into her face. "You shouldn't. I'm not... I'm not worth it."
The self-loathing in her voice slices through my chest. "What are you talking about?"
"I failed her." She finally looks up at me, eyes swimming with fresh tears. "Just like I failed my dad. I'm a terrible doctor. A terrible daughter. A terrible—"
I don't let her finish. In two quick strides, I close the distance between us and pull her into my chest. For a moment she stiffens, her body rigid against mine, and I think she might push me away.
Then she collapses. Like a marionette with cut strings, her body crumples against me as a wrenching sob tears from her throat.
My arms tighten around her. One hand cradles the back of her head, fingers threading through those tangled curls, while the other wraps around her waist, holding her up when her legs seem ready to give out.
"Let it out," I murmur against her temple, feeling her tears soaking through my shirt. "I've got you."
She cries like she's being torn apart from the inside, each sob more violent than the last. Her fingers clutch at my shirt, twisting the fabric as if it's the only thing anchoring her to this world.
I hold her through it, my own chest aching with a sympathetic pain I've never allowed myself to feel for another person.
"You didn't fail anyone," I tell her, knowing she probably can't hear me through her grief, but needing to say it anyway. "Cheryl made her choice. She knew it was coming. It wasn't your fault."
Her body shakes harder with another wave of sobs. I feel wetness on my own cheeks and realize with a start that I'm crying too, silent tears tracking down my face for this woman who cares so deeply it's destroying her.
I don't know how long we stand there, her sobbing into my chest while I hold her steady. Time seems to stretch and compress all at once. Eventually, her sobs begin to quiet, her breathing still ragged but no longer the violent heaving of before.
Just as I think she might be calming, she shifts in my arms. And then her mouth is on mine, hot and desperate. Her hands slide up to clutch at my face, fingers digging into my skin with bruising intensity.
The kiss is nothing like the ones we've shared before.
There's no tenderness here, no passion or play.
This is desperation, a drowning person grasping for anything to keep from going under.
She presses against me harder, her body arching into mine with a frantic energy that speaks of escape rather than desire.
I want to give in. Fuck, how I want to. My body responds instantly, hard-wired to react to her touch, to her taste. It would be so easy to lose myself in her, to let physical sensation drown out the emotional storm swirling between us.
But that's not what she needs. Not what either of us need.
Gently, I catch her wrists, pulling her hands from my face. I break the kiss, drawing back just enough to look into her eyes. They're wild, unfocused, and still glazed with tears.
"This isn't what you need," I say softly, my thumbs stroking the insides of her wrists where her pulse hammers rapidly.
Her face crumples, then hardens. "Don't tell me what I need." Her voice breaks on the words. She tugs against my grip, trying to pull me back. "I need to feel something else. Anything else. Please, Sebastian."
The plea in her voice nearly does me in. I release her wrists, but instead of pulling her back into a kiss, I frame her face, thumbs brushing away the tears that continue to fall.
"You're hurting," I tell her, forcing her to meet my gaze. "And you think this will make it stop. It won't. It'll just give you something else to regret tomorrow."
"I don't care about tomorrow," she whispers, her lower lip trembling. "I just want to forget today."
Her hands find my waist, fingers slipping beneath my shirt to touch bare skin. The contact sends electricity racing up my spine, my body betraying me with its immediate response. She feels it, a flash of triumph crossing her tear-stained face as she presses closer.
"Mia." Her name comes out strained. "Stop."
"Why?" She leans in again, her breath hot against my neck. "You want this. I can tell."
Moving my hands to her shoulders, I gently but firmly put distance between us. "What I want doesn't matter right now."
She tries to move forward again, but I hold her steady. The fight drains out of her suddenly, her shoulders slumping beneath my palms as fresh tears spill down her cheeks.
"I don't know what to do," she admits, the words barely audible. "I don't know how to make this stop hurting."
Something breaks inside me at the raw vulnerability in her voice. Instead of answering with words, I wrap my arms around her again, one hand cradling the back of her head, guiding it to rest against my shoulder.
Her knees buckle, and I go down with her, both of us sinking to the floor in a controlled collapse.
I shift to lean against the couch, pulling her into my lap, cradling her against my chest. She wraps her arms around my waist and pressed her face into the curve of my neck as her body shakes with quieter sobs now.
"I've got you," I murmur into her hair. "I've got you, baby."
She cries against me, her tears hot on my skin, her breath coming in ragged gasps that gradually slow. I hold her through it all, one hand making soothing circles on her back, the other tangled in her hair, anchoring her to me.
Slowly, so slowly, her breathing steadies. Her body grows heavier against mine as exhaustion begins to claim her. The shadows in the apartment deepen as afternoon slips toward evening, but I just continue to hold her as the storm within her gradually calms.
When she finally speaks, her voice is so soft I almost miss it. "I can't go back there."
I press my lips to the top of her head. "You don't have to. Not right now."
"I threw my badge at Henderson." A hiccup that might be a laugh breaks from her throat. "Actually threw it. Hit him in the chest."
Despite everything, a small smile tugs at my lips. "I'm sure he deserved it."
She shifts in my arms, tilting her head back to look up at me. Her eyes are puffy, her nose red, tear tracks still visible on her cheeks. She's never looked more beautiful to me.
"What am I going to do?" she asks. The question is simple but loaded with so many layers of meaning.
I study her face for a long moment as an idea takes shape in my mind. We both need a place to breathe. To heal. To remember who we are outside the sterile walls of Sierra Mercy.
Brushing a strand of hair from her face, I tuck it behind her ear before tilting her chin up to make sure she’s looking directly into my eyes.
"Pack a bag. I'm taking you away from all this."
Confusion flickers across her features. "What? Where?"
I trace the curve of her jawline. "Somewhere I think might help you."
She stares at me, uncertainty warring with exhaustion in her eyes. "Sebastian, I don't—"
"Trust me," I all but beg. "Please."
For a long moment, she just looks at me, then nods slightly.
"Okay."