29. Kirin
Kirin
The next morning, the hospital room was near silent except for the little sighs and light snores Rose made in her sleep.
Waiting for the doctors to clear her, to confirm her brain wasn’t swelling or bleeding or whatever else they were watching for, was torture.
Add in Preston’s arrest and subsequent release on bail and Kirin felt like he was in his own personal hell.
Kirin sat in the chair nearest Rose’s hospital bed, his elbows balanced on his knees, hands clasped loosely between them.
The hospital confirmed Preston hadn’t broken her wrist again, which was a miracle.
They’d put her right wrist in a brace to support it while the torn ligaments healed.
Somehow, her left wrist had avoided serious injury.
They wrapped it for stabilization, but it would heal significantly faster.
Her face had taken the brunt of the abuse to her head.
Preston had made her face a mess of cuts, uneven swelling, and mottled bruises.
Her hair was a tangled clump on the pillow, with some strands sticking to the dried blood near her temple.
He wanted to reach out and move them away, to touch her, to do something.
But his fingers only twitched in his lap.
On the other side of the bed sat Rose’s mom.
Emmaline’s dark eyes had darker circles under them.
He’d called her as soon as he could, and based on how fast she got to Kismet, she’d either hopped a plane or driven straight through, probably a combination.
They’d had their awkward hellos and introductions, but mostly they sat in silence.
He wasn’t sure she was blinking half the time.
Probably worried if she took her eyes off Rose for another second, something else would happen.
He knew the feeling. He hadn’t left her side since they had put her in this room.
She’d been sitting there for hours, a statue of composure that cracked only when she thought he wasn’t looking.
She’d left the room once, but hadn’t gone farther than the hallway, her voice wavering as she spoke to her husband.
Kirin caught her fingers rubbing the edge of the hospital blanket now and then, before she lapsed into stillness again.
“She’s always snored like that.” Emmaline’s voice was soft, but it carried. “Even when she was little. She probably learned it from—”
“Foggy?” Kirin asked, the corner of his mouth twitching into something that almost looked like a smile. “I suppose it’s a good thing she doesn’t sound like a foghorn then.”
Emmaline’s eyes shifted to him, a hint of surprise on her face as Kirin swallowed.
The St. James women looked so much alike that looking at her mom felt like looking at Rose thirty years in the future.
“Has she always slept with socks on? Every morning at least one sock is gone. I got her compression socks last week. They’ve stayed put most nights. ”
Emmaline narrowed her eyes. “Yes, though I’m surprised you noticed.”
He hesitated, unsure whether it was an accusation or a statement. “I try to notice stuff. It’s a byproduct of caring deeply for someone, according to my mom.”
Her gaze lingered on him, steady and unreadable.
Kirin forced himself not to fidget under it.
He wasn’t sure what Emmaline had expected of him, but it wasn’t like he could do much worse than Preston.
Though with Preston as his predecessor, he could understand her apprehension.
Calling her had been a low point in his life.
The silence when he explained was minimally better than the enraged sob that cut through the phone’s speaker.
“She’s been through a lot,” Emmaline said quietly.
“More than most people know. I thought after…” She frowned, looked at Rose, and let out an inaudible sigh before she looked back to him.
“Preston was very charming, but Rose has always been a terrible liar. When she stopped coming home, avoided video calls, and edged around questions…” Another sigh. “Then the hospital called—”
Emmaline squeezed her eyes closed and took a few slow, shaky breaths. He waited, his attention on Rose as she rolled over, the IV providing her with fluids and pain medication pulling. Kirin lifted the lines and smoothed the blanket back over her shoulder.
“Your call brought back a lot of those memories.” Emmaline swiped at her cheeks, her hands shaking. “Rose was barely recognizable when I got there last year. I was terrified you were calling to say Preston had—”
“I don’t want to imagine what that must have been like.” Kirin shifted, the muscles in his shoulders tightening. “I’m not him. I hope you know that.”
