Chapter 38 – Chrissy
Chapter
Thirty-Eight
CHRISSY
“What the fuck is going on here?”
The words ripped out of me before I could stop them, sharp and raw, echoing in the rose-choked air of my apartment.
My grocery bag slipped from numb fingers, apples rolling across the floor like escaped prisoners, thudding softly against scattered petals.
The scent hit me next — overwhelming, sweet, almost suffocating.
Roses. Hundreds of them. Vases crammed on every surface, petals trailing from the door like a blood-red carpet, a glass dome on the table trapping one perfect bloom with thorns still sharp.
And in the middle of it all: Alice, chest heaving, face flushed with that familiar self-righteous fury.
And him — Ben — on the floor, propped on one elbow amid overturned crates, blood soaking through his flannel shirt in a dark, spreading stain.
His scarred face was pale, jaw clenched tight against obvious pain, one hand pressed hard to his side.
Alice whirled on me first, eyes blazing.
“Finally! Where the hell have you been? I’ve been texting you all day!”
I barely heard her. My gaze stayed locked on Ben, heart slamming into overdrive. Blood. Real blood. Seeping between his fingers.
“Ben — oh my God, you’re hurt—”
“Don’t you dare worry about him right now!
” Alice snapped, stepping between us like a shield I didn’t want.
“This is exactly what I’m talking about!
You walk in, see some asshole who obviously fucked up and hurt you big-time bleeding on the floor of your apartment, and your first thought is to check on him instead of asking me if I’m okay!
I swear to God, it’s like you hate me and mom and dad now.
It’s like he fucking brainwashed you or something! ”
I blinked, fury rising hot and fast.
“What are you even doing here, Alice? How did you get in?”
“I told the super that I’m your sister and I was here to see you, and she let me in.
She said some delivery guy was in here setting up a ‘surprise’ for you.
” She waved a hand at the roses, sneering.
“And surprise! It’s your mystery boyfriend who clearly fucked up massively if this is his apology.
Look at this place. It’s like a fucking funeral parlor exploded.
He’s the reason you’ve been a total ghost, isn’t he?
Lying about that ‘work retreat’, coming back all moody and distant, snapping at Mom and Dad every time we ask you to show up for us for once in your life. ”
Her words landed like slaps, half-truths twisted into weapons. She didn’t know his name, didn’t recognize the scars — just saw a tall guy in flannel, hoodie shadowing his face, drowning my apartment in desperate romance, and she’d pieced together enough to stab where it hurt.
Ben tried to push up then, grunting low as he braced against the floor.
“Alice, stop. That’s enough—”
“No, you shut the fuck up!” Alice rounded on him again, voice climbing.
“You’re the problem here. Whatever you did to her — cheating, lying, I don’t know — but it turned my sister into this standoffish bitch who thinks showing up for her family is optional.
She was fine before that retreat. Happy, even.
Now she’s skipping holidays because she’s too busy being wrapped up in whatever bullshit you pulled her into! ”
Ben staggered to his feet, swaying, one arm wrapped around his ribs. Blood darkened his shirt faster now, dripping onto petals.
“You might be her sister, but you don’t know her,” he rasped, voice steady despite the pain carving lines around his eyes. “You don’t know what she carries for Granny Irene and for all of you. She’s not standoffish; she’s exhausted from giving everything while you just drain her dry.”
Alice laughed, bitter and loud.
“Oh, listen to Mr. Dramatic! You think a truckload of flowers fixes whatever bullshit you pulled? She deserves better than some guy who sneaks into her apartment and fills it with flowers like that could possibly fix whatever you did.”
She shoved him again, hard, both palms to his chest. Ben’s balance was already shot and he lurched sideways, boot catching on a crate edge again.
His shoulder slammed into a stacked tower of crates full of vases of flowers he hadn’t had the chance to place yet.
The whole thing teetered, then crashed down, one heavy wooden crate clipping him square in the temple with a sickening thud.
He crumpled.
There was no dramatic slow-motion fall. He was just gone, his body hitting the floor amid shattering glass and crushed blooms, blood streaking his scarred temple now too.
“Ben!” I screamed, dropping to my knees beside him, numb to the thorns and shattered glass scraping at my knees through my jeans.
Alice froze, hands still half-raised, face draining of color.
“I — he — he was —”
“Get the fuck out of my apartment,” I snarled, voice shaking as I pressed my fingers to his neck. His pulse was strong, thank God, but he was out cold. “Now.”
