Chapter 21 The Boy with the Bad Heart
Reaper’s disappeared.
Not that he hasn’t been watching over me at night, because I know he has, since he’s still moving the chess pieces and continuing our game, but he hasn’t woken me up.
No conversations in the dark. No sensual touches or heated kisses.
And it hurts more than I care to admit.
I thought it’d be easier—having this surreal relationship in the dark, away from reality. I knew it couldn’t last forever. But I’d hoped when it ended…it’d hurt less.
And I wouldn’t feel abandoned again the way I had when Blake died.
My computer pings, and I glance at the screen.
Time for a fifteen-minute break. I’ll check on little Grayson, who was admitted last night and finally got approved for a bed in the new children’s wing.
“Be back later,” I holler to Rachel, who waves her hand in acknowledgment while scowling at her computer.
The ER hums with its usual energy, less frantic this afternoon than in the morning when we had a surge of food poisoning cases from a trendy new restaurant that had its grand opening today.
Note to self: Avoid that restaurant at all costs.
I pull out my phone, swiping to the TellNo1 app, because, true to our so-called relationship, I know nothing about Reaper, not even his phone number.
My stomach knots as I stop in the middle of the hallway, realizing how ridiculous this is. If I tell Lana or Scarlett, they’d think I’d gone out of my mind.
Tryst with a dangerous stranger, knowing absolutely nothing about him? I’d have that patient committed.
But you know how much he misses his mom, how he’s a secret romantic deep under those dark, mysterious layers.
You know his favorite snacks and his love for the full moon.
You know the sound of his voice and his snappy sense of humor.
You know how his gentle kisses can morph into rough manhandling in seconds.
You know enough that his silence feels personal now.
Groaning, I admit defeat and type a message.
ILoveDarkStories
Did I do something? Should I stay awake tonight and wait for you?
Pathetic, Aria. Absolutely pathetic.
“Incoming,” someone bellows.
I jump out of the way as two techs dash down the hallway, carrying a large white box with unmistakable red text printed on top. A doctor barks orders, out of breath, urgency clear in his voice.
Human organ for transplant.
My breath hitches.
Blake was brilliant under pressure. When a code call came, his teddy bear warmth would vanish. I’d gape as he directed the team, his voice calm and precise, and everyone in the room would stop to listen.
My fingers pull out the necklace from beneath my scrubs, and I thumb the engagement ring.
I hope somewhere out there, the people who received Blake’s organs are thriving.
A phantom ache flickers behind my sternum.
I haven’t thought of Blake as much these days. For the longest time, I’d wake up each morning imagining the sound of the coffee machine roaring in the kitchen, cabinets slamming, drawers shutting because he was a morning person who kept forgetting I was a night owl.
That split second after sleep faded would always be disorienting. It’d be followed by sadness when I realized I was alone.
But in the last few weeks, with Reaper’s visits, I’d wake with a jump in my heart. My decaf would sit perfectly prepared on the nightstand, and the chessboard would hold his newest move like a secret he left just for me.
Maybe that’s why I can’t let him go. Reaper.
He’s helping me move on. And while Blake will always be a part of me, I know this is what he’d want—for me to start living again.
My throat thickens as I shake myself out of those thoughts and stride to the stairwell, walk up two flights, and make a right to the brand new children’s wing.
Giggles and music reach my ears. A volunteer reads a picture book to a group of little ones in the colorful play area as parents with strained smiles and heartbroken eyes look on.
I quickly move past them to Grayson’s room down the hall on the far right. But when I lift my hand to knock on the door, I stop at the sight before me.
“You have a new heart?” Grayson asks, his eyes wide as he paws Ren’s chest. The brooding bodyguard looks too large for the red beanbag he’s sitting on next to the little guy.
Ren nods, eyes solemn.
Clad in a dark-gray dress shirt and pants today, he looks softer, less lethal, but still mysterious in his usual black half mask.
“Mama said I’m going to get a new liver soon,” Grayson chirps, “which will be here.” He taps his chest.
Ren chuckles and points to the little boy’s abdomen. Then he presses a button on his phone.
“Liver is here,” a robotic voice says.
“Oh.” Grayson frowns and stares at his hospital gown. Then his voice wobbles as he asks, “Will it hurt? Getting a new liver?”
