Chapter 40
LEXI
Charleston glowed gold and glassy outside the SUV window, all sharp sunlight and long shadows stretching across the city. The world looked too normal for what had just happened. Street vendors still waved. Cars still honked. People still laughed.
I sat in the passenger seat, my shoulder throbbing under the bandage Lucas had wrapped himself. Every time the SUV hit a bump, I caught him flinch—like the pain was his instead of mine. He drove fast but controlled, one hand steady on the wheel, the other clenched against his thigh.
We didn’t talk at first. The silence was thick, full of all the things we didn’t need to say out loud.
Finally, he exhaled. “Ryker’s calling Atlas now. They’ll have you cleared at MUSC by the time we get there. Officer Norton’s making sure no one leaks your name. Private entrance, all of that.”
I turned toward him. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” he said, eyes fixed on the road. “You’re not a job. You’re—” He cut himself off, jaw flexing. “You’re everything.”
The words hit like a punch and a balm at the same time.
He went on, quieter now. “When I saw that asshole touch you, when I saw that gun pointed at you … I swear, Lexi, something in me broke. I’ve been in firefights, ambushes, hell itself—but nothing hit me like that did. I wanted to rip him apart with my bare hands.”
“You didn’t,” I said softly.
“I didn’t because Noah took the shot. And maybe I needed you to see me as something more than a weapon.” He glanced at me, eyes burning with something raw. “But make no mistake—I would burn the world down for you.”
My throat tightened. “Lucas …”
“I mean it.” He gripped the steering wheel harder. “If someone ever comes for you again, I won’t stop at the edges of what’s reasonable. I’ll tear down everything in my path. That’s what you do to me. That’s what your love does to me.”
I didn’t tell him not to say it. I couldn’t. Because I felt the same.
“When he had me,” I said quietly, “when I thought it was over … I wasn’t scared of dying. I was scared of losing what we haven’t even gotten to live yet. You and me. Ordinary things that don’t feel ordinary when they’re with you.”
His mouth twitched into something soft and dangerous. “You were thinking about me while you were fighting for your life?”
“I was thinking about us,” I said. “About wanting a life that doesn’t end with a headline.”
That pulled a rough laugh from him. He reached across the console, found my hand, and threaded his fingers through mine. His palm was warm and solid, grounding me in a way nothing else could.
“When I heard you,” I said, “when you yelled for him to drop the gun—I’ve never felt anything like that. It was like I could breathe again. I thought, He came for me.”
He looked over, eyes dark and steady. “Of course, I came for you. I’ll always come for you.”
We were at a red light, sunlight cutting in clean through the windshield, bathing him in gold. His face looked carved from something ancient—strong lines, tight control, and beneath it all, fierce tenderness he’d never admit out loud.
He cupped my face, thumb tracing the edge of my jaw. “You scared me half to death, my love.”
“I scared myself.”
“Don’t do it again.”
“I’ll try not to get abducted on a film set,” I said, smiling weakly.
He leaned in, kissing me hard enough that the world went quiet again. It wasn’t about passion, not exactly—it was about proof. Proof that we were alive, that the worst was behind us, that love could survive even this.
When we finally pulled apart, he murmured, “We should get inside.”
“Yeah.”
The Medical University of South Carolina came into view a few minutes later, white against the blue sky, a steady stream of doctors and nurses moving across the courtyard. Lucas pulled around to the back entrance where Ryker waited, sunglasses on, calm as if this was just another day.
He opened my door. “You’re under Lydia Morrow.
Norton made it stick. No press, no photos.
Your sister’s on the eighth floor.” He handed me a navy hoodie and a baseball cap—plain, nondescript.
“Put these on,” he said. “Cover your hair, pull the hood up. Keeps your face out of cameras and prying eyes.”
“Thanks, man,” Lucas said, clapping his brother’s shoulder.
Ryker nodded. “Glad you made it in time.” Then to me, softer: “You look like hell.”
I laughed. “Feels about right.”
Atlas met us just inside the hospital. “Security’s tight. Norton’s got two men posted on the floor. Hannah’s stable, resting. The doc says she’s talking.”
I swallowed hard. “I need to see her.”
“Go ahead,” Atlas said. “We’ll keep the vultures out.”
The hallway smelled faintly of antiseptic and lemon polish, too clean for everything we’d just been through. My shoes squeaked against the tile as Lucas guided me forward with a hand on the small of my back.
When we reached the room, my breath hitched. Hannah lay against crisp white sheets, a bruise darkening her jaw, her arm bandaged and tethered to an IV. Her hair was messy, her lips pale—but she was breathing.
She turned her head when I entered. “Well,” she rasped, “next time I try to kill myself, I’ll pick a higher window.”
