Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Santos
Somehow, I’m not surprised that she brings up the stars and how beautifully she tells me that it’ll all be fine.
I pat the side of the bed, my arm open in invitation, hoping she’ll crawl in next to me. I need to feel her there—her head resting on my shoulder, her breath soft against my neck. “I missed you,” I murmur, my voice low and filled with something deeper than just words.
“You did, huh?” she teases, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
Carefully, she climbs onto the bed, mindful not to disturb the IV or the mess of tubes and wires.
Her movements are gentle, deliberate, as she nestles against me, her body fitting perfectly into the space beside mine, like it used to be, like it always should do.
My leg, still wrapped tight from surgery, lies on the opposite side, and for the first time since everything happened, I don’t feel quite as broken.
I glance around the room and notice the empty chair. “Where the fuck did Dusty go?” I ask, realizing he slipped out while we were talking.
She sighs, her fingers tracing small circles on my chest. “He better not be doing anything stupid.” There’s a tiredness in her voice, the kind that comes from worrying too much about the people you care about. She shakes her head, resting it on my shoulder. “I worry about him. I worry about you.”
I kiss the top of her head, inhaling the familiar scent of her hair, letting it ground me. “Have a little faith in him,” I whisper.
“Easy for you to say,” she replies, her voice soft but edged with concern. “You didn’t see him last night. He was trembling, losing it . . . I’ve never seen him like that.”
“No, but I’ve seen him on other nights,” I say quietly, my hand running through her hair. “When I’m driving him to rehab, hoping this time it’ll stick. Hoping . . . he finds a reason to live.”
Her body stiffens slightly, and she sighs. “But it doesn’t stick, does it?”
I pull her closer, my arm wrapping around her as she buries herself deeper into me. There’s a warmth there, a comfort I didn’t realize how much I’d been missing until this very moment. “I missed this,” I whisper, my lips brushing the top of her head. “Us.”
She closes her eyes, letting herself sink into the moment. “I missed your heartbeat,” she whispers back, her voice barely audible, as if confessing something fragile, something only we could understand. “He should be here, you know. I hate when he thinks he’s a third wheel, and not our third soul.”
“He’s probably giving me some alone time with you,” I say, trying to lighten the air between us. “It’s been years since I’ve been this close to you. He’s already had his Halsey time.”
Halsey flinches, her expression shifting as she looks down. “It was mostly talking, him convincing me to come with him. There were no cuddles or . . .” Her voice trails off, her gaze drifting toward the closed door, as if expecting Dustin to walk back in any moment.
It’s strange to hear this, he didn’t even ask for a kiss? That’s so unlike him, but then again . . . “He probably thinks he doesn’t deserve them—cuddles or kisses or . . . any form of affection,” I mutter, knowing all too well the way Dustin thinks.
That man has a skewed definition of what he deserves, like love is something you have to be deserving of or be enough.
And I haven’t exactly done much over the years to convince him otherwise, to show him that he’s worthy of love—our love.
It’s not like I’ve been a prick, but I have us in the fucking closet.
I want to say he does deserve it, but the truth is, with my actions, I haven’t been very convincing. Not to him. Not even to myself.
My gaze falls on Halsey, and for a moment, all I can see is her hazel eyes, shimmering.
Today, the brown freckles in them seem to glow like pieces of gold, tiny stars scattered across an endless sky.
Each time I look at her, it feels like I’m seeing her for the first time—really seeing her, in ways I forgot were possible.
“How long are you staying?” I ask gently, not wanting to push her, but needing to know where we stand.
She shrugs, uncertain. “Hals, I don’t want to impose, or anything. I’ll take these five minutes with you. They’re plenty, more than enough. I get it, you have a life, and things with us are—”
“Things with us were perfect until our parents, mainly mine, destroyed everything,” she cuts in, her voice hardening. “Dr. Aldridge offered me a job in Baker’s Creek, and even though I want to say yes, I’m not sure how things will look after.”
“You don’t have to uproot your life for me—”
“Can I finish talking, please?” she interrupts again, but this time, she softens, pressing a gentle kiss to my cheek.
I raise my hands in surrender. “I’ll be quiet.”
“As I was saying,” she continues, “your recovery will take six to nine months—a year, tops.” She pauses, and I can feel the tension rise in my chest. That time frame doesn’t sit well with me.
I want this fixed by the end of the month, not next year.
But I bite back the frustration, keeping my mouth shut as promised.
“If I move to Baker’s Creek and you come back to Portland . . . what’s going to happen to us? Dusty lives in Los Angeles.” Her voice dips, revealing the worry beneath her calm. “Long-distance relationships aren’t ideal.”
“I’ll be traveling with the team,” I remind her, trying to offer some reassurance.
“Yes, but wouldn’t it be easier if you came home and we’re there?
Versus seeing us maybe on the weekends? A four-hour drive is out of the question, especially during winter.
” Her words are laced with practicality, the kind that cuts through all the romantic notions with sharp, undeniable truth. “And then, there’s Dusty.”
