38. One Shot. One Chance.
Chapter thirty-eight
One Shot. One Chance.
Melina
An hour passes, maybe more. The room is quiet—dim and humming with distant beeps. I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the muted TV because I can’t bear to look anywhere else.
The door opens. Brooks steps in with a black Aegis backpack and sets it on the tray without breaking stride. He looks at me, quick and steady. “I got you some stuff.”
Tears sting before I can stop them. “Thank you.”
I unzip the bag and pull things out slow—leggings, a hoodie, pajamas, a bra, socks. A hairbrush, toothpaste, my book. My favorite snack mix tucked in the bottom.
“You thought of everything,” I say.
He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Didn’t want you stuck here feeling worse than you already do.”
A hushed beat before I force the question out. “Are you mad at me?”
He breathes out, a raw sound, and drags a hand down his face. For a moment, he looks wrecked. “Melina—” he swallows. “I could’ve wrung your neck when you got out of that truck.”
His voice cracks on the last word. “I heard it all. Every second. I was useless. I thought I was going to lose both of you.”
Guilt twists inside me. “I’m sorry.”
“But know this—I’ve never been prouder of anyone in my life. The way you fought. The way you protected him. You were terrified, and you didn’t freeze. You were brave as hell.”
The words land like a tether. I don’t know whether to crumble or stand up straighter.
That breaks something loose in my chest. I push the tray aside and rise—slowly, carefully—then fold my arms around him.
He doesn’t hesitate. He pulls me in and holds on.
The nurse finds us mid-embrace and clears her throat. “Sorry to interrupt.”
We step back.
“I’ve got your discharge papers,” she says, smiling. “And I figured you’d want to know—Jax is out of surgery. He’s stable. They’re moving him to a room now.”
My knees nearly give out.
“When you’re ready,” she adds, “I’ll grab a wheelchair and take you up there.”
***
The heart monitor’s rhythmic beeping is the only sound in the room. The last nurse came through a while ago, adjusting his IV, checking the lines. They move in and out like ghosts. The lights are dim, hallway sounds muffled—it's only us. The rest of the world can wait.
Jax lies under a blanket, too still, too quiet. His breathing is shallow but steady. Bruises bloom across his skin, dark and angry, proof of how close I came to losing him.
Seeing him like this feels wrong. Jax isn’t quiet or still by nature—he's fire and chaos, crooked grins in the face of danger. He's reckless, loud, and always moving.
I’ve watched him sleep before, but never fragile like this. I'm aware of how my pulse shifts when he walks into a room, how the air tilts toward him. I’ve tried not to look too long, not to want too much. Now there’s nothing left to distract me, and I can’t stop staring.
His lashes rest on his cheeks, his jaw slack, mouth parted. Even unconscious and tethered to machines, he fills the space.
He’s beautiful. I’ve always known that. I just never let myself hold on to it this long.
I shift in the chair and reach for his hand, careful not to disturb the IV lines trailing from his arm. My fingers curl around his. His skin is warm but not the sun-warm I know. Just... medically regulated.
“Come back to me,” I whisper.
At first, nothing. Then—a twitch.
I lean closer, heart pounding. “Jax? Can you hear me?” My voice trembles.
His brow furrows. His fingers jerk in my grasp. A low, broken sound escapes his throat.
His eyelids flutter once, then again.
Slowly, he opens his eyes. They’re glazed and unfocused, tracking the ceiling. His lips part, dry and cracked.
“…Mel…”
Relief floods me. “I’m here.”
His gaze flicks to mine, trying to hold. “Where am I?”
“Hospital,” I say, squeezing his hand. “Hang on, I’ll get someone.”
I step into the hall and flag down a nurse at the station. “He’s awake.”
She nods and follows me. Back in the room, she checks his vitals and speaks to him softly. He doesn’t say much—just watches her with the dazed, heavy-eyed look of someone coming out of deep sedation.
“You’re doing great,” she murmurs. “Vitals are strong. I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake.”
When we’re alone, he shifts against the pillows, his jaw tight with effort.
“Don’t push yourself,” I murmur.
His gaze clears a little as he blinks, catching up. “Do you remember what happened?” I ask.
He nods once, then his brow creases. “Are you okay?”
A brittle smile flickers free. “You’re the one with a bullet in his side.”
“Still…” His eyes sweep me, searching. “You’re alright?”
I nod. “I’m okay.”
He exhales but doesn’t look convinced. I know what he sees—the tension in my shoulders, the way I’m trembling, the crack in my voice every time I speak. I try to keep it together, but I’m unraveling.
Then, just when I think I might break, he gives me that crooked, half-lidded grin. “Miss me?”