My heart squeezes and tears sting my eyes. I don’t know how pediatric nurses do it—taking care of these sweet little souls suffering.
Ren types on his phone.
“Yes, it’ll hurt. But it’s not that bad,” the phone’s text-to-speech voice replies.
Ren’s lips curve up in the mouth cutout on his mask, but Grayson doesn’t seem to notice. The little boy just stares at Ren with his brows furrowed.
The silent man does something I don’t expect.
He reaches up and yanks down his mask.
Grayson’s eyes grow into saucers as he touches Ren’s face.
My pulse pounds hard in my ears.
The mask hid the sharp jawline I long suspected was there, and the straight nose. He’d be classically handsome if it weren’t for a smattering of pockmarks radiating up one side of his jaw.
But somehow, his scars make him more arresting.
And oddly, seeing the rest of his usually hidden face doesn’t feel unfamiliar.
If anything, it’s like another puzzle piece fitting to form a picture I already know.
“Pain makes us stronger,” his phone says.
Ren smiles, his eyes soft, and something inside me jolts. I’m hit with the urge to trail my finger over his skin, to learn more about this mysterious man.
He points to the small marks on his face, his phone’s text-to-speech function still on.
“This was from an accident when my sister and I were playing hide and seek as kids. She knocked over a bottle of cleaning agent, and some of it got on me when I covered her. It hurt a lot, but I protected my sister. So the scars are a badge of honor.”
Grayson marvels at him, clearly hanging onto every word.
Ren slowly unbuttons his shirt, revealing golden stretches of muscles decorated with tattoos—flowers and vines.
Then he stops, tugs open his shirt, and there it is: a raised scar spanning the middle of his chest.
Fiddling with his phone as he types a response, he winks at the boy.
“This is the badge I earned when I got my new heart. It looks ugly, but it means I’m strong. I’m a survivor. It means I can continue taking care of my sister. Protect her. Not everyone gets these badges.”
“And I’ll get one too?” Grayson asks, his small fingers grazing the scar.
Ren nods.
“Not exactly here, but yes. Then you’ll get this special badge. And who will you be able to protect?”
“Mama.” The little boy sits up taller, chest puffed out like he’s proud. My heart pinches, then swells. “She’ll be happy. I see her crying sometimes, but she doesn’t want me to know. She always winks when I catch her.”
A soft smile tips Ren’s lips as he types.
“She won’t cry after you get the scar. Or if she does, it’ll be because she’s happy,” the phone’s robotic voice says.
“But it’ll hurt first.”
“Yes. Just a bit. Doctors and nurses will give you medicine to help you get better. And you will. Then you’ll get your badge.”
“Bravery badge, like Boy Scouts.”
“Exactly.” Ren ruffles the boy’s shaggy brown hair, his fingers flying over the keys. “And later, when the doctor says you’re allowed to, you’ll get to play outside.”
“With other boys? Play soccer again?” Grayson grins, all talk of pain and scars seemingly forgotten.
“Yes. And much more.”
“I love soccer. I want to be the goalie, though. I like catching balls because—”
“Aria, you’re here! Thanks for helping with the insurance,” a soft voice sounds from behind me.
I whip around, finding Grayson’s mom standing at the doorway, a worried smile on her face.
“Of course. It’s the least I can do.” I squeeze her shoulder and nod toward the room. “How’s he doing?”
“Hanging in there. Doctors said he doesn’t have much time left, but he’s on top of the list.” Her lips tremble. “We’ve been preparing him for a transplant. Need to have hope, you know?”
“Anything I can do?”
She shakes her head. “You’ve done so much already; I can’t begin to thank you. And Ren,” her eyes trail past me to the man and adds, “he’s been helpful.”
“H-How do you know him?”
It’s obvious this isn’t the first interaction between Ren and Grayson.
“We met in the ER lobby one time. He’s quiet, and I was just broken and started rambling. He listened. At first, I was embarrassed since he didn’t respond.” She fans her face as a flush creeps up her neck. “Turned out he was mute.”
I bite back a smile, remembering how hard it was to get Ren to communicate.
“But he asked me for my email. Said he wanted to help. That he had connections to the hospital. I was willing to try anything, and over time, he started visiting Grayson, buying him little gifts. And when the new wing opened and Grayson finally got a room, he was the first to swing by.”
