Chapter Forty Two
Comforting Prescence
Jameson Bishop
Rachel’s ICU room is dim, quiet except for the soft beeping of monitors and the steady hiss of oxygen. I haven’t moved from her bedside since they let me in. My hand hasn’t left hers. I don’t think I could pry my fingers away even if someone tried.
Her skin is warm now. Her breathing steadier. But she’s still too pale, too still.
I sit there, watching every rise of her chest like it’s the only thing keeping me alive.
The door opens.
I look up.
Gemma stands in the doorway, hair messy from travel, eyes red, breath uneven. She sees me first, then Rachel, and something inside her cracks.
She steps in slowly, like she’s afraid her presence might disturb the fragile balance in the room.
“Bishop,” she whispers.
I stand, but my legs feel like they’re made of sand. “Gemma.”
She crosses the room and stops beside me, staring down at Rachel with a look that’s equal parts heartbreak and fury.
“What happened?” she asks softly.
I tell her.
Everything.
Beth. The knife. The blood. The ambulance. The surgery. The moment Rachel’s heart stopped. The moment she woke up for me.
Gemma listens without interrupting, her jaw tight, her eyes shining. When I finish, I expect anger. Judgment. Something sharp about me loving her best friend.
Instead, she steps forward and wraps her arms around me.
A hug.
Gemma has never hugged me.
I freeze for half a second, then collapse into it, my forehead dropping to her shoulder, breath shaking out of me in a way I can’t control.
“She almost died,” I whisper. “I almost lost her.”
Gemma’s voice is soft but steady. “But you didn’t.”
I swallow hard. “I love her.”
She pulls back just enough to look at me, and then, unexpectedly, she laughs.
“Bishop,” she says, squeezing my arms, “I could see that months ago.”
I blink. “You’re… not upset?”
“Upset?” She shakes her head. “She loves you. You love her. That’s not something I would be upset about.”
My chest tightens. Relief hits me so hard I nearly sit back down.
Gemma wipes her eyes. “She’s going to be okay. She’s too stubborn not to be.”
I want to believe her. I try to.
But then, Rachel stirs.
Gemma and I both turn.
Her fingers twitch in mine. Her brow furrows. Her breathing shifts.
Then her eyes open, slowly, but fully this time.
“Bishop…” she whispers.
I’m already leaning over her, my hand tightening around hers. “I’m here.”
Her gaze drifts to Gemma. “Gem?”
Gemma steps forward, tears spilling. “Hey, Rach.”
Rachel smiles, weak, but real. “You… came.”
“Of course I came,” Gemma says, brushing her hair back gently. “You scared the hell out of us.”
Rachel looks back at me, eyes soft, steady, full of something that makes my chest ache.
“You stayed,” she whispers.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say, voice low, certain.
Her fingers curl around mine.
Gemma watches us, and instead of discomfort or surprise, she just smiles.
Rachel’s eyes flutter, but she fights to keep them open.
“Don’t… leave me,” she murmurs.
“I won’t,” I promise. “Not now. Not ever.”
She exhales, a soft, content breath.
And for the first time since the ridge, I feel like she’s truly safe.