Chapter 24 #2
Maceo comes in quietly with Blake's bag over one shoulder and a stack of papers tucked beneath his arm.
He stops just inside the door, reads the room the way he reads contracts, then sets the bag on the floor and comes to Blake's other side.
He doesn't ask for space. He simply slips one hand around Blake's ankle beneath the blanket, steady and unshowy, like he's been there all along.
Blake looks at him, then at Luther, then at Luca and me and Rosalie. His eyes are wet now. He looks younger than he has in years, all the sharp edges worn down by fear he can no longer turn into work.
"Okay," he whispers.
Luther closes his eyes.
Blake swallows, and his grip on Luther's shirt loosens only enough for his fingers to flex.
"Okay, Alpha. I'll do the meds and the food and the rest. Maceo can have the files.
You can take the calls. Gray can make the rules.
Luca can shut down anything that touches Ember House.
I'll hate parts of it, but I'll do it." His eyes find mine, and the helpless honesty there nearly breaks me. "I can't do it by myself."
Luca makes a wounded sound and reaches for him. Luther shifts just enough to let Luca press a careful kiss to Blake's cheek, then to the corner of his mouth. Rosalie leans in from my arms and pats Blake's shoulder with the solemn tenderness of a child trying not to touch the wires.
"No more tablets," she tells him.
Blake's mouth trembles. "I heard you."
The nurse comes in a few minutes later with broth, medication, and the kind of expression that says she's seen families fall apart in this room and is relieved we've chosen a different shape.
Luca takes the bowl from her before she can set it on the tray.
His hand's steady when he sits on the edge of the bed and lifts the spoon.
"I can't make your heart behave," he says, voice thick from crying. "I can make you take three bites."
Blake looks at him for a long moment, then opens his mouth.
The room exhales around that small surrender.
Luther stays close, one hand in Blake's hair while Luca feeds him slowly.
Maceo checks the medication schedule with the nurse and adds it to his phone.
I sit with Rosalie in my lap and let Samuel and James climb onto either side of me when Grayson from an hour ago would've made room for everyone else and stayed standing.
I don't stand. I let them lean their frightened little bodies against mine, and when Samuel asks if Blake's still sick, I answer with the truth shaped small enough for his hands.
"His heart got too tired," I say, brushing Samuel's curls back from his forehead. "The doctors are helping it rest, and we're helping him rest too. That means no work screens, no loud arguments, and lots of telling an adult when something feels scary instead of keeping it inside."
James sits very still against my other side. "Can he still decide things if he can't work?"
"Yes," I say, and Blake's eyes shift toward us as if he needs the answer too. "He can still decide things. He can still be Blake. He just doesn't have to be the first person standing in front of everything."
Samuel frowns at the blanket bunched around his knees. "I was mad because he promised the tower."
"I know."
"Can he still help when he's better?"
Blake's eyes close for one breath, then open again. "I can supervise," he says, barely above a rasp.
The word makes Samuel's mouth wobble. He climbs down from my side and goes to the bed, stopping where the rail begins because we've told them to be careful with the wires.
Blake lifts two fingers from the blanket.
Samuel touches them with his whole hand, holding on as if that's enough to keep the promise alive until later.
Luther's phone buzzes once. He looks at the screen, then silences it without reading the full message. Blake sees the movement, and for the first time, he doesn't ask who it is. Luther notices. So do I. So does Maceo, whose hand pauses on the medication list for a heartbeat before he keeps typing.
When Blake finishes half the broth and the nurse is satisfied enough to leave us alone, Luther nods toward the hallway. I know what he's asking before he says anything. I slide Rosalie into Luca's lap, kiss her hair, and follow Luther out.
The hallway's quieter now, though quiet in a hospital never means peace.
Luther stops beside the vending machines, far enough from the room that the children won't hear and close enough that we can get back if Blake calls.
He takes my wrist first, thumb resting over my pulse, then pulls me against him.
I go. I'm tired of pretending I don't need to be held.
"I saw him failing and moved toward him," Luther says into my hair. "I saw you failing and let you keep moving because you made it look like care."
The words land exactly where I've been bruised. I close my eyes and breathe against his chest, letting the hurt rise without dressing it up as patience. "I helped you do that."
"I know." His arms tighten around me. "We stop helping each other disappear."
My laugh's small and wet, and it hurts. "I'm angry."
"You should be."
"I'm angry at him, and at you, and at me. I'm angry that I was so tired I started choosing the easiest room to keep calm instead of the one that needed me most. I'm angry that part of me was relieved when Blake took the hard conversations because I didn't have to make everyone look at me."
Luther kisses the top of my head, then my temple, slow and aching. "I'm sorry."