22. Ember
CHAPTER 22
EMBER
THE END – KINGS OF LEON
Alone in the white-washed hospital room, I roll my head on my tense shoulders. The acute aches and pains from multiple strained muscles are relentless. Apparently, seizures do that to you.
At that thought, a quietly choked laugh breaks free. The secret that I spent so long hoping to hide has finally caught up to me. I’ve been caught red-handed and stamped with a fucking label.
During the years I managed these episodes alone, I never wanted to acknowledge the debilitating weakness that made me a liability to Gael. I had to lie. Hide. Conceal. Anything to keep my condition from him.
Lord knows, if he thought for even a second that he had a faulty product, a champion who could drop like a fly at any moment and cost him his earnings… Well, I’d be dead and buried. Lying became a necessity.
But that’s the thing about survival instincts. They don’t switch off once we’re safe. Ask anyone who has survived pure evil itself. The things we did to keep ourselves safe don’t vanish overnight.
They burrow. Cling on. Metastasise into silly rituals or easily told lies. A self-harmer may not cut themselves on a daily basis anymore, but they’ll still sleep with a knife beneath their pillow or keep a stash of pills just in case.
When the specialist returns, clipboard in hand, I work to summon a speck of patience. Doctor Fawn intervened several hours ago when my case was handed over to him after arriving at the emergency department in a semi-lucid daze.
“Ember. Out of bed I see. How are you feeling?”
“Brilliant,” I clap back.
“Bit stiff? Headache? Disorientated?”
Rather than create a lie that will only worsen my sore head, I simply nod. All of that and more. Beyond the physical aftereffects and exhaustion the seizure left behind, I feel raw and exposed.
“Thank you for your patience while we examined your test results. I know it’s been a long day for you.”
“I just want to go home. Can I leave now?”
“Not quite yet.” He takes the empty seat next to mine. “You have several visitors waiting outside. Would you like someone with you while we discuss these results?”
My first reaction is to decline. I don’t want anyone to hear whatever shit he has to say. I know it isn’t going to be good news. But the events of the last twelve hours give me pause.
The truth is my knife under the pillow. My stash of pills in the bedside table. I’ve kept it close and allowed it to hold a terrifying power over me, even after escaping Gael and his abuse.
When I broke down in that changing room, Warner begged me to let someone in. Literally anyone. I didn’t think I’d ever want that, but sitting here… drained, scared and in pain… I want someone.
“My brother,” I croak. “Is he here?”
“Allow me to go look. Wait here.”
Placing the clipboard down, Doctor Fawn leaves the room again. I’m left staring at the clipped paperwork he carried in. Those sheets hold my entire future in their individual grains.
At the sound of footsteps returning, I drag my gaze from my signed death warrant. I’m expecting Tom to rush in and engulf me. I asked the staff to hold him back with Hyland up until now.
When a warm hand encircles the back of my neck, patchouli and pine form a protective woodland around me. The soft touch vanishes, allowing Warner to stiffly take the spare seat next to me.
“You’re here?” I gawp at him.
“I have been for a couple of hours.” He searches my face. “The doctor’s just giving us a minute.”
“Where’s Tom?”
“He had to take a call outside. I didn’t want you to do this alone.”
Too overwhelmed to find adequate words, I try and fail to hold tears back. Heat spills down my cheeks, prompting Warner to swipe the moisture aside with his calloused thumb pad.
“Is everyone safe?” I ask, afraid to hear the answer yet needing to know.
“Everyone’s fine. We’ve taken six people into custody including Madden and the man you knocked out, Miguel.”
Terror cracks through me. “What about Luis?”
“We almost had him, Em. When we heard the gunshots and realised you were gone, we split fast to find you. I’m sorry, but Luis escaped. He’s in the wind.”
“Shit! This is all my fault.”
“He’ll turn up soon enough. The good news is that Diego is dead.”
At the mention of his name, I clamp down on a rush of perplexing emotions. Of all the people to intervene and halt whatever Diego had planned, I didn’t expect it to be Blaine.
