Chapter 5 Raina
Light slips between my closed lids, beckoning me from my fitful sleep. I’m not sure how I know it wasn’t peaceful, I just do. Blinking, the harsh light floods in, but it’s not the warm glow of the sun coming through a window.
Confusion pinches my eyebrows together, and the unbidden sound of my mother’s voice fills my head. “Don’t make that face. You’ll get a wrinkle.”
Fuck. No matter how hard you try to escape someone, sometimes they cling to your soul like the stink in the bottom of a well-used trashcan. No matter how hard you try to scrub it clean, you’ll never remove the stench…
Taking in the room, it hits me. The attack, my throat and the possibility of never singing again, Tristan coming back, the interview with the detective.
For a blissful moment, I forgot it all.
With a blink, the detective’s face looms in my mind, sharp and unyielding, his voice echoing with relentless questions that cut deeper than I expected. “Why were you there? Who else was with you? What did you see?”
It felt like I was under attack all over again, the detective’s motives hazy with the way he asked his questions. Did he even see me as a victim at all?
I push myself up on the bed, the sheets tangled around my legs, still feeling the tension coiled tight in my muscles.
My fingers curl into the fabric, gripping it like a lifeline.
It’s absurd how, even now, I can feel his gaze dissecting me, stripping away my layers of composure until I’m just… exposed. Vulnerable. Raw.
To make things worse, I felt like I was muzzled. I should’ve been able to voice exactly what happened, the truth of Darius’ innocence, but instead, I was forced to type my answers on Izzy’s tablet. Maybe my lack of speaking up for myself made him believe me less…
He didn’t seem to care about my story; he was hunting for cracks, trying to exploit my past. I hated the way he leaned closer, his eyes narrowing as if he could pry open my thoughts and expose every dark corner. He held all the power, while I sat there fumbling with the tablet.
“That’s enough.” Izzy stands there, her presence solid, a shield against the storm. “You don’t get to pry into her life like this.”
The tension snaps, and I feel the glow of gratitude blooming inside me.
Her fierce protectiveness radiates warmth, a reminder that I’m not alone in this fight.
The detective falters, momentarily taken aback by her assertiveness, and I watch as she leans forward, unwavering.
“Respect her boundaries, or we’re done here. ”
The memory leaves a smile on my lips. Watching Izzy dress down men who think they hold all the power is becoming one of my favorite things.
Taking a deep breath, my nose is assaulted by the sterile scent of antiseptic mingled with something floral—perhaps lavender from a nearby vase? Searching for them, I find Nash in the chair next to the bed.
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” his familiar voice cuts through the haze, teasing yet comforting. He rests sprawled casually in the chair next to my bed, his auburn hair catching the light like flames, and his lip ring glinting mischievously. The best part of all is his infectious grin.
It’s such a nice change from the morose version that was in here earlier. Or is it yesterday now? I’m not sure how long I’ve been sleeping.
“Nice nap?” he asks, leaning forward with an exaggerated pout. “Do you think there’s room for me on that bed? You look like you’re missing a Nashy-sized cuddle buddy.”
I can’t help but smile, a small crack in the tension I’ve been holding inside.
For a moment, the weight of the past several days dissipates, replaced by Nash’s playful energy.
He stretches out his arms, palms up, wanting me to welcome him into the hospital bed with me…
but I can’t help but feel as if he’s really inviting me into his world—a world where humor shields us from the harsh realities we face.
I grin and shake my head, but take his hands, wanting to have him close. He takes the hint, brushing a kiss to my forehead. “Definitely enough room,” he murmurs, then before I know it, he’s pushing me over, wiggling onto the bed next to me.
“Ahh… Much better,” he croons in my ear.
A soft sigh escapes me, even if it’s painful to release. His playful demeanor eases the tension tightening my chest. And he’s right, it is much better. With him here, I can breathe a little easier, even with the memories lurking just beneath the surface.
He lifts his arm, and I don’t hesitate to rest my head on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat a soothing rhythm playing in my ear. His fingers trail through my hair, and I reach for his other hand, twining our fingers together.
I hope he can sense how thankful I am that he’s here.
A silence settles between us, thick like fog, wrapping me in a cocoon of warmth and uncertainty.
