Chapter Sixteen Sloane
Chapter Sixteen
Sloane
“Xander,” I whispered, my face close to his. He lay on his side, silent on his bed, a bluish bruise blooming across his cheek, blood dried beneath his nose.
“Talk to me, Xander...”
He shook his head slowly. He didn’t look at me, just stared ahead, vacant, like he wasn’t really there.
Panic rose in my chest.
Father didn’t usually hit him in the face, but this time he did, and I didn’t know why.
I could still hear him—the crash of things being thrown against the wall in his study and his angry screaming.
And Mother, as always, was nowhere to be found.
Earlier, Father and Xander had a huge fight. Their shouting filled the whole house. Xander had always been the one to push back, to fight. Maybe this time, he went too far.
I knew his report card didn’t meet Father’s expectations. I knew Father had compared him to me again. I never asked for that. I didn’t want the pressure or the spotlight.
Xander did everything he could to get straight A’s. He studied nonstop, but it still wasn’t enough. He was still in high school, but Father had already mapped out his future—pre-med, med school, residency. Every single grade had to be perfect.
Xander could barely breathe under the weight of it.
I looked at my older brother, a tight knot of desperation pressing against my chest.
“Please. What can I do?”
He shook his head again, eyes brimming with tears.
I grabbed his arm and shook it harder than I meant to.
He winced. I must have hurt him.
But I was scared. There was always a pull between the light and the darkness in him, and sometimes the darkness won.
And I was terrified that one day it would win for good.
“Don’t you dare check out on me, Xander! You’re all I’ve got.”
Tears began sliding down his cheeks, and I reached out to wipe them away.
“Don’t cry, Xander. He can’t see you like this. You know how much he hates it.”
But the tears only came harder.
Xander drew in a shaky breath and let it out slowly, like he was trying to steady himself and failing.
“Get out, Sloane...” he mumbled shakily, but his teary eyes stayed hollow. “Get the fuck out!”
I woke with a gasp.
My chest heaved. My heart pounded against my ribs.
I stared at the ceiling, trying to breathe. In and out.
But the dream clung to me like smoke.
It kept coming back. It hadn’t been in a long time, but now it wouldn’t stop.
That part of my life I had sealed off and sworn I would never open again.
In the past, I had managed to forget it, to leave it behind, and move on. I had been doing so well all this time, but now I didn’t know if I could handle it anymore. Because it was worse now than ever before. I felt overwhelmed, like I was drowning.
My hand instinctively reached for the space beside me, searching for him.
I needed his warmth.
I needed him.
But then I remembered—he wasn’t here anymore.
The sheet was cold.
The room was colder.
And I was alone.
I worked like a machine.
It was the only way to forget.
My shoulders throbbed, and my feet ached from hours of standing and running.
But I had to keep going.
Xander’s crying kept flashing behind my eyes, and the only way to shut it out was to work myself numb.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I couldn’t keep this up forever, but it was the only thing that had ever worked. For a long time, it did, though it drained the life out of me.
But now, it no longer worked, and I had no idea why.
Perhaps it was because Cameron had come into my life, distracting me and becoming my focus, my anchor. And then Harper, too.
They pulled me away from it.
The lights on the floor hummed quietly above me, casting that familiar, sterile glow over everything. My shift was supposed to end an hour ago, but I was still on the move, still working.
I didn’t want to go home yet.
Harper would be with Cameron tonight, and I didn’t want to be alone.
So I stayed. I checked charts that didn’t need checking, offered to take vitals the nurses had already covered, and found small tasks to do just to keep my hands busy—just to keep the silence at bay.
“Mrs. Adler’s pain meds are due in twenty,” one of the nurses reminded me as she passed.
“I’ve got it,” I said, already heading to the cart.
Then the man in 209 threw up his antibiotics. The woman in 214 still wouldn’t eat. The guy in 207 kept asking why he still had fevers, and I gave him the same answer I had given this morning, just with a little less patience in my voice this time.
I stopped outside 212 and glanced at the monitor. Vitals stable. I walked in, adjusted the woman’s IV, listened to her talk about her granddaughter’s dance recital, and nodded at the right moments. She fell asleep mid-sentence. I slipped out quietly.
I didn’t stop. Not when my stomach grumbled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since morning. Not when the dull ache in my feet spread up my legs, begging for rest. I hadn’t even glanced at the clock. I didn’t want to.
Because here, in the middle of the controlled chaos, I knew what to do. Every task was straightforward, every step purposeful. There was a rhythm to it, a steady pulse that kept me grounded.
And I wasn’t just a woman trying not to fall apart.
