Chapter 42
Ava
He left me.
I mean, Harrison didn’t exactly ditch me and run when the crowd closed in. Not like Pierce did eight months ago. But still.
“Follow my finger,” the doctor says.
I do as she asks.
It’s a private doctor. One I recognize from CNN, which raises a dozen uncomfortable questions about the kind of resources my lumberjack has access to.
My lumberjack.
I must have hit my head harder than I thought. He’s clearly not mine.
After a few more tests and making sure I’m settled and comfortable, the doctor straightens and turns to Gabe.
“Make sure she rests.”
“Will do.”
Which he absolutely does. In spades.
For the next hour, Gabe hovers like a helicopter, checking on me every ten minutes.
I’m officially losing my mind.
“You could have a concussion,” he says for the fifth time.
“I do not have a concussion.”
“How do you know?” he counters. “You could’ve blacked out, had amnesia, and not realized you were concussed.”
I point to the door. “Get out.”
He hands me the book from the shelf. “You get a ten-minute reprieve. Then I’ll be back.”
Oh, for Pete’s sake.
I’ve taken worse hits than this on set. An early lesson learned that stunt people are worth twice their weight in gold.
Other than the small scratch on my cheek, I’m mostly fine. Harrison pulled me out before it could get worse.
No real damage done. Except now my sunglasses are missing. Along with my phone.
Which serves me right.
I replay it in my head like repetition might rewrite the outcome. One post. That’s all it was supposed to be. A quick proof-of-life shot meant for family and the handful of close friends.
But apparently, I hit the wrong button.
And just like that, he’s gone.
Harrison carved this beautiful, perfect day for me, and I ruined it.
The guilt doesn’t hit once. It comes in restless waves. Almost as frequently as Gabe does.
He reappears with an armful of bottled water and lines them up on the nightstand like I’ve been admitted to the ICU. How long does he think I’ll be here?
“I can walk, Gabe.”
He ignores me completely and tugs the blanket higher, tucking it around my shoulders like I’m a kid with the flu.
“Gabe,” I say flatly.
“Yeah, sis.”
“I’m good.”
His smile widens. “Good enough for visitors?”
I sit up. “Visitors?”
Before I can check a mirror or fix my hair, Gabe hollers, “Come on in.”
A second later, a small human missile launches itself onto the bed.
“Are you okay?” Snooki asks, frowning as she squeezes my neck like I’m a long-lost woobie.
“I am now.”
Connor and Ollie trail in behind her. Ollie’s carrying a bouquet so big, I can barely see his head. Connor holds up a paper bag.
“Dad said you like pretzels.”
My hand flies to my heart. “I love pretzels.”
Ollie immediately shoves the flowers into my face. “I brought you flowers.”
“We brought you flowers,” Connor corrects.
The tender moment lasts exactly three seconds before it dissolves into bickering over who gets to sit closest to me.
A sharp whistle cuts through the air.
Harrison stands in the doorway, blue flannel sleeves pushed up, filling the frame in a way that makes my chest do something stupid and soft all at once.
“What did I say?” he asks evenly, full dad mode, hands on his hips.
“Behave,” they chant in practiced harmony, clearly well trained.
I press my lips together, smiling so hard it almost hurts.
I pat the bed, indicating where they can sit. “Connor on this side. Ollie over here. And you,” I say, pulling Snooki tighter into my lap, “you stay right here where I can keep an eye on you.”
She giggles, and they all crowd in around me. All except Harrison.
He lifts a hand in a shy wave. “Dinner’s ready when you are. No rush.”
“What are we having?”
“Pizza,” they yell, loud enough to take out an eardrum.
I stare at all three of them, as a swarm of butterflies erupts in my chest.
When I look back up, Harrison is gone.
But he brought the kids. And flowers. And pizza. The man couldn’t be more perfect unless I dipped him in chocolate.
Guilt creeps in. The perfect day I botched. The fact that I’m leaving.
I kick it all under the rug and focus on Snooki and the book she brought with her. An Angelina Ballerina book.
“I feel better when someone reads to me,” she announces, pulling it from the purple book bag I made to match her dress. She peels the unicorn from the front and swaps it for another panel.
Depending on the story, she can choose a crown. A cape. A dragon. And, of course, ballerina slippers. She picks that one, then tucks the unicorn back into the pocket for safekeeping.
I’m still working on the one I promised her. Another day on the butterfly fairy. That’s my real gift. A world of fairy tales and happily ever afters right at her fingertips. And I want to get the wings just right.
She opens the book and settles into my side like a tiny mother hen.
“Me next.” Ollie produces a comic book. I’m pretty sure he should’ve finished it by now, but a flattened Fruit Roll-Up wrapper marks the exact spot where we left off.
“Is that the PX-80 with Super Quantum Core and Turbo Boost?” Connor breathes, awestruck.
He’s staring at the brand-new, still-unopened gaming system tucked against the wall.
My heart tightens just a little.
It was supposed to be a farewell gift. Something they could all play together.
So they wouldn’t forget me. When I leave…
“Where did you get it?” Connor asks, eyes still locked on the box. “They don’t release these for another month.”
I don’t tell him the manufacturer practically tripped over themselves when they heard Princess Luna might be part of a future character lineup. They sent me five. This one was at Gabe’s.
I just shrug. “A friend.” I nudge him with my elbow. “Think you can get it ready for us? I believe we’ve got some zombie butt-kicking to do after dinner.”
“Yes!” He fist-pumps the air.
Snooki reads aloud, even though she’s clearly memorized every word.
Ollie slumps closer to me and secretly flips ahead to see what happens to the Hulk.
Connor tears into boxes, focused and determined to get it assembled without help.
I pretend to listen intently, nodding at the right places, but my thoughts drift to Harrison.
Snooki turns the page, and a small drawing slips from the book.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“That’s our mommy,” she says, pointing to a woman with long hair.
My eyes burn when I notice the wings. The halo. I feel the boys’ eyes on me as I smile through it. “She’s beautiful.”
Then I see the name written carefully at the bottom.
Cecile.
I pull the kids a little closer just as a voice breaks the quiet.
I look up. Harrison leans against the doorframe. Our eyes meet.
“Hi,” he whispers.
“Hi,” I whisper back.
It feels like the beginning of something I already know will break me.