Chapter 16 – BELLS
Chapter
Sixteen
BELLS
Three nights in Nash's room, and I still can't shake the feeling I'm trespassing on holy ground.
The first night was the worst. I sat on the edge of the bed for two hours, hands pressed between my knees, trying to convince myself it was okay to sleep here. That Nash wouldn't mind. That the dead don't care about the living claiming their space.
By the third night, I'm just too fucking exhausted to care anymore.
Since I haven't been practicing or leaving the penthouse, the binder's been off since I locked the door that first day, and the relief of breathing without restriction is enough to make me feel almost sick at the thought of doing it again.
I've been living in Nash's old t-shirts—oversized band tees that smell like incense—because they're softer than anything I own. More forgiving against my bruised ribs and the reddened skin under my arms and breasts where the binder has been rubbing me raw.
I haven't left except to use the bathroom down the hall, and I'm careful to only slip out when I know I'm alone, although the baggy shirts hide enough at first glance.
Rafael's been leaving food outside the door like I'm some feral cat he's trying to coax out of hiding.
Sandwiches. Fruit. Omelets. I eat them sitting cross-legged on Nash's bed, surrounded by his books, trying to piece together who he was from the scraps he left behind.
There aren't any notebooks in here. I wouldn't touch those.
But Nash apparently wrote notes in all the books he had, underlined the parts he liked and wrote in the margins.
His handwriting slopes to the right, confident and flowing.
There are doodles in every blank space—little flowers, abstract shapes, snakes, dragons, roses, a phoenix rising from a burned page that smells like weed, as if someone dropped a joint on the paper and it caught fire.
Above the phoenix, someone's written miss you in different handwriting, all caps, messier, and more desperate, the letters practically carved into the paper. I trace the words with my finger, wondering if it was Phoenix himself.
Phoenix has visited twice, knocking softly before cracking the door just enough to stick his head through.
Both times, he looked at me with those kind blue eyes and asked if I needed anything.
Both times, I lied and said I was fine. The second time, he lingered in the doorway, opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, then just nodded and left.
I know they're giving me space to process whatever the fuck happened with Stephen. And I'm grateful for it, even if the isolation is starting to feel like it's eating me from the inside out.
On the fourth morning, there's a knock on the door.
"Bells?" Phoenix's voice, gentle as always. "Can I come in?"
I'm wearing one of Nash's hoodies and my boxers, no binder, hair a rat's nest. Fuck it. My breasts are small enough they're not that obvious, not with my knees up, and I never take off my collar anyway. "Yeah."
The giant alpha opens the door slowly, like he's expecting to find me in pieces on the floor. When he sees me sitting on the bed with my knees drawn to my chest and a notebook on my thighs, he gives me a soft smile.
"Hey," he says.
"Hey."
He hovers in the doorway, one hand gripping the edge like he needs something to hold onto. "Rex is awake. Rafael and I are heading to the hospital. Thought you might want to know. Or come, even."
"How is he?"
"Stable. Pissed off, which is a good sign." Phoenix drags a hand through his messy blond hair. "Look, there's something else. Rex knows you're staying in the penthouse. He figured out you're staying in Nash's room, and, uh…" Phoenix trails off, jaw working.
I close the book carefully, setting it aside. "He wants me out."
"Yeah." Phoenix winces. "I'm sorry, Bells. I know this is fucked up, but—"
"It's fine." And weirdly, it is. Being in this room feels wrong anyway, like I'm wearing someone else's skin. "I'll get a motel or something—"
"No," Phoenix says immediately, shaking his head. "You're not staying in some shitty motel where Stephen could find you. You can have my room. I'll take the couch."
"Phoenix—"
"I'm not asking." His voice is firm but kind.
"Okay," I hear myself mumble. "Thanks."
He nods, then glances at the book beside me. "Nash's?"
"Yeah. I hope that's okay. I wasn't—"
"It's fine." Phoenix's expression tightens up, his eyes glazing over briefly. "Just, uh… don't let Rex catch you touching his shit." A pause. "You coming to the hospital?"
I glance down at myself. "Give me twenty minutes to make myself presentable."
"Take your time. We'll wait."
After he leaves, I sit there for a moment, staring at the closed door. Then I force myself to move.
The binder goes back on first, and I have to bite down on my lip to keep from making noise as the stretchy, rough fabric rubs the raw patches of skin, but I grit my teeth and bear it.