I don’t think. I don’t breathe. I launch myself at him, reckless and full of relief, wrapping my arms around his shoulders.
“Jesus, watch it, killer,” he grunts. “Gunshot wound over here.”
I jerk back as if shocked. “Shit, sorry.”
He’s already smirking again, eyes locked on mine.
“Worth it,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper.
His smirk fades and is replaced by something quieter, softer.
“What’s the damage?” he asks, eyes scanning me like he still can’t trust my words.
“Better than you,” I say, trying for light. “Couple cracked ribs. Concussion. Some stitches. Nothing major.”
He lets out a raspy, tired laugh. “Hell of a week.”
We sit in the hush, the monitor beeping between us. He stares at the ceiling, jaw clenched. He fists the blanket, the fabric bunching in his hands. A broken huff escapes, then a curse.
He looks at me, furious and raw. Pain crosses his face. “I failed you,” he rasps.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I shake my head, incredulous. “You could hardly stand, and you still fought. You shot him. You kept him away from me as long as you could.”
His expression flickers, his throat working, but he doesn’t argue.
“You saved me, Jax,” I speak softly. “I get to go home to my kids because of you.”
He blinks slowly, and for a moment, I think the guilt might win. Then his voice cuts through, soft but certain. “Pretty sure you’re the one who saved me.”
I glance down, shame curling in my gut. “I didn’t take the shot.”
“Yes, you did.”
I look up, startled. “What?”
His eyes don’t waver. “You didn’t have to put it through his skull to take the shot. You stood your ground. You made the call. And then you showed him mercy.”
He pauses, voice low and sure. “That’s not weakness, ballerina. That’s strength.”
The words sink in, and something in me loosens. A shaky breath escapes and a small, aching smile tugs at my lips.
He squints, studying me. “Were you bluffing?”
I arch a brow. “When I told him I’d shoot him in the head?”
He nods.
“Nope. I would’ve killed him in a heartbeat. Without hesitation.”
That crooked grin I know all too well spreads across his face. “Damn. You must really like me.”
A laugh slips out but catches in my throat. My fingers tighten around his. “I was so scared, Jax.”
He watches me, brow knitting as if he’s trying to measure how deep it went.
I force myself on. “I thought you were gonna die.” My voice cracks. “I didn’t know what to do. I kept begging you—please don’t go.”
My chest tightens, and the tears fall.
“Seeing you like that, bleeding out on the pavement… it broke me.”
He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t have to. His gaze softens as he lifts the blanket—an invitation, a lifeline. I don’t think. I just move. I climb into the bed, careful and trembling, and settle in beside him. His arm wraps around me, warm and grounding, pulling me into the place I belong.
I press my face to his chest and lay my hand flat over his heartbeat—steady beneath my palm. He’s here. He’s alive.
For the first time in hours, I can finally let go.
***
Jax sleeps soundly. I pause as I rise, not wanting to leave but needing to move—stretch my legs, do anything besides sit here and come apart.
He looks better than he did hours ago, color returning to his face, his breathing even. The tension he always carries in his jaw has eased, his body finally surrendering to rest.
I don’t dare wake him.
I rub my temples as I step into the hall, exhaustion clawing at me. My body thrums with pain, intense and unrelenting. Every nerve is frayed, every joint tight from overuse and trauma. The ache is no longer sharp. It’s weighty and settled, a reminder of everything I just survived.
I glance at the Aegis operator stationed outside and offer a weary smile. “I’m heading for coffee. Can I bring you something?”
He shakes his head. “No, thank you, ma’am.”
Ma’am— I almost laugh.
The hospital hums with a lived-in stillness that makes it easy to forget the universe is still spinning. I haven’t eaten in more than a day, and now that I’m upright, I feel it—a deep, bone-aching hunger curling in my gut.
I change course and head for the cafeteria.
I hover by the elevators, arms folded across my chest. The numbers blink slowly, maddening in their descent. My foot taps. My mind won’t settle. Thoughts ricochet in every direction.
I jab the button again. Nothing.
Fuck it.
I take a breath and pivot toward the stairwell. A few flights won’t kill me.
The heavy metal door groans as I push through, fluorescent bulbs flickering weakly overhead. The air is colder here—stale, tinged with disinfectant and something faintly metallic.
My sneakers scuff the concrete as I start down. The sound of my steps echoes. I roll my shoulders, trying to ease the stiffness.
Halfway down the first flight, a flicker of unease coils up my spine. Something’s off. I slow and listen.
Nothing, just the hum of lights and the distant murmur of the hospital. I exhale and shake it off as I reach the landing. My fingers brush the railing. One more flight and I’ll be at the main level—
Then a whisper of movement. I freeze.