“Let’s focus on you now. The rest can wait.”
At the feel of his thumb caressing my cheek, I find a timid nod. “You don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine alone.”
“I told you that we look out for each other,” he whispers back. “Through thick and thin.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ve got you, Em.”
Calling Doctor Fawn’s name, Warner entwines his hand with mine as we wait for him to return. The clinician returns, standing opposite our two chairs.
He looks between us questioningly. “Ember?”
“Go ahead.” I nod in consent.
“Right.” Doctor Fawn clears his throat. “Well, as you know, we performed an EEG, CT scan and several different blood tests. We determined that what you experienced was an intense, post-traumatic seizure.”
When I remain silent, Warner speaks up.
“Can you explain what that means?”
“While there are different types, seizures are essentially bursts of electrical activity in the brain. This can temporarily affect a person’s muscle control and behaviour. It can even cause a loss of consciousness.”
Staring down at my sock-covered feet, I let his words beat over me in a ceaseless wave. Hearing the doctor outline every way I’m vulnerable against my own damaged body is excruciating.
This is precisely why I didn’t want anyone to know. The lack of control is scary enough. Knowing anyone can see, target and exploit those weaknesses is petrifying.
“Some people may experience convulsions or spasms. There can be visual disturbances—flashing lights, floating orbs, loss of vision altogether.”
“Convulsions?” Warner repeats in alarm. “Aren’t they dangerous?”
“Try not to worry too much. It’s important to cushion the person’s head during a seizure and ensure there is no tight clothing around their neck. Mostly they need reassurance that they’re not alone.”
Hell, I can already hear the gears in Warner’s head turning as he takes mental notes. He loves an action plan. For some reason, that intensifies my sense of humiliation. I don’t want to be just another problem.
“People who suffer from seizures may also have mood swings.” Doctor Fawn addresses both of us. “Bursts of anger or crying fits. And bouts of dizziness, chronic headaches, weakness or fatigue.”
“We get it,” I grit out. “Move on.”
“Em,” Warner scolds under his breath.
“What?”
“This is important. I need to know what to look out for if you’re going to have another episode.”
“You don’t need to look out for anything. This is my problem.”
“If you think I’m going to watch?—”
“Just tell me what’s wrong with me,” I cut him off to address the doctor. “I don’t need to hear all of this medical bullshit.”
Pausing to assess us both, Doctor Fawn flicks through his paperwork. “Ember, I know this is a lot. It’s okay to feel afraid right now.”
With a shrug, I look down at Warner’s hand still gripping mine. As much as I want to run and find somewhere to hide from this, I know that I won’t get far.
“I’d like to discuss the results of your CT scan next.”
“Go on,” I whisper defeatedly.
“You have an eight-centimetre scar beneath your hair. The CT scan shows a healed fracture in your skull. Perhaps a few years old.”
Warner’s palm tightens to the point of pain. “What?”
“Do you recall how you obtained that injury?” Doctor Fawn queries.
I clear my throat, ignoring the pressure of Warner’s stare burning into me. “Yes.”
“Perhaps you could talk me through what happened.” He glances at the man by my side. “I’ve been made aware of your history and the ongoing investigation.”
Attempting to unlock my clenched jaw, I fight through my weariness. Tensing up is making every protesting muscle I strained feel even worse.
“There was a street fight a few years back.”
Doctor Fawn nods in encouragement.
“I suffered a bad head injury that put me out of action for months. My captor’s physician kept me alive, but it took a long time to recover.”
When Warner mutters a curse to himself, I know I’m in for a bollocking later. I kept some details to myself during my interviews, including this unveiled secret. He isn’t going to let that slide easily.
“That would correlate with the results I’m seeing.” The doctor nods again. “You’re lucky to have made a full recovery.”
“I didn’t feel so lucky at the time.”
“When did you experience your first seizure after the injury?”
“Maybe a few weeks. Perhaps a month.”
“I see.” He seems to ponder for a moment, lips puckering in thought. “And how often after that?”
I’m acutely aware of Warner’s fingers digging into my hand. He’s clinging onto me for dear life–whether for his benefit or mine, I’m not quite sure.
