Chapter 34 No More Rules
No More Rules
Sabrina
I’m sitting in a stiff plastic chair beside Mrs. D’s bed, my fingers wrapped around her papery hand like if I let go, something terrible will happen.
The room smells like antiseptic and recycled air. Machines hum softly around us, steady and cruel in their normalcy. I’ve memorized every sound, every blink of light, every rise and fall of her chest.
The doctor already told me there’s nothing to do right now.
We wait.
I hate waiting.
Mrs. D’s skin is warm but fragile beneath my palm, thinner than it should be. She looks smaller in this bed, swallowed by white sheets and too-bright lights. I lean forward, resting my forehead against the edge of the mattress, eyes burning.
I don’t want to go home.
I don’t want to sit in that big, quiet house where everything echoes and reminds me that my mom never came home either.
I swipe at my cheeks, even though it’s useless. I know I look like hell—eyes swollen, hair shoved into a messy knot that’s been pulled at one too many times. My head throbs from crying, my body heavy with exhaustion that doesn’t touch the ache in my chest.
Then the air changes.
It’s subtle. A shift. A presence.
I lift my head.
And my heart stops.
Langston is standing just inside the doorway.
For a second, I think I’m hallucinating. That my brain is so tired it’s filling in what I want to see instead of what’s real.
He’s not supposed to be home until tomorrow.
He’s supposed to be in another country.
He looks out of place here—too tall, too solid, dressed in dark clothes that make him look like a shadow carved into the fluorescent light. His eyes find mine instantly, and something in his face softens, cracks open.
I push to my feet so fast the chair scrapes loudly across the floor.
“Langston?” My voice breaks around his name. “What—what are you doing here?”
He crosses the room in three long strides and doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t ask. He just wraps an arm around me and pulls me into his chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I melt.
My face presses into his shirt, and the dam finally breaks. I sob into him, hard and ugly and uncontrollable. He holds me like he expected this, like he came ready for it.
“I couldn’t leave you here,” he murmurs against my hair. His voice is low, steady—anchoring. “Not like this.”
I cling to him, fingers digging into his jacket. “They said I just have to wait,” I whisper. “I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t want to be alone.”
“You won’t be,” he says immediately. No hesitation. No doubt. “Not tonight. Not ever.”
The doctor comes in then, gentle and calm, explaining again that Mrs. D is stable, that they’re monitoring her closely. That there’s nothing more to be done right now. They tell Langston she’ll be moved to a better room shortly and that they’ll call him directly with any change.
I barely register it.
Because Langston turns back to me and cups the back of my head, resting his forehead against mine.
“I’m taking you home,” he says softly. “You need rest.”
I shake my head weakly. “I don’t want to leave her.”
“You’re not abandoning her,” he says. “You’re exhausted. And she’d want you taken care of too.”
Something about the way he says it—like he knows her, like he understands what she means to me—makes my chest cave in all over again.
I squeeze her hand once more, whisper a promise, and let Langston guide me out.
The hallway feels too bright, too loud, my body heavy as we walk. I lean into him without thinking, letting him hold most of my weight.
When we step outside, night air cools my tear-streaked face.
Langston’s car is pulled up near the entrance.
And standing beside it is Jack.
I blink, confused. “Why is Jack here?”
Langston opens the passenger door, one corner of his mouth lifting faintly. “I couldn’t leave the dog in the car by herself.”
My heart stutters.
“The—what?”
I look down.
And there, sitting primly on the front seat like she owns it, is Olga.
For half a second, my brain refuses to process it.
Then I make a broken sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
“Oh my God,” I choke.
I scoop her up immediately, burying my face in her scruffy fur as fresh tears spill over. She licks my chin, tail wagging, utterly unbothered by hospitals or panic or heartbreak.
“I was so worried about you,” I whisper into her neck. “You little menace.”
Langston rounds the car and slides into the driver’s seat. When I finally look up at him, my face is a mess, my hands shaking around the dog.
“Why did you do this?” I ask quietly. “You didn’t have to.”
He reaches over, cups my cheek gently, thumb brushing away a tear.
“Because it’s what you needed,” he says simply. “And because I will do anything I can to make sure you have what you need. Even if you don’t ask.”
My throat closes.
He starts the car, one hand steady on the wheel, the other still warm against my skin for just a moment longer than necessary.
I curl around Olga, exhausted beyond words, and for the first time all day, I let myself breathe.
The house is quiet when we pull in, too quiet for how loud my chest feels.
Langston barely lets the car stop before he’s out, opening my door, guiding me inside with a hand firm and steady at my back. I don’t argue—not really. I don’t have it in me.
The second the door opens, Olga explodes into motion.
She tears through the entryway like she’s been shot out of a cannon—sliding on the floors, nails clicking, barking at absolutely nothing as if she’s announcing to the house that she’s home and everyone should be grateful. I let out a watery laugh despite myself.
“At least someone’s thriving,” I murmur.
Langston watches her for half a second, shaking his head, before turning back to me. His eyes soften, that worry still etched into his face like it hasn’t let go of him since the hospital.
“Come on,” he says gently.
“I can walk,” I protest when he bends down.
“I know,” he answers, already sliding an arm under my knees and another around my back. “But I want to do this.”
The words steal the fight right out of me.
I wrap my arms around his neck as he carries me upstairs, my head resting against his shoulder. He smells like travel and adrenaline and home. Olga races ahead of us, skidding into walls, then back out again like she’s lost her mind.
When he reaches the bedroom, he sets me down carefully on the edge of the bed, like I’m something fragile. Something that might break if he’s not careful.
I open my mouth to thank him.
He doesn’t give me the chance.
Langston drops to his knees in front of me, suddenly—abruptly—and presses his forehead into my stomach. His arms wrap around my waist, holding me there, grounding himself against me like he needs this as much as I do.
My breath catches.
“I was terrified,” he says quietly, voice muffled against me. “When Jack called… I thought it was you.”
My hands move to his shoulders without thinking, fingers threading into his hair.
“I couldn’t breathe,” he continues, words spilling now. “I kept seeing you hurt. Kept thinking about everything I’d said. Everything I didn’t say. About how I walked away this morning like an idiot because I was afraid.”
My chest tightens.
“I don’t care if you only give me one year,” he says, grip tightening. “I don’t want to waste another second pretending I don’t want you. Pretending I can pull away from you and be fine.”
I lean forward, resting my forehead against the top of his head.
“Langston,” I whisper. “I don’t want—”
He lifts his head.
And before I can finish, before I can say the words that feel too big and too real, he’s on his feet and his hands are on my face and his mouth crashes into mine.
The kiss isn’t slow.
It’s desperate. Claiming. Full of everything he just confessed and everything he hasn’t figured out how to say yet. His lips move against mine like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he doesn’t keep touching me.
I melt into it, fingers curling into his shirt, my heart pounding so hard it hurts.
For just this moment, there’s no year.
No rules.
No fear.
Just him.
And me.
And the undeniable truth that whatever this is between us—it’s already far too big to run from.