Chapter 23 Annabelle #2
Derek leans forward, elbows on his knees, head bowed like he’s praying for the right words. His fingers rake through his hair before he looks up, eyes glassy but steady. “Please stay until Blake wakes up. He’s going to need you.”
“Then I’ll come back,” Misty whispers. “But right now, I’m falling apart. And I don’t want to do it here.”
I swallow hard. “You’re family, Misty. No matter where you are.”
A tear rolls down Misty’s cheek, but she doesn’t wipe it away. “I know. I still have to leave after the hearing. I’ll wait to testify,” Misty says, her voice low but firm. “But after that… I’m gone.”
Her fingers curl around the wheelchair’s armrest.
I want to argue, but I see it in her face. She’s already halfway gone.
“Please stay until Blake wakes up,” I whisper.
“If he wakes, I’ll come back,” she says.
Caroline checks her phone. She smiles, and her tone softens
“Let’s get you two uncuffed, at least.” She presses the nurse call button. “Emma posted bail. Pulled strings. It’s done.”
The cuffs click loose. My wrist tingles where the metal sat. Freedom smells like antiseptic and hope.
For a second, I can’t process the words. My mind trips over the shift—from locked down to free, from waiting for a war to walking out the door. Emma pulled this off? I didn’t even know I was still holding my breath until it finally breaks.
The cuffs fall away minutes later with a soft clink. But the sound is louder than it should be. Freedom tastes like rain-cooled air and sugar on the tongue.
I fall into Derek’s arms as soon as the IV’s disconnected.
“I thought I lost you,” he whispers, thumb brushing away the hair on my forehead.
The doctor hesitates, clearly not thrilled about releasing any of us.
Derek’s still healing from cracked ribs.
Misty’s had surgery. And I nearly drowned.
But Emma steps in with that unstoppable Silver authority and a credit card that could probably pay off the hospital’s roof repairs.
She’s already arranged for a full-time private nurse to monitor us at the farm—someone trained in post-op care and trauma observation.
Caroline, of course, pounces on the legal angle, citing bail terms, civil liability, and the fact that we’re not technically under arrest anymore. Within the hour, she’s fast-tracked the discharge paperwork with a speed I didn’t think was possible outside a hostage negotiation.
“You’ll be under close medical supervision,” the doctor warns, looking directly at Misty. “She needs help bathing, dressing, pain control—full post-surgical support.”
“We’ve got it covered,” Emma says. “The nurse already has hospital clearance. She’ll follow your instructions to the letter. We’re setting up a hospital bed in the Fields’ living room. Better for her arm. And no stairs.”
Misty raises a brow. “You planned all that already?”
“Of course,” Emma says. “You think I was going to let you convalesce in a jail cell or a hospital bed?”
The doctor finally nods. He scribbles something on his chart and exhales like we’re no longer his problem.
“Fine. Go. But rest. All of you.”
I lean against the polished linoleum wall, Derek at my side, both of us wrapped in borrowed coats. The nurse’s station buzzes behind us, overhead lights reflecting off the rain-soaked floor.
We walk the halls together, bruised, but leaning on each other. The air is too bright. Too clean. But we’re still breathing, even when we stop outside the ICU.
“I need to see Blake,” Derek says.
Misty doesn’t come with us. She’s already seen Blake.
Said her goodbye—just in case—when no one else was looking.
I don’t think she has the strength to do it again.
Eric’s waiting at the elevator with her wheelchair, one steady hand on the handle, the other offering quiet comfort she doesn’t resist. She meets my eyes as the doors close, and I swear I see the flicker of something breaking all over again.
The space hums with low monitors and the bus of things that matter too much to speak aloud.
Through the glass window, I see Blake. He’s pale and still.
A breathing tube is taped to his mouth, lifting his chest in a slow, mechanical rhythm.
Machines beep and hiss like they’re doing all the work for him. Because they are.
“Take your time.” I squeeze his hand, and the nurse pushes the door open.
We step into the room like it’s hallowed ground. My shoes feel too loud against the linoleum. The smell, sterile and sharp, reminds me of school days in San Francisco, wraps around my chest and squeezes. Every wire, every tube, is a thread holding him here.
Derek eases into the chair beside him, and takes his hand.
“Hey, kid,” he whispers. “You scared the hell out of me.”
His eyelids don’t flicker. His fingers don’t move. Just the hush of the ventilator and the soft thump of his heart on the monitor.
My gaze drops to their hands, tangled and still, and the guilt settles in like a bruise. None of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t run to San Francisco.
“I should’ve protected you. I should’ve seen what was coming,” Derek says.
I shake my head. “I’m the one who left Lords Valley. This wouldn’t have happened if I’d just stayed put.”
The words fall between us, small and broken, landing with no echo.
Derek turns my way, lifts from the chair, and takes my face between his hands. “No. This isn’t your fault. But from now on, we need to be smarter. Both of us.”
He sweeps the stray tear off my cheek, and I whisper, “Okay.”
He sits back down and presses his forehead to the back of Blake’s hand, breathing him in.
“You’re gonna come back from this. You hear me?” He whispers. “You’ve still got a race to beat me in. And a farm to run. A bakery to sneak fritters from when you think Annabelle’s not looking.”
His voice cracks.
“And I need you to forgive me.” He bows his head, pressing his forehead to Blake’s hand like it’s sacred. His shoulders shake—once, barely—as if he’s forcing the grief to stay inside.
I almost break.
“I’m not ready to lose you. So you stay. You fight. And when you wake up, I’ll be right here.” His voice is low and raw, like it’s costing him something to let the words go.