“It varies.” I shrug.
“Give me an estimate.”
“Um… Perhaps every few weeks. Sometimes more. If I’m overwhelmed, stressed or exhausted… They can hit more often.”
“Fucking hell.” Warner’s curse is much louder this time. “We’ve been pushing you to train for weeks now!”
Wincing at his harsh tone, I refuse to look at him. I haven’t seized since the episode in the shower before my first interview, but it was only a matter of time.
“Sometimes, significant trauma to the skull and brain can lead to a condition we call PTE.” Doctor Fawn shifts on his feet. “Do you know what that is?”
“No.”
“PTE—or Post-Traumatic Epilepsy—can take the form of trauma-induced seizures after a severe head injury. It’s less common but still a possibility.”
And there it is.
The label I’ve battled to avoid.
“Don’t look so crestfallen, Ember.” The doctor smiles kindly. “Epilepsy isn’t the end of the world. You have a serious chronic condition, but it can be managed. Now we know what it is.”
“If you’re going to tell me to stop fighting or work?—”
“No, no. Let me stop you right there. I’m not about to recommend you remain in bed for the rest of your life.”
Surprise holds my tongue.
“However, I am going to prescribe medications that you will take daily. Anticonvulsants and perhaps an anti-epileptic. This could be a long trial and error process until we find the right fit, though.”
Faint hope sparks within me. “I understand.”
“What about lifestyle changes?” Warner questions, apparently pushing his anger aside for now.
“There will be some.” Doctor Fawn adopts a serious tone. “You’ll need to surrender your driver’s license. If in the future you remain seizure free for a set period of time, you will be able to drive again.”
Now I’m the one squeezing Warner’s hand to a breaking point. We’re both strangling the blood from each other’s veins.
“Simple changes like diet, exercise and avoiding excessive stress need to be considered,” he adds. “You do not have to give up your career, Ember. But you have to be careful.”
“I can do that,” I quickly confirm.
“That means resting when needed. Avoiding further trauma that may trigger a seizure. Learning to manage stress and recognising your triggers. You need a good support system.”
Perking up, Warner leans forward in his seat. “She has that. We can look out for her.”
“Then you need to learn how to help.” Doctor Fawn turns his gaze to Warner. “I can recommend reading on supporting a loved one with epilepsy. What to do, warning signs, after care.”
“Yes please. Write me a list. I’ll share it with the whole team.”
“You’ll need to be on the lookout for…”
Their voices quickly fade from my awareness, swallowed by the blood pounding in my ears. The hospital room becomes greyscale as I simply stare at Warner.
I’m fascinated by his endless passion. The way his voice fills with excitement when he discovers a purpose. His steadfast commitment even when he’s mad as hell.
Who cares that much?
He hasn’t abandoned me to do this alone because I lied to him. To all of them, really. This secret was theirs to know too, but still, I kept it to myself. Yet Warner hasn’t given up on me.
Snapping back into the dreary hospital room at the sound of my name being called, I glance at the doctor. He’s pressed his clipboard to his chest in preparation to leave.
“I’m going to give you some time to process while I discuss treatment options with our clinical pharmacist. We’ll get you sorted, Ember.”
My tongue unpeels from the roof of my mouth. “Thank you.”
“Of course. Please try to get some rest.”
When he leaves the room, I deflate like a popped balloon. The pressure to hold it together in front of Doctor Fawn has drained what little energy I had left.
I sink into the arm that Warner wraps around my shoulders. His body feels firm and steady against mine, bathing me in the intoxicating scent of the forest I hold so dear.
“Thanks for being here,” I murmur.
“Always.”
“Aren’t you mad at me?”
“Oh, I’m fucking furious. You lied, Em. That’s not okay. But it doesn’t matter right now.”
My eyes slip shut, offering me a brief reprieve. “I’m so sorry.”
“Believe it or not, I understand why you did it.”
“You do?” I bleat.
His torso vibrates with a long-suffering sigh. “You spent a long time taking care of yourself out there. That included hiding this from the world, right?”
