Chapter Twenty-Nine Aurora / Joshua
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Aurora / Joshua
Aurora
Alex drove fast. Faster than he should’ve.
The world outside was just a blur of winter grey and headlights bleeding across the windshield.
Jennie was in the backseat, her voice trembling as she tried to keep me still. “Don’t move, Rory, please—just… keep still, okay? It’s probably swollen.”
But I couldn’t stop crying.
It hurt. My arm hurt.
And not just the pain under my skin, the burning, throbbing ache that pulsed with every heartbeat, but the part that hurt worse was the reason behind it.
Joshua.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t flinch.
Didn’t help.
He just stood there, frozen as if I wasn’t even real. Like I was nothing.
The same boy who told me to sit when it was cold.
Who gave me his jacket.
Who ordered food for me.
Who made me laugh quietly when he joked about scaring me.
The boy I thought—maybe, maybe—wasn’t cruel anymore.
He did that.
My chest hurt more than my arm. My throat felt raw, choking on hiccups between sobs I couldn’t swallow down.
Jennie’s hand brushed away the tears that wouldn’t stop falling, her touch soft and shaky. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, Rory. You’re okay. You’re okay.”
But I wasn’t.
I saw Alex’s knuckles tighten on the steering wheel, veins standing out against his skin. He didn’t look back, not once, but I could feel it. The tension rolling off him.
The silence wasn’t cold anymore. It was heavy, thick, and angry.
He was angry for me.
And that alone made something crack inside my chest because Alex Grayson never cared.
He didn’t comfort.
He didn’t console.
He didn’t even know me personally. Or like me.
But tonight, when I was shaking too hard to hold myself up, even Alex looked worried.
That’s how bad it was.
—
The hospital lights were too bright.
Everything smelled like antiseptic and metal and fear.
When the nurse finally wheeled me out, I was quiet. Too quiet. My arm was wrapped in white, tight, heavy, cold against my skin. A cast.
Jennie stood up so fast her chair scraped the floor. Her hands flew to her mouth. “Oh my God, Rory…”
I couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t look at anyone.
Alex was still at the front desk, signing papers, his expression unreadable but his jaw locked, eyes dark. The kind of dark that meant trouble.
Jennie came closer, her sneakers squeaking on the tiles, before her arms wrapped around me gently, careful of the cast.
The warmth broke me.
I started shaking again, small, uncontrollable tremors that made my teeth clack, and my throat ache. I didn’t mean to cry again, I really didn’t, but the tears came anyway, soaking her shoulder.
“I’ve got you,” Jennie whispered, rubbing my back in circles. “It’s okay, you’re okay, sweetheart.”
But it wasn’t okay.
None of it was okay.
I’d never been hurt this badly before, physically, emotionally. The pain in my arm didn’t even compare to the ache in my chest.
Joshua Lockhart did this.
And for the first time since coming here…
I wasn’t scared of him.
I was done.
Alex came back with the receipt, handed a copy to Jennie without saying a word, and just stood there for a second staring at me. His eyes softened, barely, but enough for me to see it.
“You’re gonna be fine,” he muttered, low. “We’ll get you home.”
I nodded weakly, clutching my cast to my chest.
Fine.
Sure.
But inside, all I could think was how wrong that word sounded… because nothing about this felt fine.
—
Joshua
I didn’t even make it to the couch.
The door clicked shut behind me, and my knees gave out halfway down the hallway. I slid down the door, the weight of my body crashing to the floor. My head hit the hardwood behind me, but I barely felt it.
My chest was tight, too tight.
My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
I hurt her.
Me.
The words just kept looping in my head like a curse I couldn’t undo.
I didn’t mean to. God, I didn’t mean to.
I just—
I was angry. At her? At myself? I don’t even know anymore.
All I wanted was her attention. Her eyes were on me. Her silence used to be torture, but lately it felt… safe. Familiar. It meant she was there.
That she hadn’t left yet.
And now?
Now I’d given her the perfect reason to leave.
To hate me.