I didn’t know how I was still moving. My body felt heavy, as if I were wearing weights. My eyes burned. I hadn’t had water for hours. But I kept going.
Because stopping meant thinking, and I couldn’t afford that right now.
As long as I kept busy, I didn’t have to hear the echo of Xander’s crying in my head. I didn’t have to remember the way Cameron looked at me yesterday. I didn’t have to feel the pain sitting like a stone in my chest.
Helping other people made it easier to ignore the fact that I didn’t know how to help myself.
So I kept moving.
“Here you are.” Gabriel found me sitting alone on the glass balcony, a bottle of water in my hand—my first for today.
He walked over and sat beside me, and it took everything in me not to slide a few seats away.
I just needed to be alone.
I was trying my damnedest to figure out how not to think about everything, how to quiet the noise in my head, how to breathe without it hurting. And with him there, even if he meant well, it only made it harder.
“I’ve been looking for you,” he said.
I gave him a short nod, not meeting his eyes.
“Everything okay?” Gabriel asked, tilting his head to catch my face.
“Everything’s fine,” I mumbled.
“Something is bothering you,” he said.
I didn’t respond to that.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, his voice careful.
This time, I turned to him, jaw tight. “I said I’m fine.”
He let out a slow breath. “You’re not fine. You just won’t admit it. You don’t even look okay.”
I looked at him. “You said you’d give me thirty minutes without talking. Just your company.”
“I did,” he said quickly. “I meant that.”
“Then why are you pushing it now?” My voice was tight, sharper than I meant it to be.
He looked caught off guard for a second. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just... I want to help.”
“But I don’t need your help. I never asked for it.” My brows drew together as frustration built in my chest. Why did he have to do this? Why couldn’t he just sit with me, like he said he would? Why did he have to care?
We were fine before. Friends. Simple. No questions. No feelings.
Whatever this was, it only made everything worse.
“Sloane, you’re so closed off,” he said quietly, his voice gentle, more curious than accusing. “That’s not healthy.”
He looked at me like I might break.
And all it did was make me want to run.
What I wanted—what I needed—was silence. The kind that didn’t press or prod or expect anything from me.
And in its own way, silence could be a scream too.
But I didn’t have the energy to argue. Maybe he was right. Perhaps I had built walls so high that even I couldn’t see over them anymore.
“I asked because I care,” he said quietly.
That’s when something inside me snapped—a thread pulled too tight for too long. I needed space, not someone picking at wounds I was barely keeping closed.
I crossed my arms, needing the barrier more than air.
“You need to stop acting like you have a right to ask me anything,” I said.
“I’m just trying to help,” he repeated, frowning, his voice quiet.
“Well, I’m not the type to talk about my feelings,” I snapped. “You should know that by now.”
“Sloane—”
I stood and walked out before he could finish.
Outside, the cold air of the corridor met my skin. Cameron was there, leaning against the wall just outside the balcony doors. A bottle of water in one hand, a paper-wrapped sandwich in the other. He didn’t try to come in. He just waited there for me.
The knot in my chest loosened the moment I saw him. I couldn’t help it, even if I tried. Something about his presence had that effect on me.
The tension in my face eased, just enough to breathe again.
When he saw me, he straightened a little and offered a small, almost hesitant smile.
Maybe he felt it too—what his presence meant to me.
But I didn’t say anything. Just passed him on my way to the elevator.
He followed silently.
When we reached the elevator, he held out the bottle and the sandwich.
He must’ve noticed I hadn’t eaten all day. Of course he did. He always did.
I glanced at them for a beat too long, hesitating, then snatched them from his hands without a word.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the corners of his mouth twitch up into a smile.
When the elevator doors opened, we stepped in together.
Silence hung between us until he finally spoke.
“I’ve been thinking a lot,” he said softly. “That’s why I came. But then I saw it—you were in one of those moments where you just needed to be alone.”
He paused and met my eyes.
“I’m your safe place. I understand that now. I’m sorry it took me so long to see it. I’ll be here, Sloane. However, you need me. As shelter. As silence. As space. Your heart is pulled in more than one direction, but wherever it points, I’ll be there.”
The elevator doors slid open. He stepped out first, then turned back slightly.
“I’m heading to Mom’s. Don’t stay too long. And try to get some sleep.”
I ambled out of the elevator, watching his back as he walked away.
A torrent of feelings poured through me.
This was always the problem with us.
I didn’t know how to be loved without being terrified of losing it.
And he didn’t know how to love me without getting hurt by it.
But I needed him. God, I hated how much I needed him.
Because needing someone meant they could leave.
And he did.
He left me. Even though now he said he’d be there for me.
But he left.
So I was right all along.