“But I—”
“Out!”
Alice backed toward the door, eyes wide, muttering something about calling Mom. She bolted out the door like she’d been burned, my door slamming shut behind her. Her footsteps thudded down the hall, but I barely registered it.
I was alone with him, now. He was unconscious, bleeding, and surrounded by the ruins of his grand gesture, and every wall I’d built since walking out of the lodge cracked wide open.
My world narrowed to Ben, to how he lay sprawled amid crushed petals and shattered glass, blood streaking his temple, more soaking his flannel from that goddamn stab wound I’d watched Henry stitch just days ago.
His chest rose and fell steadily, but he was dead to the world, his face slack in a way that twisted my gut.
“Ben? Ben, wake up.” I brushed glass and thorny stems away from him, ignoring how they pricked at my hands.
The temple hit looked nasty, a gash already swelling, but the real worry was his side.
I peeled back the flannel, hissing at the sight.
A few of the stitches had torn open, blood welling fresh and dark, and it was bruised like someone had hit him directly in his stab wound, too.
“Damn it, Alice,” I muttered, but the anger was already mixing with panic.
What the hell had happened here? Roses were everywhere, many of them trashed from where Alice had shoved Ben…
twice, like he was the villain in my story.
It looked like a fairy tale gone wrong. I grabbed a clean dish towel from the drawer in the kitchen and pressed it hard to his ribs.
“Come on, wake up. You’re not doing this to me now. ”
He groaned low, eyelids fluttering. Relief hit me like a wave, but it crashed into fury.
“Chrissy...”
“Yeah, it’s me.” My voice cracked. “Don’t move. Some of your stitches are busted.”
He tried to sit up anyway, wincing as his hand found the towel.
“Alice — she —”
“I know. I walked in on whatever the hell that was.” I helped him lean against the couch, my free hand cupping his jaw to check the temple cut. Blood smeared my fingers, warm and sticky. “Hold still. Keep this towel on your stab wound while I go get the first aid kit.”
I darted to the bathroom, roses brushing my legs like insistent whispers that he was sorry.
The kit was filled with bandages, antiseptic, everything mocking me with memories of Henry patching him up before.
On my way through the kitchen, I tugged open my junk drawer and pulled out a bottle of super glue, too.
Henry had told me you could use super glue to close a wound in a pinch while he worked on Ben after Brett had stabbed him.
Back in the living room, I knelt again, cleaning the cut on his temple first. He hissed but didn’t pull away, blue eyes locking onto mine with that intensity that always unraveled me.
“Why are you here?” I asked, voice tight as I dabbed antiseptic. “And don’t say ‘delivery’. I read the note while you and Alice were arguing.”
His good hand caught my wrist gently, thumb stroking once.
“I did this to show you how much I love you and how sorry I am. The roses... they’re from the lodge garden. Thorns and all. Like me.”
I swallowed hard, the gesture hitting deeper than I wanted.
“It’s beautiful. Overwhelming. But Alice—”
“She’s wrong,” he rasped. “About everything. You’re not standoffish. You’re strong. And I... I fucked up, Chrissy. But I’m done hiding from my mistakes.”
The towel was soaked, but the blood flow had slowed enough for me to super-glue the wound shut, and reinforce it with butterfly bandages. I covered the area with gauze, taping it tight. Tension hummed between us, his pain, my worry, and the unspoken weight of his gesture.
“Lucia’s really safe?”
“Yes. Henry’s with her. Her husband’s... handled.”
I nodded, relief mingling with the chaos. But his eyes held more, something vulnerable cracking through. “Chrissy, listen. The clause in my father’s trust is ironclad. Vivian wins if I don’t marry by midnight on the twenty-fourth. I could lose everything. Ashgrove. The lodge. All of it.”
My heart stuttered.
“Ben—”
“But I’d let her take it all,” he said fiercely.
“If that’s what you want. And the barn..
. what happened with Brett and Hayden? What I did to protect you?
I’d turn myself in and tell the police everything.
I’ll face it all and take the consequences if you ask me to.
No more secrets. No more lies. No more running. ”
The words hung, a sacrifice so raw it stole my breath. He was offering to damn himself for me. He was giving me proof he’d changed, or at least was trying really damn hard to. Tears burned my eyes.
“You’d... why?”
“Because I love you,” he whispered. “Enough to lose it all: my estate, my money, my freedom… even you, if that’s how you think it needs to be.”
The room spun, petals blurring. What the hell was I supposed to say to that?