Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
I feel numb. Not the kind of numb that dulls pain, but the kind that buries you in it, slow and suffocating.
My tears stream down without pause, hot trails of grief spilling like an open faucet I can’t shut off.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt this empty.
This helpless. Not since my parents passed away.
My heart isn’t just breaking. It’s disintegrating, crumbling into dust while I lay here, powerless to stop it.
Nine days. I sat at his bedside for nine long, excruciating days. I counted every breath the machine forced into his lungs, every rise and fall of his chest. I whispered prayers to gods I didn’t believe in. I begged the universe to bring him back to me. And still, he didn’t wake up.
Trigger finally sent me home, told me I needed rest. He was right. But leaving felt like betrayal. And now, lying in this bed with my arms wrapped tightly around a pillow, I feel like I’ve abandoned him.
I haven’t eaten. I haven’t slept. My body is wrecked from it, drained, hollow, brittle.
I’ve spent every hour since in a vicious loop: guilt gnawing at my insides, grief tightening its grip.
Trigger called it survivor’s guilt. Maybe he’s right.
Maybe I’ll always carry this weight, even though I know I didn’t pull the trigger.
Even though I know I tried to save him. It just doesn’t feel like enough.
The duvet cocoons me as I roll over and shut my eyes to the world.
I lose track of time. Hours pass. Light fades.
Night seeps into the room like ink through water, the day starts all over again.
It’s a vicious loop, one I can’t seem to break—grief dragging me under, guilt anchoring me in place, and the silence around me louder than any scream.
“Cass?” Lexie’s voice seeps into my conscious, soft and cautious. “I’ve made you something to eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” I rasp, though my stomach twists at the scent of food.
The door creaks open anyway, and Lexie steps in, sitting gently on the edge of my bed. Her hand finds my leg, offering me comfort I don’t deserve.
I never got to have the traditional Christmas that was promised. The first real one with family since Cooper and I moved in together.
Back when my parents died and Lexie’s father took me in, he tried to make the holidays feel normal, even magical.
He’d throw every mismatched, gaudy ornament onto the tree like it was some kind of competition, and Lexie and I would tease him for it.
But then he’d cook— God, he could cook —and suddenly the chaos felt like home.
Tamales next to turkey, arroz con gandules beside green bean casserole.
It was this beautiful, messy blend of his heritage and the holidays we thought we were supposed to have.
It became our tradition, one filled with chaos and laughter.
Deep down—pushing my feelings about the actual holiday aside—it was something I was looking forward to. But now, it’s just another thing I’ve lost.
“You know, staying in here won’t change anything.”
I don’t answer. I don’t move.
“You can’t stay in here, Cass,” she urges, tapping my leg. “Come out. We can watch a movie.”
I mumble something unintelligible into my pillow .
“I bought ice cream,” she adds, her voice lifting like a peace offering.
I want to appreciate her effort. I do. But even ice cream sounds too sweet for the ache in my chest.
“Okay, I’ll compromise,” she sighs, not giving up.
Somewhere deep inside, I manage the faintest flicker of a smile. Lexie’s trying, even if it kills her. She’s been watching me like a hawk, checking in every hour. I’ve given her nothing in return but silence and shadows.
“If you come out from here, I will drive you to see Axel tomorrow.”
My breath catches. “The doctor said she’d call when he woke up,” I croak.
“Fuck the doctor.” She stands abruptly and rips the blanket from me in one swift motion. “If you want to see him, I’ll take you. But tonight, you need to meet me halfway. Eat something. Then sleep.”
She doesn’t say it, but I hear the worry in every syllable. I’ve barely functioned since Axel went down. And Lexie, who’s never had a kind word for The Five—is here, holding me up when I can’t stand on my own. That’s friendship. That’s love.
Trying to live normally while the man you’re falling for lies comatose in a hospital bed feels like pretending your soul hasn’t just been torn in half.
I didn’t mean to fall for Axel. But the moment he collapsed—when blood soaked his shirt and I pressed my coat against his stomach like it could hold him together—it felt like a wrecking ball had smashed through every wall I’d built.
I saw him. The real him. Not the mobster. Not the mask. And somewhere along the way, I fell in love.
Lexie leads me out to the living room, where a blanket waits on the couch. Ice cream, popcorn, and Jurassic Park are already queued up. She doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t need to. Her quiet presence is enough.
I curl up beside her and slowly let the silence settle. I don’t talk. I barely eat. But I’m not alone anymore. And for the first time in days, I let myself drift off to sleep.
W hen I wake, sunlight filters through the blinds and soft music echoes from the kitchen. The scent of toast warms the air. I stretch and groan, every muscle stiff from sleeping on the couch, but somehow, I feel better. Not whole. But not broken beyond repair.
“You’re awake!” Lexie chirps, hands full with two mugs.
“Yeah,” I rasp, sitting up as she hands me one.
She nods toward the hallway with a grin. “Come on.”
“What?”
“You kept your end of the bargain,” she beams. “So I’m keeping mine. First, shower.”
She disappears down the hallway, and I follow her instructions without complaint. The hot water washes away the grime of grief, and with it, some of the weight that’s been sitting on my chest.