Something about her words snags.
New wing. Helping.
I startle.
Ren told me he was the anonymous donor for the new children’s wing.
He did this to help Grayson.
I snap my gaze to the man in question, only to meet his searing dark eyes.
His fingers are white-knuckled on his mask, like he’s half-tugging it back up his face.
But then he stops and slowly stands.
“Anyway, I’m thankful,” Grayson’s mom murmurs. She faces the room and says, “Time for the dinosaur story, Gray Gray. Want to come?”
Grayson squeals and scrambles toward his mom, and the duo leaves us behind in the quiet room.
I wait with bated breath as Ren strides toward me, his steps sturdy and sure.
Nerves skitter over my skin.
His fingers are still gripping his mask, like he’s deciding whether to put it back on.
The room contracts with every step he takes. By the time he stops inches before me, the air thrums with a strange, otherworldly energy.
Pointing to the room, I ask, “You did all this for him?”
Those whiskey-dark eyes drag over me in a slow, deliberate beat.
Something glints in them.
Hunger. Pain. Something more.
“R-Ren?” I whisper, my feet sliding back.
My scrubs are suddenly too tight, every molecule in me aware of the narrow strip of air between us.
He lets go of his mask and backs me against the doorframe.
My mouth dries. My thoughts scatter.
He brackets one muscular arm over my head and leans in, just slightly.
My body reacts anyway, a helpless pulse low and hot in my belly.
“What are you doing?” The question comes out breathy.
“You’re so breathtaking, gongzhu.”
I gasp.
His words—the first I’ve ever heard him utter—are barely above a whisper, rough and airless, without the weight a real voice should have. But they land like a blow anyway. There’s something familiar in the rhythm and the frayed edges I can’t place.
A ghost of a smile appears on his face as he traces a finger down my cheek, eliciting shivers in its wake.
Then his eyes drop.
To my chest.
And the smile vanishes.
Abruptly, he straightens, pulls up his mask, and strides off, leaving me in stunned and confused silence.
What was that?
That look. That hunger. Those unsaid words I can almost understand.
Are you so lonely you’d gravitate toward anyone who’d pay attention to you?
But Ren isn’t “anyone,” is he?
A memory floats to the surface—a painful one, but now there’s something else.
Something more.
Rain pelts from the sky as the crowd of mourners disperses. Lana leaves behind a simple black-handled umbrella at my feet after I send her and Scarlett away, but I don’t pick it up.
I want the rain. I want the cold wetness sticking to my skin as my heart bleeds.
My outside will match my inside then.
“Blake,” I whisper to the simple black tombstone, knowing he can’t hear me. “I miss you so much.”
My lungs burn. Everything hurts. Like I’ve been carved into pieces and left for the vultures.
I’m alone in the world again.
So alone.
Tears fall down my cheeks.
I don’t know how long I stand there, wet clothes plastered to my body.
But suddenly, a somber presence appears next to me, the heat and intensity out of place in the cold, dreary cemetery.
A cup appears in my vision, and I finally look up.
Dark eyes bore into me. A man dressed in black holding an umbrella in one hand and a drink in the other. Ren, Lana’s silent former bodyguard.
He covers me with his umbrella, then gently wraps my fingers around the cup. The heat warms my icy skin instantly.
But I step out from under his shelter, needing the rain. Needing the sky to cry with me.
Pain flashes across his half-masked face. Wordlessly, Ren snaps shut the umbrella and tosses it onto the grass.
Then he stands next to me, letting the rain soak him too.
The image lingers in my mind, and I huff out a frustrated sigh.
Reaper in the dark.
Ren in the light.
Both leaving me off-balance the moment they walk away.
I need to talk to my girls. Get some tough love.
Shaking my head, I walk out of the room, knowing my fifteen minutes are long gone.
Ren’s chameleon eyes—intense, hungry, cold—burn into my irises.
“You’re so breathtaking, gongzhu.” Simple words, but they feel so much more.
Absentmindedly, I step into an open elevator and press the lobby button.
When I glance up, I catch my reflection in the mirrored wall. Messy hair, no makeup, wrinkled scrubs.
And the engagement ring resting on top of my chest.