“Hannah.” My voice broke. I crossed the room and grabbed her hand. “Don’t even joke about that.”
She blinked slowly, the faintest flicker of guilt crossing her features. “Too soon?”
“Way too soon.”
Her eyes softened. “I’m sorry, Lexi.”
Tears stung, hot and sudden. “You scared me. You scared everyone.”
She looked past me to Lucas, then back again. “What they say is true, you know. When people try to kill themselves—right after they jump—they regret it. I did. I regretted it all.”
I squeezed her hand tighter. “Then you’re going to make it right. Okay? You’re going to live.”
She nodded slowly.
Lucas moved closer, silent, protective. “Hannah,” he said quietly, “we need to know what happened. About Hank.”
She shut her eyes, breathing shallow, a faint wince tugging at her mouth as if the movement cost her.
Her fingers flexed around the sheet. A bruise along her temple showed as she turned her head and her voice came out brittle.
“I met him at a party in L.A. One of those movie industry things. I was drunk, he was charming. We slept together. I complained. Then he started talking about you—how easy it would be to get your attention, to make you see what your life had cost. I didn’t think it would turn into this. ”
“Hannah …” My chest ached. “You could’ve told me how you felt. You didn’t have to do any of this.”
“I just wanted you to slow down,” she said. “To see that all the flashing lights and applause weren’t free. That they cost me, too. I thought maybe if you saw that, you’d choose something smaller. Something normal.”
I brushed a tear off her cheek. “There’s no normal without you in it.”
For a while, she didn’t answer. Then: “The doctor says I should go to an inpatient program. Outside Atlanta. Six to eight weeks, at least.”
“That’s good,” I said softly. “That’s brave.”
“I think so, too. Maybe I’ll finally deal with all this … stuff.”
Lucas nodded. “We’ll visit.”
Her gaze shifted between us. “Both of you?”
“Both of us,” I said.
She smiled faintly, exhaustion softening her edges. “Don’t tell Mom yet. She’ll fly out here and camp in the waiting room. You know how she is. Not helpful.”
“I won’t. Not until you’re ready.”
The nurse came in then, checking her vitals, adjusting the drip. Hannah’s eyes fluttered closed, her voice barely a whisper. “Thank you … for not giving up on me.”
I bent down and kissed her forehead.
When I pulled back, her gaze found mine again, softer now. “And thank you,” she murmured, “for not being mad at me.”
“I am mad,” I said quietly. “So mad I don’t even know where to start. But this isn’t the time for that. Right now, I’m just glad you’re alive.”
She nodded faintly, the motion slow and tired. The nurse gave me a look, one that was equal parts understanding and directive.
“You should get that shoulder looked at,” she said, gesturing to the blood seeping through my bandage.
“I’m fine,” I started, but she was already reaching for her clipboard.
“I’ll have someone check it, anyway.” She leaned closer, examining the wound with a practiced glance. “Looks like a graze—lucky. I’ll send someone to clean it properly and redress it … Miss Morrow. Sit tight.”
“See?” Hannah said weakly, her lips quirking. “Still taking care of everyone else.”
I squeezed her hand again, forcing a smile through the ache. “That’s what sisters do.”
When my shoulder was cleaned and bandaged and we stepped back into the hallway, the air felt easier somehow—like the storm had finally passed.
Lucas slid his hand around my waist as we walked toward the elevators. “You okay?”
I nodded. “Better now.”
“Good,” he said, his voice low. “Because I don’t think I can go another hour without touching you. My hands need your hips.”
A laugh escaped me, startled and real. “Lucas, we’re in a hospital.”
He arched a brow. “And?”
“And it’s wildly inappropriate.”
He leaned close, his breath warm at my ear. “You being alive is wildly inappropriate to my self-control.”
I bit my lip, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. “Is it wrong that I’m actually turned on right now?”
He grinned, dark and beautiful. “It’s very wrong.”
“But you like it.”
“I love it.”
He brushed his lips against mine, quick and dangerous, before stepping back. “Come on, my love. Let’s get you home before I forget where we are.”
I smiled through the ache in my shoulder, through the exhaustion and grief and everything else. “Home,” I repeated quietly.
He hesitated, his expression softening. “They offered me a suite at Dominion Hall,” he said. “Close to Caleb, Jacob, and Ethan. I went ahead and said yes. They told me it doesn’t have to be my only place—just one I can always count on. Somewhere safe. For you, too.”
A warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the hospital heat. Dominion Hall. The place that had saved us both, in more ways than one.
“Then that’s home,” I said. “For us.”
He smiled, brushing his thumb over my jaw. And somehow, after it all—after the blood and the fear and the heartbreak—I still had this. Him.
And that was everything.