Her face, her eyes when that ball hit, kept replaying behind my eyelids. The sound she made. The way she clutched her arm, trembling, crying, while I stood there like a fucking coward.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t help.
Didn’t protect her.
The one thing I swore I’d never do—hurt her—and I did it anyway.
And that wasn’t the part that killed me most. Because she was all I had left.
Not Alex. Not Jennie. Not the team.
Her.
Her silence, her small smiles, her stupid little drawings at the end of her notes, her voice she couldn’t give me, but I heard in my head anyway.
I used to not care when she looked at me with fear, disgust, or whatever, because at least I was in her eyeline, at least it was something. But now…
Now that I knew what it felt like to have her peace, her smile, her hums, her soft eyes, I didn’t want those eyes full of fear back. I didn’t want anything that showed how much she hated me, how much looking at me in the eyes hurt her.
I don’t—I don’t want her to look at me like that anymore.
I buried my face in my hands, breath shaking. My throat burned, eyes stung, and I didn’t even bother stopping it this time.
I fucking broke her.
The door beeped, a sharp electronic sound cutting through the quiet.
Then it pushed hard against my back.
I shifted away just enough for it to open, and Alex stood there, framed by the hallway light.
His eyes landed on me immediately, on the mess I was, sitting on the floor like a wreck, and then the white hospital envelope in his hand hit the ground beside me.
The paper inside slid out, fluttering across the marble. I didn’t even need to touch it to read the words.
Fracture. Cast for four to six weeks.
My stomach turned.
Alex didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, breathing hard, jaw tight, knuckles white around his phone.
“What the fuck did you do, Josh?”
His voice wasn’t angry. Not the kind that explodes. It was quiet, the kind that shakes you.
I didn’t look up. I couldn’t.
My fingers dug into my hair, elbows pressing into my knees. “It was an accident.”
“An accident?” He laughed once, sharp and humourless. “You broke her arm.”
I didn’t defend myself. There was nothing to say. The truth was already loud enough.
Alex exhaled, long and heavy, dragging a hand through his hair before crouching down in front of me. “She cried so hard she could barely breathe. Jennie said she hasn’t stopped shaking since we left the hospital.”
I swallowed hard. My throat felt raw.
“I didn’t—”
But I couldn’t finish. Didn’t deserve to.
Alex stood, grabbed the paper off the floor, and left it on the table before walking out towards the door.
“Four to six weeks, Josh,” he said quietly, his voice carrying the kind of disappointment that burns more than anger. “Don’t even think about going near her.”
The door clicked shut.
My hand was still trembling when I reached for my phone. The screen lit up, too bright against the dark, and her name blinked back at me.
My princess.
It used to make me smirk.
Now it made me sick.
My thumb hovered over it, brushing the edge of her name as if somehow, through the glass, she’d feel it.
I wanted to text her so badly I could taste it: an apology, something, anything.
But what the fuck would I even say?
Sorry I hit you? Sorry I broke your arm? Sorry I’m everything you thought I wasn’t?
No message fixes that.
No amount of money, no gesture, no words.
The damage was done.
She probably hates me now.
And she should.
She should never look at me again, never trust me again, never stand close enough for me to breathe her in again.
I clenched my jaw, phone shaking in my palm.
Her last message sat right there—
“I’ll be up for the partner work in a bit! I’m sorry!”
Last Friday.
When smiling at me was easy, easier.
When she made an effort to leave a damn lollipop every time she came up as a thank you for putting up with her.
Now she’s sitting somewhere with her arm in a cast because of me.
I dropped the phone on the floor and buried my face in my hands, pressing until my vision blurred.
I wanted to tell her I didn’t mean it. That I didn’t aim for her. That it was supposed to scare her, not hurt her. But every version of that sounds the same—pathetic.
And what if she doesn’t even care anymore?
What if she’s already decided I’m just like the rest of them… the men who make her flinch, the ones who make her small.
I swallowed hard, voice cracking in the empty room.
“Fuck,” I whispered to no one.
Because if I texted her now, it’d make it worse.
If I stayed quiet, I’d lose her anyway.
I couldn’t win. Not anymore.
…I’m so sorry.