Chapter 28 Zoey
ZOEY
Time doesn’t move the same when you’re stuck in recovery.
It stretches, blurs, folds into itself until hours feel like minutes and minutes feel like something you’re trying to survive through. I wake more fully each day, the fog of pain meds lifting just enough for reality to settle in piece by piece, but something important is still missing.
Him.
I lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling, replaying the last clear memory I have—his face over mine, panic cracking through everything he tried to control, his voice rough when he said he was going to fix this.
I believed him.
That’s the problem.
“Stop thinking that loudly,” Mellie says from the chair in the corner, not even looking up from the magazine in her lap.
I blink. “Was I?”
“Yeah,” Lucy answers lightly from where she’s bouncing Sari on her knee. “You’ve been doing it all morning.”
I huff out a quiet breath, shifting slightly despite the pull of pain through my side. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Mellie says, closing the magazine. “Just… maybe talk instead of spiraling.”
I shake my head. “I’m not spiraling.”
Sari makes a soft sound, grabbing for Lucy’s necklace, and I find my attention drifting to her without thinking. Something about her steadies me in a way I didn’t expect. Small, warm, completely unaware of how complicated everything else is.
I reach out, brushing my fingers lightly over her hand, and she grabs onto me immediately.
“Well,” Lucy says with a soft smile, “I think she’s decided you’re hers now.”
I almost laugh.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I could get used to that.”
It’s easy to focus on her. Easier than focusing on everything else.
Easier than focusing on the fact that Whiz hasn’t walked through that door once since I woke up.
“He’s okay,” Mellie says, like she read that thought too.
I glance at her. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” she replies calmly. “He’s with his brothers. That’s where he goes when things get like this.”
“When things get like what?” I press.
Lucy and Mellie exchange a look.
“That’s part of it,” Lucy says carefully. “You don’t always get to know everything. Not right away.”
I sit up a little straighter, ignoring the protest from my body. “That’s not fair.”
Mellie shrugs. “It’s the reality.”
Silence settles for a second.
“If you like him,” Lucy adds gently, “this is part of the deal. The waiting. The worry.”
My jaw tightens slightly.
“I can handle that,” I say. “To a point.”
Her gaze sharpens just enough to tell me she understands exactly what I mean.
“I’m not naive,” I continue. “I work with death every day. I’ve seen what people are capable of. I’m not scared of that part.”
“Then what are you scared of?” Mellie asks.
I don’t answer right away.
“…not knowing,” I admit finally. “Not knowing where he is. Not knowing if he’s okay.”
Another look passes between them.
Confirmation.
“You know where he is,” I say, quieter now.
They don’t answer.
But they don’t deny it either.
“Please,” I add, the word sharper than I expect. “I need to know.”
Mellie exhales slowly. “Zoey—”
“Don’t,” I cut in. “Don’t protect me from this. I don’t need that.”
The room goes quiet.
Lucy adjusts Sari slightly, then looks at Mellie.
“…Death’s Door,” Mellie says finally.
My heart stutters.
“What’s he doing there?”
She doesn’t answer that part.
“Take me,” I say immediately, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
“Absolutely not,” Lucy says.
“You’re still healing,” Mellie adds.
“I don’t care.”
“Zoey—”
“I don’t care,” I repeat, pulling the IV line from my arm before they can stop me.
“Jesus Christ—Zoey!” Mellie snaps.
But I’m already moving.
Danny finds me halfway to the garage.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asks, eyes widening when he takes in my condition. “You look like you just crawled out of a grave.”
“Drive me,” I say.
“To where?”
“Death’s Door.”
His expression immediately shuts down. “No.”
“Whiz said you’d take me,” I say quickly.
Danny pauses. “He did?”
“Yeah,” I lie smoothly. “Before he left. He said if I woke up, you’d get me there.”
He hesitates.
Long enough that I think I pushed it too far.
Then—
“…Fine,” he mutters. “But if this is bullshit—”
“It’s not,” I say, already moving toward the SUV.
It absolutely is.
The familiar building hits different when I step inside.
Heavier.
Colder.
I don’t stop, don’t hesitate, moving straight for the stairwell like my body knows where it needs to go before my mind fully catches up.
The basement air wraps around me again, thick and unmistakable.
And then I see it.
Two bodies on the tables.
Still.
Lifeless.
And further back—
Movement.
Voices.
I step into the room.
Everything goes still.
Whiz, Lyric, Zombie, Trick—standing over two men who are very much alive.
Not for long.
“Zoey,” Whiz says, his voice sharp, immediate. “Get the fuck out of here.”
“No.”
It comes out steadier than I feel.
Something flickers across Lyric’s face. “Well,” he mutters, almost amused, “guess that answers my question about you panicking.”
“Lyric—” Whiz starts.
“She stays if she can handle it,” Lyric cuts him off lightly.
Whiz looks back at me, jaw tight. “Stay to the side. Don’t get in the way.”
I nod, and I don’t move.
It’s brutal.
Not chaotic. Not wild.
Controlled.
Deliberate.
The questions come first. Quiet. Focused. Repeated in different ways, each answer checked, weighed, pushed further.
The men break slowly.
Fear peels them apart piece by piece until words start spilling out whether they want them to or not.
A gang. New. Trying to make a name.
“You knew who we were,” Zombie growls.
“We—we had to prove ourselves,” one of them stammers.
“By shooting at us?” Trick snarls.
“They said if we brought down KOAMC—”
Laughter cuts him off.
Short. Cold.
“You thought you could take us?” Whiz says, voice low in a way that makes my stomach tighten.
The man breaks completely then.
Tells them everything.
Enough that it changes the room.
Enough that something final settles across all of them.
“Good,” Lyric says quietly.
No more questions.
Just decision.
Whiz doesn’t hesitate.
“This is for Undertaker,” he says.
The first shot is quick.
Final.
“And this is for Zoey.”
The second one cracks through the room just as clean.
Silence follows.
Heavy.
Complete.
I don’t remember him crossing the room.
Just that suddenly he’s there, lifting me like I weigh nothing, his grip tight but not careless.
“What were you thinking?” he demands as we move out, his voice rough.
“I needed to see you,” I answer.
“That’s not an explanation,” he snaps.
“You weren’t there!” I fire back. “I didn’t know if you were alive, if you were hurt—”
“I was handling it,” he says.
“And I was supposed to just sit there?” I challenge. “Wait and hope you came back?”
He doesn’t answer.
He just carries me.
The cabin door slams shut behind us.
The argument doesn’t stop.
“You pulled your IV,” he says, pacing now. “You left medical care—”
“I’m fine.”
“You got shot,” he snaps.
“I’m still here.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re fine.”
Something sharp in his voice cuts through everything else.
I step closer. “You were scared.”
He freezes.
“…Yeah,” he admits after a second. “I was.”
The honesty hits harder than anything else.
“I thought I lost you,” he continues, his voice lower now. “And I realized I couldn’t—” He stops, exhaling sharply. “I couldn’t deal with that.”
The room stills.
“I love you,” he says.
The words land heavy.
Real.
“I realized that when you were on the ground and I thought… I thought that was it.”
My chest tightens, something warm and terrifying all at once.
“I love you too,” I say.
And this time—
Neither of us runs from it.