Then the monitor stutters. A single beep—off rhythm. Then another. Slightly quicker. Like something inside him’s shifting.
Derek lifts his head, kisses Blake’s knuckles, and we let the nurse guide us out.
Just as we turn, something shifts.
I hold my breath when Blake’s fingers twitch.
Derek stares. Waits.
Nothing.
The monitor beeps on like it always has, steady and detached. The nurse says it’s probably reflex. That sometimes the body remembers movement long after the mind forgets.
But I tuck that flicker into my chest anyway—like a secret I refuse to let go—for Derek.
Because sometimes, even a false spark is enough to keep hope burning.
In the hallway, I open my arms and let him fall into me this time. We walk out of the hospital—not whole, not steady, but still beating. One limp heartbeat at a time.
The rain has slowed to a lazy drizzle by the time we step outside. Caroline’s beside us, her keys jingling like punctuation marks. “Emma’s by the curb on the right. She insisted on driving you two. Didn’t want you coming home to silence.”
My wrist still tingles from the cuffs. I flex my fingers, trying to shake the phantom weight. “Feels weird to be free... And not drowning in cuffs or the river.”
Across the lot, Suzy’s engine hums low. Misty’s already inside, curled in the back seat with a blanket over her lap, her casted leg stretched out carefully.
She stares straight ahead, unmoving, like she’s run out of energy to pretend she’s okay.
Eric sits behind the wheel, hand resting on the gearshift but not in a rush to go anywhere.
Derek slips an arm around me. His voice is soft but firm. “Let’s make sure we never end up there again.”
The van is already waiting, warm air fogging up the windows. Inside, a tiny baby sleeps in a sea of fleece and knit blankets, his fists balled beneath his chin like he’s already dreaming of conquering the world.
Emma opens the door with a smirk. “Meet Frederick. Not in his birthday suit this time. Fred for short. Already bossing us around like a true Silver.”
I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips. I reach in and touch one curled foot through the blanket. “Hi, Fred. You’re beautiful. We’ve been waiting for you.”
“Just wait until he starts glaring like Caroline,” Emma says as she slides behind the wheel. “Right now, he’s summoning gods at 2 a.m. with that banshee cry of his.”
We sit in the very back. Baby Albert is buckled safely between me and Derek, surrounded by more padding than a NASCAR driver. Eric gives us a two-finger salute before pulling out behind us in Suzy.
It’s a thirty-minute drive back to Lords Valley, but instead of turning toward the farm, Emma takes a left across town.
“Where are we going?” I ask, fingers tangled with Derek’s across the console.
“You’ll see.” She glances at us in the mirror. “You both need to remember what it feels like to come home.”
The bakery appears like a memory restored: warm and golden, its sign glowing through rain-rippled windows. Swirls of cinnamon and apple steam blur the glass. A tabby cat slinks beneath the eaves, then disappears inside just as Emma parks.
“I didn’t want you going home before seeing you both still belong here,” she says.
We turn a corner—and there she is.
Honeycrisp Pies.
The sign glows golden through the mist, warm and sure, like it never stopped waiting for us. Steam blurs the windows, curling with the scent of apples and sugar and home.
A lump rises in my throat before I even step out of the car.
Emma parks and gestures to the building like she’s offering a gift. “Didn’t want you going home without seeing it. You still belong here.”
I step out of the car and the warmth hits first—sun on my skin, the scent of cinnamon and sugar spilling from the open door, and the sound.
The breeze carries hints of apple blossoms and something that smells like home.
I reach for Derek’s hand, and together, we cross the street like we never left.
A tabby cat scurries across the stoop and ducks inside ahead of us like he owns the place.
Neighbors huddle under umbrellas. Mrs. Kensington waves from behind a flower box overflowing with mums. Tommy Patterson bounds toward me and thrusts an apple branch into my hands, blossoms pink and trembling in the breeze.
Even the old bell above the bakery door chimes like a song I remember.
Inside, it’s magic.
The red-and-white floor squeaks under my boots. The air is thick with pie crust and frosting, coffee and memory. Laughter floats from the kitchen. Mrs. Waters waves a slice of something steaming from the counter.
And my mother—my tough, trembling, flour-covered mother—peeks out from behind the swinging door, apron dusted and eyes already wet. She blinks like she doesn’t trust what she sees.
I step toward her, heart breaking open, and she crosses the kitchen without a word and wraps me in her arms. She insisted on baking a few of my specialties early, filling the bakery with the warm scent of cinnamon and nostalgia, even though we weren't officially open yet.
It smells like childhood and forgiveness.
Derek’s parents are tucked at a corner table we’ve set aside just for family, mugs in hand, their eyes misty as they rise to greet us.
Eric’s parked Misty’s wheelchair beside them, sling and cast in full view.
Misty smiles faintly when she sees us, but her grip on the armrest is white-knuckled, like she’s holding herself together with thread.
“Race officials posted the list,” she tells Derek. “You’re disqualified this year.”
He nods, wrapping an arm around me. “Good. I’ve got more important things to win.”
Caroline lingers outside the window, legal pad open, lips moving as she scribbles—already preparing for battle. She hasn’t stopped fighting for us. Not for a second.
I slip behind the counter, pull the blossom from my pocket, and tuck Tommy’s branch into a vase on the windowsill.
“Home,” I whisper.
Derek rests his forehead against mine, the blooming apple branch between us.
“When Blake wakes,” he whispers, “I’ll run the fall race. For him. For us. And this time, I won’t just win. I’ll cross that finish line with my whole damn heart.”
And I believe him.