Chapter 7
TINY
The bathroom’s still wet when I carry Syvannah to her room.
The smell of bleach, sweat, and faint metal clings to us.
Her skin is cold against my chest, damp and trembling, her body too light in my arms. She’s half-conscious, mumbling fragments that don’t make sense, her breath shallow but steady enough to keep me from breaking.
I lower her onto the bed and pull the blanket over her, tucking it beneath her chin like I’m afraid the air itself might hurt her. She flinches even in sleep. The soft, broken sounds she makes lodge deep in my ribs.
The clock ticks. The world outside keeps turning, but I stay right here.
Peanut curls up on the bed near Syvannah’s hand, purring low, a sound that anchors the silence.
Every few minutes, Syvannah whimpers. Dreams or withdrawals, I can’t tell.
Her skin is slick with sweat. Her lips part as if she’s trying to say something, but no sound comes.
I grab a damp cloth, wipe her forehead, and whisper things I don’t even believe anymore. “You’re okay. You’re safe. You’re not alone.”
The words feel empty, but I keep saying them because I need them to be true.
Her body jerks hard, her breath catching, then eases again.
The tremors slow, then start up again. Every shake reminds me how close I came to losing her and how useless I’d be if I did.
I’ve seen men detox in worse states, brothers coming off adrenaline and painkillers.
But this feels different. With them, the fight stays in their eyes.
With her, it’s like the fight’s been burning too long.
Every hour feels like a year.
At some point, I realize dawn’s bleeding through the blinds. My coffee’s cold, my neck’s stiff, and I can’t feel my right leg, but I don’t move. If I do, she might wake up and realize I’ve been here, and I’m not sure what that’ll mean for either of us.
The door creaks sometime after dawn. I haven’t slept a wink, just stayed by Syvannah’s side, watching her, making sure she makes it through the night.
Capone’s shadow fills the hallway before he steps inside, the smell of cigarette smoke and stale coffee trailing him like a second skin.
He doesn’t say anything at first. He just stands in the doorway, jaw working, watching the rise and fall of Syvannah’s chest beneath the blanket.
He takes one look at her, then one at me, and I can see it in his face.
Anger first, then pity, then the heavy disappointment that doesn’t need words.
“How bad?” His voice is low, rough around the edges.
“She’s stable now.” I swallow hard. “Barely.”
He nods once, eyes still on her. The muscle in his cheek jumps. “Pearl?”
“Yeah.” My jaw tightens. “She’s gone. Won’t make that mistake twice.”
Capone exhales through his nose, rubbing a hand down his face. “Jesus, Tiny. You can’t save everyone.”
I stare at Syvannah’s wrist. Her pulse fluttering weak under my thumb. “Wasn’t trying to save her,” I answer quietly. “Just trying not to lose her.”
He looks at me hard. “That’s the same thing.” He takes a step closer, his boots creaking on the floorboards. His voice drops, heavy as steel. “And it’s how men like us end up buried.”
I glance up, jaw tight. “She’s not just another rescue.”
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.” There’s no bite to it anymore, just the truth that hurts more than a punch. Capone’s voice drops, low and heavy. “Don’t lose your edge for love. The second you hesitate out there, someone bleeds for it.”
The words land like a knife to the gut. I look down at her again, at the bruises on her arms, the faint tremor in her fingers, the softness in her face that the world keeps trying to steal.
“I’m already hesitating,” I admit, barely above a whisper.
Capone studies me for another moment, long enough for the silence to sting, then sighs. “I get it. She’s different, but we’re not. And this world doesn’t care why you hesitate.”
He leaves before I can say anything, boots echoing down the hall. The door stays cracked, the silence thicker than before.
For a while, it’s just me and the ticking clock again. I let the words sit heavy, like lead in my stomach. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m softening. Maybe the part of me that should’ve burned out years ago just found a reason to keep breathing.
A soft knock breaks the quiet. Blayze leans against the frame, coffee mug in hand, and his eyes still fogged from lack of sleep.
He doesn’t look like the Vice President right now, just another man who’s seen too much and still finds a way to smile through it.
He’s watching me like he already knows the story.
“Prez giving the speech again?” He asks, voice low, almost amused.
“Yeah.” I rake a hand through my hair. “Same one. Different day.”
“He’s not wrong, you know.”
“I know.”
Blayze steps closer and sits on the floor across from me. “But he’s not right either.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That so?”
He nods, resting his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like he’s remembering something he can’t say out loud.
“You spend enough years doing this,” Blayze says, “and you learn something. Sometimes the heart’s the only compass you’ve got. Ignore it long enough, and you lose direction.”
I huff out a tired laugh. “You sound like a damn philosopher.”
“Don’t tell Monica. She’ll start charging people for my advice.”
The corner of my mouth twitches. “You ever listen to your own compass?”
Blayze takes a long sip, sets the mug on the floor beside him.
“Every time I look at my Ol’ Lady,” he says quietly.
“Cost me half my sanity and all my peace, but it’s worth it.
” He glances at the bed, at Syvannah tangled in the sheets, then back at me.
“You got that same look I did when I first realized I was in trouble. When it stops being about saving someone and starts being about not living without them.”
I stare down at Syvannah’s small, pale hand against the blanket. Her fingers twitch, reaching for something even in sleep. I catch them before they fall back and hold on. “Then maybe I’m already too far gone.”
Blayze doesn’t argue. He just nods once, quiet understanding in his eyes. “Then do yourself a favor. If you’re gonna fall, don’t fight it halfway. Men like us only crash harder when we pretend we’re fine.”
I let out a breath, tired and hollow. “You always this poetic before breakfast?”
He grins faintly. “Only when I’m talking to you, brother.”
When he stands, he squeezes my shoulder once. A simple gesture, solid, wordless. Then he’s gone, the hallway door closing behind him with a soft click. When he leaves, the room feels smaller.
Syvannah stirs, a faint sound slipping past her lips. “Tiny…”
I move closer, heartbeat jumping. “Right here, baby girl.”
Her eyes flutter open, dazed, unfocused. She blinks, confusion flickering across her face. “What happened?”
“You had a bad night.”
“I don’t remember.”
“That’s probably for the best.”
She frowns, trying to sit up, and I press a hand gently to her shoulder. “Easy. You’re safe.”
Her gaze drifts to my hand covering hers. The rough skin, the grease stains that never really wash out. Her lips tremble. “You stayed.”
“Wasn’t going anywhere.”
Something softens in her eyes then, something that shouldn’t. “Thank you.”
I shake my head. “Don’t thank me. Just… stay here this time.”
She nods weakly, eyes closing again. “You smell like motor oil.”
I huff a small laugh. “Better than death.”
A ghost of a smile touches her mouth before sleep pulls her under again.
I sit here until her breathing steadies, until Peanut hops up on the bed and curls beside her, purring against her ribs.
Around us, everyone’s waking up, starting a new day. But I don’t move because for the first time in a long time, I’m more afraid of leaving than I am of what’s waiting out there.
And maybe Capone’s right. Maybe I have lost my edge. But looking at Syvanna alive and breathing, I can’t bring myself to give a damn.