“I didn’t say you were,” she replied, not unkindly. “My question is, why do you think you deserve her?”
Kirin looked at Rose again. Her fingers peeked out of an immobilizing brace, brushing her cheek where it rested against the white sheet.
“I didn’t say I did,” he whispered, and he caught the twitch of her lips before he continued.
“I wish I’d prevented this, parked somewhere else with more lights or closer to the stadium. ”
Emmaline’s expression flickered—something between surprise and sadness. “You think that’s what she needs? Someone who feels guilty? Who blames themselves?”
“No.” He rubbed a hand across his jaw, exhausted enough that the truth came out stripped of pretense. “She needs someone who’s not going anywhere. Someone who can make her feel safe again. And I want to be that.”
A long silence stretched between them. Emmaline leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. “You’re very sure of that.”
“I’m not sure of anything right now,” he admitted. “Except her. Except that I can’t stand seeing her hurt.”
Emmaline studied him for a moment longer, then sighed. “I think it’s obvious why I’m cautious. Why I need to look at you, without her impressions, and see whether you’re another storm waiting to break over her.”
Kirin’s throat tightened when he met her eyes. “I don’t want to be the storm. I want to be the place she can come to when it’s over. To be the one she asks to walk through it with her.”
Emmaline’s shoulders softened a little at that. She looked at her daughter, her voice quiet. “You talk like you’re in love with her.”
Kirin’s pulse stumbled. “I—” He stopped, exhaled slowly. “I haven’t told her yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because she doesn’t need that right now.
” Her head tilted, and he held his hands up.
“And I’m not saying that as someone trying to make choices for her.
” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m saying it as someone who’s been through their own storms. She needs space to heal, to process, not more weight to carry. ”
That answer seemed to land. Emmaline looked back at him with something new in her gaze—something closer to respect. “You sound older than you are.”
“Feels like I aged a decade last night,” he muttered.
That drew the faintest smile from her. They both turned toward Rose again when she stirred.
Her lips parted, her head shifted slightly on the pillow, but she didn’t wake.
Kirin reached over instinctively, steadying the IV line when it snagged against her wrist brace.
She settled again, her breath evening out.
“I’m not sure what Rose is going to need this time, but you should tell her how you feel. She can carry a lot, and knowing you love her won’t be a burden.” Emmaline looked at him, her face open. “What are you going to do if she doesn’t say it back?”
“I’ll still be here,” he said, his gaze shifting to trace her features. “For however long she’ll let me. She’s worth the wait and then some.”
Emmaline inhaled, deep and steady, as though she’d been holding that breath for hours. She sat forward, elbows on her knees, mirroring the posture he’d had earlier. “You remind me of her father,” she said after a while. “Stubborn. Thoughtful. Smart. Persistent.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It is. But it’s also a warning.” She turned her gaze to Rose again. “Don’t take the blame for someone else’s actions. And don’t let her do it either. Love her, protect her—but let her fight her way back to herself too. She needs to stand up again on her own legs, even if they shake.”
He nodded. “I just want to make sure she’s got someone waiting when she does.”
For the first time that night, Emmaline reached across the bed—not to Rose, but toward him. Her hand found his, light but firm. Emmaline’s fingers squeezed once before she withdrew. “Just remember,” she said, leaning back, “trust isn’t permanent. Like love, it’s something you keep proving.”
“Understood.” He nodded again, unable to say more.
The minutes stretched, long and quiet. Emmaline’s breathing evened out eventually, her head tipping back against the chair as she drifted toward sleep. Kirin stayed awake. He watched the rise and fall of Rose’s chest.
He brushed the curl from her cheek, careful not to wake her, and whispered, “I’m right here, Flower. I stayed, just like I promised.”
Rose didn’t stir. But her hand shifted, barely—just enough that her fingers brushed his wrist. And that was enough to keep him still, steady, watching the sun move across the room.