“It still freaks me out when you read me like a book.”
“Quick study,” he jokes tiredly. “I am pissed off, Em. But I’m also here for you.”
“You don’t have to make me feel better about this.”
“Again, it’s kinda my job.”
“Well, I could’ve come clean weeks ago. I could’ve told you what’s been happening. Instead, I put everyone on that raid at risk.”
“You did. We’ll be having words about that later.”
Bathing in his soothing scent, I crane my neck to look up at his handsome face. Those devastating baby blues hold so much unconditional care, it’s hard to stare directly into them.
“May I?” He looks up at my head.
Instinctively, I know what he’s asking for.
“I guess so.”
Warner slips a hand into my hair, loose and flowing after I removed my ponytail to be examined. His fingers glide over my skull, searching for the scar I know he’ll find.
When he locates the raised skin I keep hidden, his lips part on a fast inhale. I rarely look at it in the mirror or touch it, but I know the scar is unpleasant. They didn’t exactly care about stitching me up neatly.
“Christ,” he mutters. “It feels huge.”
“Big enough.”
“I don’t know how you survived their evil all alone, love. But I’m so fucking glad you did.”
“Why?” I laugh listlessly. “I’ve been nothing but a pain in your backside since I called you.”
Amusement mellows the hard, tired lines that mar his face beneath his five o’clock shadow.
“Hardly. I’ll always take care of you, Em.”
“Because you love Tom, right?”
It’s foolish and dangerous to ask, but I do it anyway. An indecipherable emotion fills his sparkling aquamarines. It’s the same look as when he caught me locked in Hyland’s arms.
“He’s my best friend.” Warner’s answer comes slowly, deliberately. “I love him like a brother.”
“Right.”
His eyebrows curve in a concentrated frown. “That doesn’t obligate me to be here, Em.”
“It doesn’t?”
“Perhaps it did before. But no, not now.”
“Now… You care about me too.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I always cared about you.”
“Then what?” I ask breathlessly.
Cradled in his arms, mere inches of air separating us, Warner’s mouth opens and closes. Neck bobbing, his facial lines pull into stressed ropes as he struggles to vocalize whatever he wants to say.
I don’t know what he feels for me. What he’s thinking. Or what this charged feeling bouncing between us like two misfiring power lines is. All I know is that I need something to give.
“Help me to understand this. Please.”
“This is… Us.” He grimaces at his own clunky words. “We’re us, Em. We’ve always been us.”
“And what is us? What are we?”
“That’s it. We’re us.”
“We’re colleagues?” I push him, hoping for something unknown. “Childhood friends? Acquaintances?”
“Why does it matter?” Warner bites his lip.
Unwilling to reveal my own confusion, I drop my eyes before I’m drawn into something we can’t ever come back from. Something that would implode the bond we created through our shared childhood.
The act of pulling my soul back from the edge of a dangerous precipice unlatches something inside me. A collapsing, taped-together box of youthful lust and repressed emotion.
I’d blame it on the fatigue and stress from what we just endured, but I know it’s far more. Putting words to what it really is won’t help anyone, though.
“Forget it. I want to go home.”
“Look at me, Em,” he pleads.
Shaking my head, I ignore the way my eyes sear with more tears. “Let’s just move on.”
“Please, love. Look at me.”
“No. I’m fine. It’s fine. We’re…”
“Fine?” Warner volunteers.
“Exactly.”
Sliding his rough fingertips beneath my chin, Warner lifts it so I have no choice but to look at him. A confusing sheen rides the waves that undulate in his gaze.
He strokes my falling tears aside, mouth twisted and nose scrunched like the sight of me crying causes him physical pain.
“You test every last ounce of patience I have, Ember Lawson.”
“I don’t mean to?—”
“Let me finish,” he interrupts with a teasing smile.
Lips sealed, I hold myself back.
“You drive me insane. You infuriate me. You make me question my choices, my loyalties and my goddamn priorities.”
Warner tenderly brushes his knuckles against my wet cheek. The slight touch creates tingles that raise the fine hairs on the back of my neck.
