Chapter Forty Seven
Second Chances
Jameson Bishop
I come back slowly.
Not all at once, just pieces. Warmth first. Then weight. Then the soft, steady rhythm of someone breathing against my chest.
I open my eyes.
Rachel is curled against me in the hospital bed, her head tucked under my chin, her hand resting lightly over my heart like she’s keeping it going by touch alone. She’s asleep. Her hair brushes my jaw every time she exhales.
Gemma is in a chair in the corner, arms crossed, eyes half-closed, looking like she fought a war and won. She notices me waking and lifts her chin.
“Anyone who tried to make her leave,” she whispers, “I threatened to remove their kneecaps.”
I huff out a breath that might be a laugh. Might be a sob. Hard to tell.
Rachel shifts slightly, pressing closer, and something inside me cracks open.
She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t want to be here. Not after everything.
I swallow hard. “Gemma… if she wakes up and wants space-”
Gemma cuts me off with a look. “Don’t be stupid.”
But I can’t help it.
I look down at Rachel, her face soft, peaceful, trusting, and the guilt hits me like a wave.
“I understand if she doesn’t want me,” I whisper. “I’m older. I can’t give her children. I can’t give her the life she deserves.”
Gemma stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Jameson Bishop, you absolute idiot.”
Rachel stirs.
Her eyelashes flutter. Her fingers tighten slightly on my chest. She lifts her head just enough to look at me, still groggy, still hurting, but awake.
“What,” she murmurs, voice rough, “are you talking about?”
I freeze.
She shifts again, wincing, but she doesn’t pull away. She stays close, her hand still over my heart.
“You think I don’t want you?” she whispers.
I swallow. “I can’t give you children. And I’m Rachel, I’m older. You deserve-”
She cuts me off with a soft, tired laugh.
“Bishop… I can’t have children.”
The words hit me like a shock.
She reaches up, brushing her fingers against my jaw, gentle, hesitant.
“And I don’t care about your age,” she says. “I don’t care about any of that.”
Her voice thickens, trembling but sure.
“I only want you.”
My breath catches.
She leans her forehead against mine, eyes closing for a moment, her hand sliding to my cheek.
“You,” she whispers. “Just you.”
Gemma makes a small triumphant noise in the corner. “Finally.”
But I barely hear her.
Because Rachel is looking at me like I’m something worth staying alive for.
Something worth fighting for.
Something worth choosing.
And for the first time since the hallway, since the gunshot, since the darkness pulled at me…
I believe her.