My own oversized hoodie to hide every curve.
Jeans and my silicone prosthetic. Combat boots with a slight platform to add height.
I stare at myself in Nash's mirror.
There. Bells again.
The mask is firmly in place.
When I emerge from the room, Phoenix and Rafael are waiting in the living area. Rafael's perched on the arm of the couch, scrolling through his phone, while Phoenix paces near the window. Both of them look up when I appear.
"Ready?" Phoenix asks.
No.
"Yeah."
We take Phoenix's car, an SUV fit for a giant alpha that smells like the same incense that's on Nash's clothes.
It's a warm, pleasant scent, nothing like the sharp disinfectant that hits me the moment I step into the hospital.
We navigate through the maze of hallways, Phoenix leading the way with Rafael and me trailing behind.
The elevator ride is silent except for the mechanical whir of cables.
Feels like we're walking into a battlefield and none of us knows what to say.
Rex's room is on the fourth floor, tucked away in a private corner. Phoenix knocks softly before pushing the door open.
"He's probably sleeping," Phoenix warns as we file inside. "The painkillers they've got him on are—"
He's not sleeping.
Rex lies in the hospital bed, propped up at an angle that looks uncomfortable as hell.
The right side of his face is wrapped in sterile white bandages that cover everything from his jaw to his temple, layers of gauze hiding every last hint of scars.
Only the left side is visible. Sharp cheekbones, full lips, that ice blue eye that tracks our movement with predatory focus.
He looks like a fallen angel.
His visible eye finds me immediately, and I watch his jaw work like he's chewing on words he doesn't want to say.
"Out," Rex says finally, sounding exhausted but still carrying that edge of command that makes people obey without thinking.
Phoenix and Rafael exchange glances.
"Rex, he's just here to—" Phoenix starts.
"I said out." His eye doesn't leave mine. "I need to talk to Bells. Alone."
"Wait, we're out?" Rafael asks, raising his eyebrows.
"Yes," Rex says in a flat tone.
Oh shit.
Rafael's dark eyes flick between us, probably cataloging all the ways this could go wrong. But Phoenix just nods, touching Rafael's shoulder as they head for the door.
"We'll be right outside," Phoenix says, and I'm not sure if he's talking to me or Rex.
Then the door clicks shut, and we're alone.
Rex studies me and I fight the urge to fidget under the intensity of his gaze. Normally, I'd chew his ass out for looking at me like that, but considering he apparently almost died and now he's laid up in a hospital bed with bandages covering half his face, I keep it to myself.
"What did Stephen do?"
His sudden growled question catches me off guard. Not what I was expecting from the man who's been blackmailing me for weeks.
"What?" I croak.
"To you." His voice is rough, probably from the intubation during surgery. "In the alley. What did he do to make you freeze like that?"
I cross my arms, defensive. "Nothing you need to worry about."
"Bullshit." He shifts in the bed, wincing at the movement. "I've seen fear before, Bells. That wasn't just anger. That was—" He cuts himself off, jaw clenching again. "What. Did. He. Do?"
"Why do you care?" The words come out sharper than I intended. "You hate me, remember? I'm just your atomic weapon against Stephen Hughes."
"Answer the fucking question."
We stare at each other, locked in a battle of wills I'm too tired to fight. The hospital room feels smaller suddenly, the walls pressing in.
"He cornered me," I say finally, keeping my voice flat. "Got in my space. Said shit that..." I trail off, not wanting to give Rex more ammunition. "It doesn't matter."
"It does if it made you freeze like prey."
The word prey makes me want to puke. Because that's exactly what I felt like in that moment. A kid again, trapped in a dressing room with a crazed fan turned stalker, feeling teeth sink into my throat.
I force the memory down, shoving it back into the locked box where it belongs. "It reminded me of something. That's all."
Rex's eye narrows. "Someone hurt you."
It's not a question.
Silence fills the space between us, heavy and oppressive. I should leave. Should walk out of this room and never look back. But my feet stay planted on the ugly hospital linoleum.
"Thanks," I mutter finally, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. "For what you did. Even if you only did it because you need me for your unhinged revenge plot."
Rex's expression hardens, every hint of vulnerability disappearing behind walls of steel. "Don't," he says coldly. "Don't make this into something it's not. I would've done the same for anyone in that position. I fucking hate predators. This doesn't change anything between us. We're still at war."
"Good," I snap back, matching his energy. "Because I wasn't planning on declaring peace."