Chapter 18 #2
“How can you say that?” I finally looked at him. “I’m a nurse, Xavier. I’m trained to assess emergencies. To recognize when someone needs immediate help. And I failed. Completely. She called six times, and I kept saying tomorrow.”
Xavier wrote fast, underlined words for emphasis.
Depression is complex. You couldn’t have known. She hid how bad it was. You’re not responsible for her choice.
Rational. Logical. Everything the grief counselor had said after Emma’s funeral.
It didn’t help then. It didn’t help now.
“My dad blamed me.” The words came out flat. “Said Emma called me. That I was supposed to be there for her. He was right.”
“Wrong.” The rasp was stronger this time, forcing the single word past whatever damage kept him mostly silent.
He wrote furiously: He was grieving. And wrong.
“He hasn’t spoken to me in four years. I left Boston six months after she died because I couldn’t work at that hospital anymore.
Every double shift reminded me that I chose work over my sister.
That I made her wait.” I pressed my fist against my chest. “So now I don’t make people wait.
Ever. I show up. Immediately. Because what if this is the time they can’t hold on?
What if I think I have time and I don’t? ”
Xavier’s hand cupped my face. Turned me to look at him.
His eyes were fierce. Certain.
He wrote: You’re not failing me.
“You don’t know that.” I pulled away from his touch. “I thought I had time with Emma. I was wrong. What if I’m wrong about you? What if you need Maeve and I’m keeping you from her? What if she’s your wife, your girlfriend, someone important, and my presence is making everything worse?”
“Don’t... remember.” Each word came out strained, his throat working between them.
“But you might. Your memories are coming back. What if you remember her and realize...” I couldn’t finish.
Realize I was a mistake. A distraction. Someone who didn’t matter.
Xavier grabbed the notepad. Wrote furiously.
I don’t care who Maeve is. Or was. I remember YOU. I choose YOU. Right now. That’s what matters.
“You can’t promise that.”
“Just did.” The rasp was getting stronger, more confident, even if the words came slowly.
“No.” I stood. Paced to the window. Stared at my reflection in the frost-covered glass. “You can’t promise anything because you don’t remember. Maeve could be your wife. Your fiancée. The love of your life. And I’m just... temporary. The nurse who happened to be there when you needed help.”
The notepad hit the bed. Xavier stood. Crossed to me in three long strides.
He spun me around. His hands gripped my shoulders. Not rough, but firm. Demanding my attention.
His mouth moved. Formed words. Some sounds came out. Fragments, broken syllables that didn’t quite connect.
Frustration flashed across his face. He grabbed my hand. Pressed it against his chest. Over his heart.
The beat thundered under my palm.
His other hand came up. Cupped my face. His thumb traced my cheekbone with devastating gentleness.
His eyes said everything his voice couldn’t.
You. Not temporary. Not just the nurse. You.
“I want to believe that.” My voice broke. “But I trusted my judgment with Emma. Thought I knew what she needed, how much time I had. I was wrong. She died because I was wrong.” Tears burned behind my eyes. “How can I trust myself with you when my judgment killed my sister?”
Xavier’s jaw clenched. He released me. Grabbed the notepad again. Wrote three words. Turned it toward me.
You’re wrong again.
“What?”
He wrote more, fast and furious.
Your judgment didn’t kill Emma. Depression killed Emma.
Her choice killed Emma. You were 25, working yourself to death, trying to survive.
You couldn’t have known. You couldn’t have saved her even if you’d dropped everything and gone to her that night.
Sometimes people are too far gone and all the love in the world can’t pull them back.
The words blurred through tears.
You didn’t fail her. You failed to be psychic. There’s a difference.
“It doesn’t feel different.”
“Know.” Just one word, rough and broken.
He wrote more.
But I’m not Emma. I’m not hiding how bad it is. You can see my symptoms. Track my decline. You’ll know if I’m running out of time. You won’t have to guess.
“What if I miss something? What if the seizures get worse and I don’t react fast enough? What if...”
Xavier grabbed my wrist. Gentle but firm. Made me look at him.
His eyes held mine. Steady. Sure.
He took a breath. Forced out three words, each one costing him. “I... trust... you.”