“Dusty owns his time. He’d make it work,” I say, knowing he would. But then it hits me. “You’ve been thinking a lot.”
“Of course I have,” she replies, her voice soft but sure.
“What if this—us—doesn’t work?” I say, because she seems to believe that even after all this time things between us can still happen.
She pauses, her fingers lightly tapping against my chest, as if syncing her touch with the rhythm of my heartbeat. “Sure, we don’t know each other right now, not really. But there’s love. And that’s a start. We’ll make this work.”
Her optimism should reassure me, but there’s a heaviness in my heart that won’t lift. “You say that now,” I murmur, “but there’s a lot going on between Dustin and me. I can’t just suddenly come out of the closet. It’s . . .”
“I know. You have to work on that. He doesn’t deserve to be hidden, and neither do I. If and when we decide to really be together, it’s the three of us. And you’ll have to be ready to accept it in front of everyone.”
I swallow hard, reality hitting me full force. “People might judge you for being with two men.”
She shrugs. “They’ll probably be jealous that I’m loved by two incredible men. Two men who protect me, who care for me, who I love back with every part of me. Let them judge. I have something real, something rare, and not everyone gets that.”
Her words hit me like a wave, pulling me under and giving me breath all at once.
She’s right. This love—our love—can’t be confined to what the world expects, or neatly wrapped in some perfect package.
It’s messy, complicated, flawed in ways that might never be fixed.
But it’s ours. And for the first time in years, I let myself believe that maybe that’s enough. That we’re enough.
I reach out slowly, my hand trembling slightly as my thumb brushes her chin. Her skin is soft, warm, familiar in a way that feels both comforting and terrifying all at once. I tilt her chin upward, gently guiding her to meet my gaze.
Her eyes—those hazel eyes I’ve memorized down to the last freckle—lock with mine, and in that moment, everything around us seems to fall away. The hospital room, the distant sounds of monitors beeping, even the uncertainty of the future—all of it fades into the background.
All that’s left is her.
My Halsey.
I lean in, closing the space between us, my breath hitching as I get closer.
Her lips are inches from mine, and suddenly, the years of distance, of hesitation, of longing, collapse like a dam breaking.
I’ve imagined this moment countless times, but nothing could’ve prepared me for the flood of emotions that surge through me now.
I kiss her.
Softly at first, almost afraid that if I push too hard, this fragile thing between us might break.
But the moment our lips meet, it’s like a spark ignites—a warmth that spreads through my entire body, a fire that’s been smoldering for too long.
Her lips respond, tentative at first, but then with a hunger that matches my own, as if she’s been waiting for this just as much as I have.
My hand slides up, cradling her face, pulling her closer as the kiss deepens. Years of distance melt away, and all the uncertainty, all the fear, vanishes in the heat of this moment.
It’s like coming home, like finding something I didn’t even realize I’d lost. Her fingers grip the fabric of my shirt, pulling me closer, and for a second, the whole world feels like it’s right here—between us, in this kiss.
It’s overwhelming, dizzying, but at the same time, it feels like the most natural thing in the world. As natural as breathing, as loving her. My heart pounds in my chest, like it’s trying to catch up to the moment, to everything I’ve been holding back.
I missed this.
I missed her.
I missed us.
And right now, it feels like nothing else matters—like, in this kiss, we’ve found something real. Something worth fighting for. Something that’s been there all along, waiting for us to find our way back.
When we finally pull apart, we’re both breathless, our foreheads resting together. I can still feel the ghost of her lips on mine, like a promise. Her eyes flutter open, and I see something in them that mirrors what I’m feeling—relief, hope, and perhaps a future we could share.
“I missed you,” I whisper, my voice raw with emotion, barely able to contain everything swirling inside me.
She smiles, her lips still close enough that I can feel the warmth of her breath. “I missed you too. More than you know.” Then, she glances around. “He’s still not here.”
“He’s probably battling a demon or two before he comes back and realizes that he belongs with us,” I say.
That’s always been the thing with Dusty—he’s never really understood that he didn’t have to force his way into our world.
He doesn’t get that we’ve been waiting for him, even before any of us knew it.
It was always supposed to be the three of us.
We just hadn’t figured it out until he came into our lives.
Halsey’s quiet for a moment, her eyes searching mine, and then she asks, almost hesitantly, “Can we make this work?” And it’s strange, the roles reversed—me being the one who has to offer reassurance, to promise something that feels so uncertain.
But I don’t hesitate. I lean in, pressing my forehead against hers, grounding us both in the moment.
“Of course we can,” I tell her, the conviction in my voice stronger than I expected.
“It’s going to be hard. We’ll have to fight for it, every day, but us .
. . we’re going to happen. It’s going to be forever. ”
I just know, I can feel it in my gut that we’re not going to let each other go this time. Not again.
She closes her eyes for a moment, as if letting herself believe it too. And when she opens them again, there’s a flicker of hope, small but real. We both know it’s not going to be easy. We’re stepping into something bigger than either of us, something that could break us if we let it.