Scar Tissue (Tethered in Darkness Duet #2)

Prologue

Six Months Earlier

The sterile hum of fluorescent lights buzz overhead, blending with the distant murmur of monitors and the muted shuffle of nurses’ footsteps.

My knuckles are white; fingers curled tightly around the armrest of a hospital chair.

Dylan is lying motionless beneath a thin hospital blanket, her face pale, and her breaths shallow but steady.

She had only been gone for a week, stolen into a darkness I can hardly fathom.

Now she’s here—fragile and broken, but alive.

When I couldn’t reach her over the past two weeks, my mind immediately went to the worst of places, but never could I imagine that something this bad could have actually happened to her.

I thought that maybe she was just busy, getting into the routine of things on campus, so I gave her the benefit of the doubt.

That was until I received a phone call from her number, only it wasn’t her that greeted me on the other end.

Instead, I was welcomed by a gruff male voice, one that I didn’t recognize.

When he told me what happened, and that he was Dylan’s fiancé, I couldn’t believe either of those two things.

I actually scoffed—until I came face to face with the both of them here.

I immediately recognized him as the guy from the coffee shop Dylan and I were at before her father’s funeral.

And seeing her laying here in this bed…sedated, bruised, abused…

I have to blink back the sting of tears.

I reach for her hand, hesitant, because I don’t want to startle her any further.

She’s sedated because she freaked out when they tried performing her exam, to check for trauma and internal damage.

I breathe deeply through my nose. All that matters is that she’s here now.

“You’re safe,” I whisper, but my voice cracks. “You’re going to be okay.”

Dylan’s fingers twitch, and I freeze, my breath catching in my throat.

It wasn’t a full movement, just a faint response, but it’s enough to ignite a flicker of hope in me.

“Hey,” I whisper again. “I’m right here.

” But she doesn’t respond, the drugs in her system heavy in her bloodstream.

Fletcher—I learned the name of coffee shop guy, who was also apparently her dad’s best friend—thought it would be best if she had a familiar face that wasn’t tied to everything she went through, here to greet her when she wakes up.

I guess it took a lot of convincing her to be seen when they returned, and he knew pushing her to do this could do as much harm as good.

He leans against the wall, watching both of us, as if he’s afraid she’s going to disappear any moment and go back to whatever hell he saved her from.

We haven’t spoken much since I’ve arrived—the same wariness in his eyes has settled into my bones.

The same helplessness. But I have to try to be strong; I don’t want the stress of this situation affecting the bump I’m lugging around.

And just as important, I need to be here for Dylan to lean on.

“Fletcher,” I whisper, not taking my eyes off of her. “I…I need to know what happened. I need to know what she went through.”

He tenses, but doesn’t immediately answer.

I glance up at him, the question hanging in the air between us.

He looks conflicted, torn. “She’s not ready to relive it, not yet.

At least not outside of therapy. And I’m not sure I’m ready to tell you, either.

It’s…” He trails off, and I can feel the weight of his words, unspoken and suffocating.

He didn’t give me all of the details when he called, but even the darkest parts of my mind can’t imagine.

I close my eyes for a moment, steadying myself. “I just want to help her.”

He nods, his jaw tight. “I know. We all do.”

But he’s right. She’s not ready, not even close.

And maybe, in a way, neither am I. I want to wrap her in my arms and protect her from the world, but I also want to know how this happened.

I need to understand, because the not knowing…

it’s eating at me. She’s my best friend, an extension of myself, and what happens to her happens to me, too.

As I look down at I look down at Dylan again, her face softening in her sleep.

Her fingers twitch once more, and this time, she lets out a quiet, fragile sound—a soft, barely audible moan.

I don’t know how long it will take for her to heal, but I know one thing for sure: whatever it takes, I’ll be here.