19. Audra
The doctor's words blur together. Transient ischemic attack… mini-stroke… risk factors… blood thinners… blood pressure medication… I nod like I understand. Like I'm processing. Like I'm not hanging on by a thread.
"We want to start her on anticoagulants," the doctor finishes carefully, "and something to control her blood pressure."
"No." Mom's voice cuts through everything. Sharp. Certain. "No blood thinners."
"Stacy—" the doctor tries.
"My sister bled out in a hospital bed because of those," she snaps. "You're not putting that poison in me."
"Mom—"
"I said no."
Her hand grips the blanket like it's a weapon.
"They don't know anything," she continues, her breath is uneven, but her voice is gaining strength. "They just push pills. That's all they do. Pills, pills, pills?—"
"Mom, please?—"
"I want to go home." Of course she does. "My cats need me."
There it is. Always the cats. I close my eyes for a second. Just a second. Because I am so tired. I didn't sleep. Not really. Maybe four hours before she started screaming. Before everything happened again. Before that… Pete.
The thought hits like a punch to the ribs. I sway. Just slightly. But it's enough. A hand steadies me. Firm. Warm. Immediate.
Gabe.
I didn't even see him move. Didn't realize how close he was. His hand wraps around my arm, grounding me before I can tip forward.
"Easy," he whispers quietly.
And for a second—just a second—I let it happen.
I lean into him. Not much. Barely anything.
But enough. Enough to feel the solidness of him.
The strength. The steadiness. Like nothing in his world ever shakes him.
Like nothing gets to him. And God, I need that.
I need something that doesn't feel like it's falling apart.
My fingers curl slightly into his shirt.
Just for balance. Just—for a second too long.
Nothing has ever felt this solid to me. This safe.
But then it hits me. What I'm doing. Who I'm leaning on.
I pull back like I've been burned. The things I know about this man should send me running the other way.
He's as dangerous as Razor ever was. No.
More. I watched him kill people. Not to mention that Pete just died.
Leaning on him is wrong on so many levels that I can't even begin to list them all.
At least, that's what my head says. What my body craves is an entirely different story, one I don't want to examine too closely right now.
It would lead down a rabbit hole I'm in no condition to follow.
"I'm fine," I lie quickly. Too quickly.
His hand lingers for half a heartbeat longer before he lets go. I don't look at him. I can't. Because that moment—that half second—felt like something it shouldn't have. Something I don't have space for. Not now. Not ever.
"Mom," I say instead, forcing myself back into reality, back into control. "You need to listen to them."
"They don't know anything," she insists again, weaker now, but just as stubborn. "I'm not taking their drugs."
"They're trying to help you."
"They're trying to bill my insurance."
I press my lips together. God. I can't do this right now. I can't fight her. I can't lose her. I inhale sharply.
"No one is forcing anything," the doctor intercedes carefully, clearly out of his depth with her. "But we strongly recommend?—"
"I said no."
Silence. I drag a hand down my face. Think.
Just think. But my brain feels like it's moving through mud.
Too many things. Too little sleep. Too much pain.
I glance sideways to where Gabe is watching me.
Not the room. Not the doctors. Me. Something in his expression tightens.
Like he sees too much. Like he understands more than I want him to.
I pull myself back together.
"I'm not debating this right now," I decide, my voice sounds steadier than I feel. "We'll figure it out. Later."
Mom huffs but doesn't argue. Small win. I'll take it.
The doctors want to keep her overnight.
"Absolutely not," Mom snaps immediately. "I'm not staying here. I could die, and they wouldn't know why. If I die, I want it to be in my own bed."
I'm too tired to point out that she's not sleeping in her own bed right now. It wouldn't lead anywhere, anyway. I know that when she's like this, there is nothing anybody can do. The poor doctor just hasn't realized it yet as he keeps trying to argue.
"Stacy," he tries again, patience thinning, "your blood pressure?—"
"I said no."
I close my eyes. I'm running on fumes and grief and something hollow that keeps echoing Pete is dead, Pete is dead, over and over again like a broken record I can't shut off.