I can hear the faint hum of whatever city we’re in, the distant sirens and the thrum of life continuing on without me.
But here, in this moment, I’m anchored by Nash’s presence, a steady reminder that I’m not alone.
Although a small part of me wishes the other guys were here too. I want them all with me in one place.
I glance at him, taking in the way his auburn hair catches the light, the playful glimmer in his hazel eyes. He’s always known when to pull me back from the brink when everything feels too overwhelming.
“Hey,” Nash nudges me gently, breaking through my thoughts. “You okay?”
A reassuring smile curves my lips. “I’m lucky.” The words are painful, like swallowing sandpaper, but I want him to know how fucking thankful I am to have him in my life. I tap a finger on his chest, hoping he can decipher that I’m talking about having him.
“Are you getting sappy on me now?” He grins, but there’s a softness in his voice that tells me he means it. My heart clenches, affection growing and expanding to fill my entire body. I never realized I could feel so much for someone in the short time we’ve known each other.
What floors me the most is the way his eyes reflect the same feelings right back at me. Of course, it doesn’t last long before they get that mischievous twinkle. “Though I’ve been telling you since the beginning that you’re lucky to have me. I’m a fucking catch!”
A smile pulls at my face, and I do everything in me to keep the laugh from coming out. The back of my hand hits his chest, making him bust out laughing.
“You not being able to respond is a little too fun. Sorry I’m such a little shit.
” He flops back on the bed, resting on his side facing me and stares into my eyes, gathering my hands between his.
“On a serious note. Are you doing okay? I’m so fucking worried about you.
I’m sorry I’m masking my fear behind humor.
Raina, I don’t want you to think I don’t care about what happened to you. ”
My eyes soften, and my heart feels heavy.
I know he cares—it’s written in the way he paced the room while watching over me, in how he barely wanted to leave at all.
I’m pretty sure the only reason he did was to support Darius and check in on Tris.
Then there’s the way he’s been trying to keep everyone’s spirits up.
His humor might be a mask, but I’ve learned how to see through it.
I bring his hands up and kiss his knuckles, then reach for his pocket where I saw him store his phone. Not being able to talk fucking sucks, but if I have any hope of being able to sing again, you better believe I’m taking this seriously.
Holding the phone up to his face to unlock it, I quickly tap on the text messaging app and click on my name.
I know you care, Nash. You might not realize it, but I need you exactly as you are.
He reads the message and raises an eyebrow in disbelief. “Don’t think I didn’t see the flash of pain laughing gave you.”
Everything hurts. Breathing even hurts. I’ll be in pain, anyway; at least the threat of laughing gives me a distraction from the memories.
His warm hand cups my cheek, and his thumb soothes in soft motions back and forth. “Do you want to talk about what they are?” He winces. “Well, text me about them?”
I shake my head and suck in a sharp breath at the pain, which only causes more. It’ll be a while before I remember, and I’m willing to bet by the time I do, it won’t matter anymore.
No. It’s too much to type. Maybe when I can speak again. I don’t add the if I ever do again part. I know it’s a thought born from my pity party. Which is why I need my Nashy. He’s my brightness on the darkest of days.
His lips barely part as he blows out a sigh. “Before we return to the normally scheduled Nash, are you really okay? You can tell me if you’re not. I won’t share with the others. I’m here for you no matter what.”
My poor guy sounds so nervous, like he isn’t sure what my reactions will be. As much as I’m not ready to talk about things, him being concerned means more than he knows. I haven’t had someone act that way since Tristan left my life the first time.
I’m alive. Miserable, but alive. Everything else will be one day at a time.
“Fair enough, gorgeous,” he whispers, brushing a kiss over my forehead.
What? With these bruises?
He leans back and studies the marks around my neck. Suddenly, I regret bringing them up. I didn’t realize I’d feel so bared open, like I’m exposing too much of myself. Vulnerable.
“I fucking hate that the bastard left a mark on you. Your neck should only have our hickies and Blake’s teeth marks, never bruises. But yes, you’re still stunning.”
I’m not sure how he knew the exact right thing to say, but he has me smiling again.
“Now before we circle back to how lucky you are to have me—I want a list, just so you know—someone asked me to ask you something.” He smiles, but there’s a hint of stress behind it.
Are you trying to prep me for something bad?