I get dressed: jeans, boots, a sweater. Simple. Warm. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks are sunken, my lips cracked. I don’t bother with makeup. No amount of concealer can hide this kind of pain. But the hopefulness I feel takes the edge off a little.
The city blurs past as Lexie drives, headlights streaking across my vision like ghosts I can’t hold onto.
My stomach’s in knots, and every turn feels like we’re racing toward something I’m not ready to face.
When we finally pull into the hospital's drop-off bay, Lexie throws the car in park and grabs my hand.
Her fingers are warm, grounding. Mine are ice.
I try to breathe, but it catches in my throat .
“Want me to come in with you?” she asks gently, her hand still wrapped around mine.
I shake my head, even though every part of me wants to say yes. But this is something I have to do alone. I force my limbs to move, legs stiff and unsteady like I’m walking through wet cement.
Inside, the hospital air hits me—too cold, too sterile, too full of memories. I head straight for the elevator, trying to ignore the knot twisting in my stomach. Each step echoes with doubt. Nerves buzz beneath my skin like static.
What if he’s awake?
What if he’s not?
What if he opens his eyes and looks right through me?
What if he remembers everything, and wishes he didn’t?
What if… he blames me?
The elevator doors slide open, and I close my eyes, bracing myself for whatever comes next. But before I can step inside, I hear my name.
“Miss Caruthers?”
Dr. Miller approaches with a clipboard hugged to her chest. She looks tired, but her smile is kind.
“I’m here to see Axel,” I say, trying to sound composed.
Her expression shifts. “Mr. Bonanno was discharged this morning.”
I blink. “What?”
“I’m sorry… I thought someone called?—”
“No one called,” I snap, the ground shifting beneath me. “You said you would call when he woke up.”
She fumbles for words, but I don’t wait to hear them. My feet carry me out the front doors, rage and confusion pulsing through me like electricity. I gasp in cold air, my chest heaving. Then I bolt.
The cab ride to Axel’s is silent, the kind of silence that buzzes in your ears and makes every streetlight blur. The city outside the window rushes past in streaks of gold and gray, but none of it registers. My phone is cold in my hand as I dial his number again.
Voicemail .
I hang up. Call back. Still nothing.
Each second stretches, taut and thin like a frayed wire ready to snap.
By the time the cab turns onto his block, my heart is a clenched fist in my chest—tight, aching, bracing for impact. I shove a few bills at the driver and step out, barely remembering to shut the door behind me.
His building looms in front of me. Lights off. No sign of movement. I swallow hard, fingers trembling as I pull my phone out one last time.
Voicemail again.
Something’s wrong. I feel it in my bones. Not just worry, not just the sting of being ignored, but a deep, gnawing dread that wraps around my spine and doesn’t let go.
I climb the steps with legs that feel like they belong to someone else. Every footfall echoes too loud in the quiet. My breath fogs in the winter air as I raise my fist to knock, pausing just a second, just long enough to second-guess everything.
Then I knock.
One. Two. Three times.
My knuckles brush the door again, softer this time, almost pleading. “Axel?” My voice cracks on his name.
Nothing.
I should leave. I should turn around. But my hand stays on the door like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
Suddenly, the door swings open.
My heart stutters, hoping to make me jump. But it’s quickly doused by a face I wasn’t expecting to see.
“Cassie. What are you doing here?” Hunter’s eyes widen.
“Cassie.” I’m greeted with the shocked face of Hunter, grasping the door protectively. “What are you doing here?”
He hesitates. “Yes. ”
“So…?”
“I’m sorry, Cassie.” He sighs, blocking the doorway. “He doesn’t want... he’s not really up for talking to anyone.”
“You’re here,” I point out, glaring at him. He might be attractive—in that cute, boyish way—but he can’t distract me with it. He’s not Axel.
“I’m just keeping up with everything.” He sighs and gestures for me to come in.
Inside, he leads me down the dark hallway, to Axel’s office. I half expect Axel to be posted up behind his desk, but as soon as I see the empty chair, disappointment settles in the pit of my stomach.
Hunter rounds the desk, reaching into a drawer. He pulls out an envelope, handing it to me with a nervous reach. “He wanted you to have this.” Then he grabs a garment bag from behind the door. “And this.”
It’s my coat. The same one I used to stop the bleeding. Clean. Pristine. Untouched by what happened.
“It’s been dry cleaned,” Hunter assures, like that’s going to prevent the dull ache from expanding in my chest.
My hands tremble as I open the envelope. A check.
My stomach turns. “What the hell? You can’t be serious.”
“He said it was more than enough.”
“I don’t want his money, Hunter.” My voice cracks. The tears come fast, blurring the numbers on the check.
“I know what you want, Cassie,” Hunter says quietly. “But he won’t speak to you.”
I collapse into the armchair, crushed under the weight of everything I never got to say.
“He blames me, doesn’t he?” My voice is a whisper. A plea.
“What? No!” Hunter crouches in front of me, fierce and sincere. “This wasn’t your fault.”
“Then why wouldn’t he tell me?” My voice shakes. “Why wouldn’t he call?”
“I can’t answer that. ”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both.”
I slam the check against his chest, fingers creasing the paper. I stand, legs shaking, heart aching. “Then I can’t and won’t take his money.”
And then I walk out, because it’s the only thing I can still control in this chaotic mess.