"Mom…" I try, but my voice sounds far away. Weak. Useless.
"I'm going home," she insists, trying to push herself up.
She sways. Even she can't hide that. Before I can move, Gabe steps in. Not loud. Not aggressive. Just… there.
"Stacy," he says, calm, controlled.
She freezes. Actually freezes. I blink. What?
"You're staying," he continues, in an even voice. "One night."
"I am not?—"
"You'll have a private room," he promises.
She hesitates. That's new.
"I'll have someone stationed outside your door," he adds. "Anything you need—food, water, your phone, your… cats updated on your condition—" I almost laugh. Almost. "They answer to you," he finishes. "Not the hospital."
Mom narrows her eyes. She's suspicious but interested.
"And I leave tomorrow?" she bargains.
"If the doctors clear you," Gabe assures her smoothly.
That's not a yes. But it's not a no either. Mom exhales. "Fine."
I stare at him. Just like that. Just… like that. He handled her in under thirty seconds. I've been trying for years.
"I'll arrange everything," he tells the doctor, already turning away like it's done. Because for him, it is.
All I can do is stand there in awe, trying to figure out how the hell he did that.
About an hour later, Mom and I are saying goodbye as she lies in a very comfortable bed in a private room on the top floor. The rest is a blur. Suddenly, I'm in the hallway. And the floor feels… unsteady. My legs don't quite listen.
"Hey—" Gabe's voice again.
Closer this time. Stronger. Then his arm is around me. And I don't even protest. That's the worst part. I don't fight it. I don't pull away. I just… let him.
"Easy," he murmurs.
And everything in me just… gives. The adrenaline. The fear. The holding it together for Mom. For Pete. For everything. It all crashes at once.
"I've got you," he promises.
I believe him. God help me, I believe him.
The next thing I know is that I'm in the car. Somewhere between sitting and leaning. My head is so heavy. My eyes are burning if I don't close them. I try to stay awake. I really do. But it's like my body just decides for me. Nope. We're done.
The last thing I register is warmth. Solid. Steady. Gabe. Then, nothing. I wake up to movement. Soft. Careful. My cheek is pressed against something warm. Firm. And, oh shit, wet. I'm drooling. I jerk back, mortified. "Oh my God—I'm so sorry?—"
My hand flies to my mouth. My face burns. "I didn't—I wasn't—I mean I?—"
Smooth. Real smooth, Audra. He just looks at me. Completely unfazed. "It's fine."
Nothing, and I mean nothing, seems to rattle this man. Ever. I wipe at my mouth quickly, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow me whole.
"I didn't mean to fall asleep," I mumble.
"You needed it," he simply states.
Like it's not embarrassing. Like it's not… intimate. Like I didn't just use him as a human pillow. Before I can even process that, the car door opens. Warm air hits my face.
"We're here," he announces.
And then—before I can react—he's moving. One arm behind my back. The other under my knees. And just like that, I'm off the ground.
"What—Gabe—I can walk?—"
"Hmm," he hums, like he doesn't believe that for a second.
"I can," I insist weakly.
He doesn't even slow down. "Sure."
I open my mouth to argue again, but nothing comes out. Because deep down I know I'm a liar. I don't actually want him to put me down. I'm too tired, I tell myself. But the truth is, it feels… safe.
God. What is wrong with me?
I go still in his arms. Just for a second.
Just long enough to feel the strength in them.
The ease with which he carries me. Like this is nothing to him.
The elevator doors slide open. He steps inside.
I make the mistake of looking up at him.
Our eyes meet, and something passes between us.
Too quiet. Too charged. Too dangerous. I look away first. Because the truth that I'm enjoying being taken care of hits hard.
Too hard. It's not something I can deal with right now. I'm too tired, too spent.
Before I know what's happening, I begin to cry. The ugly kind. The kind that rips out of you without warning. My whole body shakes, my breath hitches and breaks, like I don't remember how to breathe properly anymore.
It hurts. God, it hurts. Losing Pete like this was more than a shock, because now guilt riddles me too. If he hadn't been killed that day, I would have broken his heart by discussing the separation with him.
