Chapter 48
Liv
Hospitals have a rhythm. It’s not loud or chaotic. Just… constant.
Monitors beeping in steady intervals, soft footsteps in the hall, and the quiet murmur of voices that never quite rise above a certain level as they talk about patients like the entire building has agreed not to disturb the fragileness in here.
I sit in a chair beside his bed and listen to it all, counting the seconds between each beep, and watching the slow rise and fall of his chest. Alive. That word still feels unreal.
They said the surgery went well. Clean through-and-through with minimal damage. A little bit of torn muscle but the bullet missed the bone. He’ll recover, scarred but alive.
His arm is immobilized, bandaged thick at the shoulder. I stare at it longer than I mean to. At the place where the bullet went in. Where it almost-
I stop that thought before it finishes.
My fingers curl slightly in my lap, still shaky. It’s not as bad as before but not steady yet either.
There’s a chair on the other side of the room that sits empty.
Mason was here earlier before he went off to visit Scott as well.
He’s in another room a few doors down. He’s pale, stitched up, very much alive, and complaining loudly about hospital food before a nurse threatened to withhold pudding.
That helped. Apparently he’s a big fan of the pudding at least.
Now it’s just me and Alex. And everything we haven’t said yet.
He shifts. Just slightly.
My head snaps up at the small movement. A breath that catches differently.
“Alex?”
His brow furrows faintly. Then his eyes open, slow and heavy.
For a second, he just looks at the ceiling, like he’s orienting himself. Then his gaze drifts, searching for me.
There’s a flicker of something in his expression as soon as he finds me. “Hey,” he rasps.
My heart skips a beat. “Hey.”
His eyes move over me quickly, checking and assessing. Even now.
“You’re okay,” he sounds relieved, his voice scratchy but still filled with relief.
I nod. “I’m okay.”
His shoulders ease just a fraction, like something unclenched inside him.
“Good,” he murmurs.
I stand slowly, crossing the space between us. My steps are careful and measured, like I’m approaching something that could break if I move too fast.
He watches me the entire time, doesn’t look away.
I stop beside the bed, close enough to see the faint tension still in his jaw and the exhaustion under his eyes. And the pain he’s trying not to show.
“You got shot,” I assert softly.
His mouth curves just slightly. “Yeah. I noticed.”
I exhale, something like a laugh slipping out despite everything. “You could have died.”
He doesn’t deflect this time, doesn’t joke. “I didn’t,” he avows. Not dismissive, just… certain.
My gaze drops to his shoulder and to the bandaging. Carefully, slowly, I reach out then pause just above it.
“Does it hurt?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he admits.
I nod. Of course it does. My fingers brush lightly against the edge of the dressing. Not pressing or probing, just there.
“I hope it scars,” I entreat quietly.
His brow lifts slightly. “Why?”
I meet his eyes. “So, you remember.”
After a long moment, his expression shifts, something deeper settling in.
“I don’t think I’m in danger of forgetting,” he says.
“Good.” He shifts a little in the bed again. “Liv?”
“Hmm?” I respond, hearing the concern he’s trying to keep out of his voice.
“Did York know… that you’re…?”
He doesn’t finish because I’ve already started frowning, telling him I know what he means.
My eyes drop to the edge of the bed, feeling what I need to say weighing down on me.
“Yeah, he did. Said he’d been keeping track of me since he found out he’d impregnated my mom.
The way he talked about it… about her… H-he… Uh, he-”
“Hey.”
I force my gaze back to his.
“It doesn’t change anything about you, okay?” His eyes glimmer with hope, that I believe his words. “That’s not on you.”
It’s true; he’s so deeply right that it makes my heart ache. But there’s more to this, and I need him to know.
I pull the chair closer and sit. Not as far away as before, closer to the bed and to him.
“There’s something I need to say,” I begin.
He stills. “Okay.”
I take a breath. “I understand why you did it,” I say.
His eyes sharpen instantly. The shift in the room is immediate, subtle but unmistakable. “I-” he starts.
I shake my head. “Let me finish.”
He stops. But the tension in him doesn’t.
“I understand why,” I repeat. “The fear. The need to know. To protect.” My voice doesn’t shake, doesn’t waver. “And you were wrong.” It’s heavy and final.
His jaw tightens. He nods once, accepting it.
“I know.”
“I need you to hear it anyway,” I maintain. “Because it matters.”
“It does,” he agrees quietly.
I hold his gaze, don’t let him look away. I can’t look away from him now.
“You don’t get to make choices about me without me,” I continue. “Not my body. Not my life. Not my future.”
Another nod, slower this time.
“You don’t get to decide what I need,” I add. “Even if you think you’re right.”
“I don’t,” he says. No hesitation or argument.
The tension in my ribs loosens slightly. “But…” I pause, taking another breath. “You didn’t think you were entitled to me.”
His eyes flicker with brief confusion.
“Not the way he did.”
Understanding hits him hard. The comparison hangs there, ugly and unavoidable.
“I never should have compared you two. You’re not him,” I finish.
His throat works once. “I know I’m not,” he adds carefully. “But I also know I crossed a line I don’t get to just-”
“Erase?” I supply.
He nods.
“You don’t,” I agree. Another beat of silence passes over us. “But I’m still here,” I say.
That gets his full attention.
“I’m here because I choose to be,” I continue. “Not because you decided something for me. Not because I need you to protect me.” My voice softens. Just slightly. “I’m here because I trust you to do better.”
Something in his expression cracks. “I will,” he asserts steadily.
“I know,” I reply. And I do; that’s the difference.
He exhales slowly, some of the tension finally leaving his body. “Boundaries,” he says after a moment.
I almost smile. “Yeah. Those.”
“Clear ones,” he adds.
“Very.”
“No more decisions without you,” he confirms.
“None,” I confirm.
“Even if I think it’s the right call.”
“Especially then.”
That earns a faint huff of a laugh from him. “Okay.”
I lean back slightly in the chair, studying him, really looking at him this time.
“You scared me,” I admit.
His gaze softens. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.” I pause again..
“And for what it’s worth,” he adds, “you scared the hell out of me too.”
I tilt my head slightly.
“I saw you in that ambulance,” he continues, voice quieter now. “And I thought-” He stops, not finishing it. He doesn’t have to.
“I got out,” I say.
“You did more than that,” he replies.
I don’t answer because we both know what I did. What it means. But it doesn’t feel like something I need to defend. It just… is.
I reach out again, resting my hand lightly over his, careful of the IV.
His fingers shift, just enough to curl around mine. Not tightly, but a steady weight that we both need.
We sit like that for a while, not talking because we don’t need to. The monitors keep their steady rhythm. The hospital hums around us. Everything feels still. Not exactly broken or fixed. But something in between.
Something real.