18. Fate’s Cruel Betrayal #3
The doctor cuts away my sleeve, revealing the full length of the gash. Eve’s sucks in a breath. It’s worse than I thought. Her fingers brush my uninjured arm, a silent gesture of support as Dr. Martinez prepares to stitch the wound.
“This will hurt,” he warns, reaching for a local anesthetic from the supplies the nurse already brought in to the room.
I grunt in acknowledgment, my eyes fixed on Seb’s unconscious form. The pain of the needle is nothing compared to the ache in my chest, the fear that still grips me despite knowing my brother will survive.
Eve’s hand finds mine, squeezing gently. I let her hold on as the doctor begins to work.
The steady beep of the heart monitor echoes through the otherwise silent room. I sit in the armchair beside Seb’s bed, my stitched arm throbbing in time with each electronic pulse. Eve perches on the edge of the mattress, her fingers absently smoothing the blanket covering my brother.
The smell of blood still lingers in the air, mixing with antiseptic and something else. My fear. It coats my tongue, bitter and sharp, impossible to swallow away.
Seb’s face is still too pale against the white pillowcase, dark circles shadowing his closed eyes.
The rise and fall of his chest is shallow but stable.
He looks younger like this, vulnerable in a way I haven’t seen since we were kids in the system, when I’d watch him sleep in whatever new foster home we landed in, terrified he’d disappear if I closed my eyes.
My hands are clean now, but I still feel his blood on them. Still see it soaking through his shirt, pooling on the floor. Still hear his ragged breathing as I held him in the car, begging him to hold on.
Eve’s hand finds mine in the dim light, her thumb tracing gentle circles on my skin. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t try to fill the heavy silence with empty reassurances. She just sits with me, anchoring me to the present when my mind wants to spiral into what-ifs and could-have-beens.
The clock on the wall ticks onward. Each second my brother breathes is another second he’s still fighting, still here.
The night nurse will arrive soon to take over monitoring his vitals, but for now, it’s just us three in this quiet room, wrapped in the aftermath of violence and the fragile thread of survival.
My body aches with exhaustion, but I can’t bring myself to move. Can’t bear the thought of leaving him, even though the doctor assured me he’ll recover.
“Zeke.” Eve’s voice is soft as she places her hand on my uninjured shoulder. “You need to rest.”
I shake my head, my eyes fixed on Seb’s pale face. “I’m fine here.”
“You’re not fine.” She moves to stand between me and the bed, forcing me to look at her. Her green eyes are filled with concern, but there’s a stubborn set to her jaw that I recognize all too well. “You’ve lost blood too. Those stitches need proper care, and you need sleep.”
“I can’t leave him.” The words come out harsh, raw with an emotion I don’t want to examine too closely.
Eve kneels beside my chair, her hand sliding down to cover mine. “Eli’s right outside. The nurse is monitoring his vitals. He’s stable, Zeke.” Her thumb traces gentle circles on my skin, the touch oddly soothing. “You’re no good to him exhausted and in pain.”
“Eve—” I start to protest, but she cuts me off.
“Let me take care of you,” she whispers. “Just for tonight. Let someone else keep watch.”
I look at her—really look at her. The same fear I’m feeling is reflected in her eyes, mixed with something else. Something tender and fierce that makes my defenses waiver.
She stands, tugging gently at my hand. “Come on. Eli will get us immediately if anything changes. You know he will.”
Eve’s fingers are warm and sure around my wrist as she guides me up the stairs. My feet feel heavy, each step an effort, but she doesn’t let go.
“Almost there,” she murmurs, and I realize I’ve been leaning on her more than I intended. The pain in my arm throbs in time with my heartbeat, a reminder of disaster. Most of my men got out, but we still lost plenty.
She leads me through our bedroom and into our bathroom, the soft lamplight casting everything in gentle shadows.
The familiar scent of her perfume lingers in the air, mixing with the antiseptic smell still clinging to my skin.
She turns to face me, her hands moving to the buttons of my blood-stained shirt.
“Let me,” I protest, but she shakes her head.
“You can barely lift your arm,” she says softly, her fingers working each button free with careful precision. “Just let me do this.”
The gentleness in her touch undoes me more than the pain ever could. Each brush of her fingers against my skin feels like absolution, washing away the violence of the night. She eases the shirt off my shoulders, careful of the bandaged wound.
“Sit,” she commands, pushing me toward the edge of the garden tub. I comply, too exhausted to argue. She kneels before me and lifts my foot to slide off my shoe.
“You don’t have to—” I begin, but she silences me with a look.
“I want to,” she says simply.
Something in her voice makes my throat close up. This isn’t the passionate heat we usually share. This is different—softer, more vulnerable. It terrifies me how much I need it right now.
Once I’m undressed, Eve turns the shower on and strips out of her own clothes before she leads me there.
The water cascades over us in a warm rush as Eve steps into the shower behind me. Her hands are impossibly gentle, mindful of the bandaged wound on my arm.
“Let’s get you clean.” She reaches for the soap and works the lather across my shoulders and down my back. The familiar scent of my body wash fills the steam-laden air, but it’s her touch that truly begins to wash away the night’s horrors.
I close my eyes as her fingers trace careful patterns across my skin. Pink-tinged water swirls at our feet—Seb’s blood and mine finally washing away.
Eve’s hands slide down my chest, her movements methodical yet tender. There’s nothing sexual in her touch tonight, just pure devotion.
“Lean down,” she whispers, and I comply without hesitation.
Her fingers thread through my hair, massaging my scalp as she works in the shampoo.
The simple pleasure of it makes me groan, tension I didn’t even know I was carrying beginning to dissolve.
My muscles gradually unlock, the crushing weight of responsibility temporarily lifting under the steady stream of water and the gentle pressure of her hands.
When she reaches for a washcloth to tend to my face, her expression is focused, tender. She wipes away the last traces of blood and grime with such care that something inside me threatens to break.
Once clean, she turns the water off then towels me down with the same meticulous care. This role reversal is foreign to me. I’m supposed to be the one taking care of those important to me, not the other way around.
Eve’s hands are gentle as she helps me dress, sliding a clean t-shirt over my head and helping me step into fresh boxers. Every touch is full of tenderness. I’m not used to vulnerability.
“Come on,” she whispers, guiding me toward our bed. Her voice is soothing, like she’s trying not to spook a wounded animal. Maybe that’s what I am right now.
The sheets are cool against my skin as she helps me lie down. My body feels heavy, weighed down by exhaustion and the lingering effects of blood loss. Eve tucks the comforter around me, her fingers smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles.
She climbs in beside me, immediately pressing close. Her body molds to mine—chest to back, her arm draped carefully over my waist, avoiding my injured arm. Her scent comforts me. Her breath is warm against my neck.
“Sleep,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. “I’ve got you.”
Something inside me unravels. Here, in the quiet darkness of our room, with Eve’s heartbeat against my back and her arm holding me close, I let myself believe her. Let myself sink into the safety she offers.
For the first time since seeing Seb’s blood spreading across the ground, I can breathe. The constant vigilance, the burden of responsibility, the immense fear—it all recedes under the gentle pressure of Eve’s embrace.
Her fingers trace lazy patterns on my chest, and I match my breathing to hers.
Slow. Steady. Safe.