The word doesn't even fully form in my head before it shatters me all over again. Pete.
"He's—" I choke, but I can't finish it.
I can't say it out loud. Because if I do, it's real. My fingers clutch at Gabe's shirt, twisting the fabric like it's the only thing keeping me upright.
"I—I can't—" I gasp, my chest tightening, air refusing to come in right. "I was just—I was going to?—"
My voice breaks completely. Gone. There's nothing left but sobs.
Raw. Broken. Humiliating. And he says nothing.
Not a single word. No, it's going to be okay.
No, I'm sorry for your loss. Nothing empty.
Nothing useless. He just holds me. One arm tight around me, solid, unyielding.
The other comes up, steadying me as I fold into him without even realizing I'm doing it.
Which I do. I fold. Completely. My forehead presses into his chest, my tears soak into his shirt as everything I've been holding in finally spills over. Pete. The warehouse. The gun. The sound?—
Hell, the sound?—
A broken sob tears out of me.
"I told him I loved him," I whisper, the words scraping out of my throat like glass.
"Right before—" At least I have that. Even though I can't finish the words.
At least he died… with a lie from my lips.
Not a complete lie. I did love him. I had just…
outgrown him. As cruel as that sounds. Was that selfish of me?
"I was going to…" I can't finish it. I don't need to.
My body says it for me. Shaking. Breaking.
He tightens his hold on me. Just slightly.
Just enough. A silent answer: I know. Time doesn't exist in the elevator.
It could be seconds. Minutes. I don't know.
All I know is that I'm falling apart in the arms of a man I barely know, and he doesn't let me go.
Not once. Not even when my sobs turn into broken, gasping breaths.
He just holds me. His embrace is solid, steady, unmoving.
Like he can carry all of it without it touching him.
Like this is nothing to him. That should scare me. It should.
But right now, it doesn't. Right now, it feels like the only thing keeping me from completely shattering is him. I barely register that we're moving again, through a hallway, into his penthouse, through another hallway, and into the bedroom I picked last night. Was it just last night?
He sits us down on the bed, still holding me in his arms, and lets me cry without a word. Just letting me feel his unyielding presence, wrapping me in absolute safety.
Eventually, all sobs must ease, and mine do.
They're not gone. They just turn quieter.
My body still trembles, but the worst of it passes, leaving me hollow.
Drained. Empty in a way that feels almost peaceful.
Slowly, I realize that I'm clinging to him.
My hands are still fisted in his shirt. My face is pressed into his chest. His now very wet chest. My body leans into him with my entire weight.
Heat floods my face. Quickly, I pull back.
"I'm sorry," I mumble, wiping at my face, avoiding his eyes. "I didn't—I don't know—" What? What do I even say?
Sorry for falling apart on you?
Sorry for using you like?—
I cut the thought off. Hard. Because I don't want to finish it. Don't want to understand it.
"It's been a long night," his voice is quiet.
That's it. No judgment. No pity. Just… a fact.
I nod, even though he can't see it. Because that's easier.
Because if I look at him—if I let myself think about what just happened—about how easy it was to fall apart in his arms—I won't know what to do with it.
And I don't have the strength for that. Not tonight.
"I should… Mom's cats…"
"Will be fine for the night. They have water and food."
Somehow, he makes it sound reassuring, even with that faint edge of irritation underneath. I nod, even though my thoughts feel sluggish. Too many things. Too much. Too?—
I become aware of him again. Not just that he's there. But him. The heat of his body still lingering against mine. The strength in his arms from just moments ago. The way he didn't hesitate. Didn't ask. Just… took over.
My stomach tightens. Not like before. Not in fear. Something else. Something I don't want to look at too closely. I glance up and catch him watching me. Not in a casual way, not even politely. Intently.
His eyes drop, just for a second, to my mouth. Then back up. The look is brief. Gone almost as soon as I register it. But it sends a strange, unwelcome shiver down my spine. I scoot back. Just a fraction. Putting space between us. Because whatever that was, I don't have room for it. Not tonight.
My chest tightens. I look away.