My throat closed completely.
“I don’t know if I trust myself.”
He wrote: Then trust me trusting you.
The logic was circular. Ridiculous.
It also made a terrible kind of sense.
Xavier set down the notepad. Pulled me into his arms. His chin rested on top of my head. His heartbeat steady against my ear.
We stood like that. Silent. Connected.
“I’m still scared,” I whispered against his chest.
He squeezed me tighter. I felt him nod.
“I don’t know who Maeve is. Don’t know what she meant to you. If your memories come back and everything changes...”
His hand slid up. Threaded through my hair. Tilted my face up.
His eyes were fierce. Absolute.
“Won’t... change.” The words were barely audible, scraped raw from his throat.
“You can’t know that.”
“Can.” Definitive. No room for argument despite the damaged rasp.
“How?”
His thumb traced my lower lip. His gaze dropped to my mouth. Heat flickered in those green eyes. Want mixed with something deeper. Something that made my breath seize.
He leaned down slowly. Giving me time to pull away.
I didn’t.
His lips brushed mine. Soft. Questioning. Different from this morning’s possessive claiming or last night’s desperate frenzy.
This was a promise. Sealed without words because words had failed him.
I kissed him back. Let myself fall into it. Let the fear recede for just a moment.
When we finally pulled apart, my hands were fisted in his shirt. His forehead rested against mine. Both of us breathing hard.
“I need time to think.”
Pain flickered across his face. But he nodded.
He reached for the notepad. Wrote: How much time?
“I don’t know.” I stepped back. His hands fell away. “I... I need to process this. All of it. Emma, Maeve, the fact that you’re dying and I might not be strong enough to watch it happen.”
“Are.” One word. Absolute certainty in that broken rasp.
“You don’t know that.”
“Do.” Just as certain.
“I’m going to take a walk. Clear my head. I’ll be back.”
Xavier’s jaw tightened. He wrote: It’s dark. Cold. Not safe.
“I’ll stay on the grounds. Won’t go far.” I grabbed my coat from the chair. “I just need... space. To breathe. To think.”
He looked like he wanted to argue. His hand reached for the notepad again.
Then stopped.
His shoulders sagged slightly. Defeat in the line of his spine.
He nodded. Stepped aside.
I walked past him. Felt his eyes tracking every movement.
My hand was on the doorknob when I heard the rasp behind me.
“Clare.”
Just my name. Broken. Raw.
I didn’t turn around. Couldn’t.
If I looked at him now, at the hurt and confusion I knew would be written all over his face, I’d break. I’d take it all back. Stay. Pretend the fear wasn’t there.
We didn’t have time for pretending.
I opened the door. Stepped into the hallway.
The temperature dropped immediately. The heating barely reached up here. My breath fogged in the dim light from the bare bulb overhead.
I closed the door behind me. Leaned against it for a moment. Listened.
No sound from inside. No footsteps. No attempts to follow.
He was giving me the space I’d asked for.
Even though it was clearly killing him.
I pushed off the door. Walked down the narrow hallway toward the stairs.
The old boards creaked under my feet. Each sound felt too loud in the silence. Accusatory.
Running again, Clare?
Emma’s voice drifted through my head.
“I’m not running. I’m thinking.”
You thought with Emma. Thought you had time. Look how that turned out.
“Shut up,” I whispered to the empty hallway.
But the voice didn’t stop. It never did.
What if you’re wrong again? What if this is the moment he needs you and you’re walking away?
My steps slowed. I looked back toward our room.
The door remained closed. No light visible underneath.
He wasn’t following.
Because I’d asked him not to.
Because he trusted me to come back.
Do you deserve that trust?
I didn’t have an answer.
I turned back toward the stairs. Kept walking.
The cold bit through my coat the moment I stepped outside. Frost crunched under my boots. The moon hung low and full, turning the grounds into something alien and beautiful.
I walked without direction. Just moved. Breathed. Let the freezing air burn my lungs.
Maeve.
The name circled in my head like a taunt.
Who was she? Wife? Girlfriend? Sister? Friend?
Did it matter?
Yes. No. Maybe.
I didn’t know anymore.
But I was going to find out.