Chapter 22 #2
“Because who the fuck wants someone with a suicide attempt and a history of self-harm in their past? I didn't think adding 'also struggled with wanting to die for most of my twenties' was going to make me more appealing.”
“Soren—”
“I know. I know that's not fair to you. I know I should have told you.” I was crying again, tears streaming down my face faster than I could wipe them away.
“But I was so fucking scared that if you knew the whole truth you'd realize I was too much work and leave.
And then you pulled away in Montreal and I thought I was right.
Thought you'd figured out I was too damaged to be worth the trouble.”
“That's not why I pulled away.” His voice was rough with emotion he wasn't bothering to hide anymore.
“I pulled away because I was terrified of how much I wanted you.
Because letting you get that close felt dangerous in ways I didn't know how to handle.
It wasn't about you being too much. It was about me being too fucked up to accept the intimacy I'd been asking for.”
He leaned down and kissed my forehead, then my temple, then the corner of my eye where tears were still falling. Each kiss felt deliberate, gentle, like he was trying to prove through touch that he wasn't going anywhere.
“I'm sorry,” he said against my skin. “I'm so fucking sorry for making you feel alone in this. For not being there when the custody shit happened. For pulling away when you needed me most. I fucked up, Soren. I know I did. And I'm going to spend as long as it takes making it right.”
“You don't have to—”
“I want to.” He pulled back to look at me directly.
“I want to be here. Want to know all of it, even the parts that hurt.
Want to help carry whatever you're holding so you don't have to do it alone anymore.
But I need you to stay, Soren. I need you to promise me you'll fight to stay alive even when it feels impossible.”
“I don't know if I can promise that.” The honesty felt like ripping open a wound, but I owed him the truth. “I can promise I'll try. That I'll ask for help when the noise gets too loud. But I can't guarantee that some day the demons in my head won't win anyway.”
“Then promise me you'll try.” His hand found mine again, fingers lacing together. “That's all I'm asking. Just promise you'll keep trying, and I'll be here to help you do it.”
I looked at him—at the beard that suited him and the exhaustion in his eyes and the way he was holding my hand like letting go would break him—and felt a thing shift in my chest.
He'd stayed. Through the worst of it, through the fear and the uncertainty and the very real possibility that I might not wake up, he'd stayed. That had to mean he meant it when he said he wanted to be here.
“Okay,” I said finally. “I promise I'll try.”
He kissed me then, soft and careful like he was afraid I might break. It tasted like salt from both our tears and relief and the fragile beginning of trust I'd thought we'd destroyed in Montreal.
When he pulled back, he kept his forehead resting against mine. “I'm going to tell you everything. But not here. Not while you're still recovering. Once you're out of the hospital and we're somewhere safer, I'll explain it all. I promise.”
“Okay.” I believed him, which was new and terrifying and felt like hope I didn't deserve yet.
“Your siblings are safe,” he said, and I felt tension I hadn't realized I was carrying release slightly.
“Poppy and Micah are staying with my parents.
They're being taken care of, fed, looked after.
Talia's been at work but she's also been handling things at the apartment.
They've all been here. Waiting for you to wake up.”
The thought of my siblings sitting in this hospital waiting room wondering if I was going to survive made fresh tears start falling. “They saw—when you found me, did they—”
“No. You were already gone when Talia called me. They didn't see you like that.” His thumb brushed across my knuckles in a motion that felt grounding. “But they know what happened. They know you tried to—they know. And they've been terrified.”
“I need to see them.” The words came out urgent, desperate. “I need to tell them I'm sorry, that I'm okay—”
“You will. Once the doctor clears you for visitors. But Soren—” He waited until I was looking at him directly.
“Thank you.”
“They love you.” His hand tightened around mine. “They're not going to stop loving you because you're struggling. If anything, they've been angry at themselves for not seeing how bad things were.”
“That's not their fault—”
“And it's not yours either.” He said it firmly enough that I almost believed him. “Depression isn't a moral failing, Soren. It's an illness. And you've been fighting it alone for too long.”
We sat in silence for a while, his hand in mine and the weight of everything we'd just said settling over us like a blanket. I was exhausted in ways that went beyond physical, emotionally wrung out from finally telling the truth I'd been carrying for years.
“Montreal,” I said, when the silence had gone long enough that I could trust my voice again. “I owe you an apology for that.”
He started to shake his head, but I kept going.
“No, listen.” My throat was still raw but the words needed out.
“I knew. I knew you were still figuring things out.
I knew what I was asking you to sit with wasn't small, and when you pulled back I didn't give you a single inch of room to do it.
I just — came at you. Said things I shouldn't have said.” I looked at our joined hands because looking at his face was still too much.
“You were allowed to be scared. You were allowed to need time.
And I made you feel like shit for it because I was terrified you were confirming every story I'd ever told myself about not being worth staying for.”
“Soren—”
“I'm not done.” I managed to look at him then. “What I said — that you were just like everyone else — that wasn't fair. You're not. You never were. I just wanted to hurt you before you could finish hurting me, and that's not something I'm proud of.”
Rook was quiet for a moment.
“I panicked,” he said finally. “That's the honest version. Not you being too much, not the chaos — just me hitting the wall of how real it had gotten and not knowing what to do with myself.” His thumb moved across my knuckles.
“I've been with women my whole life and told myself that was just how I was built. And then there was you, and every piece of that story stopped making sense, and instead of talking to you about it I just — shut down.”
“It scared you.”
“Terrified me.” He said it without flinching.
“Still does, if I'm being straight with you.
I don't have the language figured out yet.
Don't know exactly what I am or what to call it. But I know what I want.” His eyes held mine.
“That part's not complicated. That part's been clear since the second I saw you again.”
I felt something loosen in my chest that had been wound tight since Montreal. Not fixed — nothing was fixed, we were sitting in a hospital room with an IV in my arm and more hard conversations ahead of us than I could count. But loosened. Enough to breathe around.
“We're both disasters,” I said.
“Yeah.” The corner of his mouth moved. “But I'd rather be a disaster with you than have it together without you.”
I laughed, and it hurt my chest and I didn't care. “That's genuinely the most romantic thing you've ever said to me.”
“Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation.”
“Controlled. Observant. Emotionally devastating.” I let my eyes close because the exhaustion was winning again. “Your secret's safe with me, Kincaid.”
His hand tightened around mine, and I felt him settle back into the chair without letting go.
“I'm going to fall asleep again,” I said, already feeling my eyes getting heavy. “The meds they've got me on are making everything fuzzy.”
“That's okay. Sleep. I'll be here when you wake up.” He leaned forward to kiss my forehead again. “I'm not going anywhere, Soren. Not this time.”
I wanted to tell him he didn't have to stay, that he had playoffs and responsibilities and a life that didn't revolve around sitting in a hospital room watching me recover. But the selfish part of me that had been terrified of losing him won out.
“Promise?” The word came out small, vulnerable.
“I promise.” He settled back into the chair without letting go of my hand. “Sleep. I've got you.”
I let my eyes close and felt myself start to drift, the beeping of the machines and the warmth of Rook's hand the only things anchoring me to the present. The shame of what I'd done was still there, sitting heavy on my chest alongside the fear of what came next.
But so was Rook. Still here, still holding on, still choosing to stay even after seeing the worst parts of me.
And for the first time in days I let myself believe that might actually be enough to keep trying.
Just for today. Just for this moment.
I'd stay.