“You make me want to do things that I’ve only ever dreamed of. Forbidden things, Em. Things that would destroy the family who took me in when I needed it. You and Tom.”
“He loves you.” I shudder a breath.
“And I love him.”
With the final nail in the coffin, I resolve to pull away from Warner. It’s for the best. His arm pins me to his side when I try to shift, preventing me from fleeing.
“But I think I feel something else entirely for his little sister.” His forehead lowers to rest against mine. “And I know for a fact he will not like it.”
Our noses nudge, teasing each other with a light brush that skirts the edge of innocence. My shock is overridden by the sense of urgent need that having him so unbearably close provokes.
It’s foolish.
Dangerous.
Totally insane.
This is Warner. My childhood friend. The man who rescued me. A constant presence in my life since I was a kid, and he was a lonely boy in need of a new family. That’s all we’ve ever been.
Tell that to my racing heart, sending litres of hot, fizzling blood through my nervous system. I’m drunk with the heady feeling of unchartered desire.
“We can’t do this,” he whispers.
“Do what?”
“You know what. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be, Em.”
His breath tickles my lips, causing a slow shiver to roll over my limbs. The weight of countless years of friendship hang in a fragile balance between us.
“I’m not doing anything,” I murmur back, forehead pressing against his.
“You know damn well what you’re doing.”
Warner’s voice is strained, laden with conflict. The same emotion beats its fists against the imprisonment of his baby blues. I want to reach my bare hands into his eyes and rip the indecision clean out.
With the silent promise of his breath licking my skin, Warner’s lips hover millimetres from mine. Every last reason why I shouldn’t indulge what my body is screaming out for vanishes.
Looking up at him beneath my lashes, I skate my tongue over my bottom lip in clear invitation. A single breath and he could take exactly what he wants from me.
“Please stop,” he whispers in a pained tone. “We can’t do this, Em.”
“Why not?”
“You’re already toying with my teammates. I don’t know what your game plan is, but you’re going to tear us all apart in the process.”
My hand trembles when I raise it to his stubble-smattered jaw, stroking the strong, defined length of bone.
“You guys make me feel whole. I want to be whole again. I want the family you’re giving me. I want this and more.”
“You’re asking for too much, love.”
“I know.” I slip my hand into his trimmed salt-and-pepper locks. “But I never once apologised for being greedy before, and I’m certainly not about to start now.”
My mouth hovers over his in a ruthless tease. Warner’s eyelids lower, shielding the orbs that have held so much love and care for me over the years.
The boy I once knew disappears.
A powerful, protective man takes his place.
“You know what?”
Hope stretches the bounds of my skeleton. “What?”
“Fuck it,” he growls.
Then his mouth crashes onto mine.
Hard. Rough. Demanding.
Drowning us in relentless passion.
The lips that have whispered so much comfort to me now attack mine with the ferocity of a full-size army invading enemy territory. His mouth captures mine and greedily accepts my surrender.
Powerful longing and crumbling restraint collide in an explosive firework display. Warner’s mouth urgently moves against mine like he’s drinking in every second together before this is taken away from him like everything else he’s lost.
Desperation forms an unbreakable coil that entraps us in its fleeting bliss. The swipe of his tongue, hot and wet against my mouth, intensifies what feels like an admittance of defeat.
I twist his hair between my fingers, holding his head in a vice. Anything to prevent this assault from ending. The sharp tug causes a groan to swirl in Warner’s throat, making my core clench.
The arm still wrapped around me responds in kind—pulling taut, locking me in a prison of muscles and skin. Lips and teeth suspend me there, and I wouldn’t complain even if I could.
When the kiss eventually breaks, our lips linger in each other’s orbit. Breathless. Tingling. Hearts battering ribcages like caged birds, frantic to escape their enclosures.
Daring to open my eyes, I’m met with a fatal concoction of desire and guilt spelled across Warner’s flushed face. His mouth is swollen, trapped open to steal each short gasp.
“I’m in so much trouble,” he mutters.