Chapter 27
chapter
twenty-seven
“It’s easy to fake strength when no one sees you bleeding.” – Cyrus
CYRUS
It’s been a week since I gave Haven the envelope like it was a knife and told her to stab herself. And in that week, I’ve grown to understand her better than I ever did before.
She got up and cleaned the mess before anyone was awake. I didn’t feel or hear her leave, and she didn’t bring it up again. Not once.
No accusations. No screaming. No shattered glass thrown in my direction.
All of which I deserve.
Instead, Haven rebuilt. Quietly. Ruthlessly. Piece by piece, I watched her reform like a cathedral rising from ashes while the rest of us were still choking on smoke.
She has avoided me with surgical precision. She speaks only when the job requires it and has kept everything cold and professional. All business. All control. All the time.
After each show, she completely disappears and doesn’t attend anything to do with the VIP rooms, dinner, or anything else social. The guys haven’t mentioned it, but they notice.
For years, I thought nothing phased her. Haven Gaillard walked through life untouchable, and it pissed me the fuck off. I always felt like I was falling, while she pranced around, graceful and untarnished.
Turns out I was wrong. That calm of hers isn’t just strength, but armor. It’s how she survives.
While I’m busy collapsing under the weight of my own ghosts. Haven is learning how to gather the broken pieces and glue them back together. One careful shard at a time.
I drown. She stitches herself back together and keeps walking and pretends the ocean never tried to swallow her whole.
And the worst part?
Without even trying…she’s putting me back together too.
Every time she walks into a room, something in my chest locks into place, like a chord resolving after years of dissonance. We’re two ruined melodies that are noise on their own…yet somehow become a perfect song when we collide. I suddenly remember how the world is supposed to sound.
What the hell is wrong with us?
We’re a disaster.
Too broken to be healthy. Too damaged to stay away.
I’ve spent years convincing myself Haven is poison. But poison doesn’t feel like this. Poison doesn’t make the chaos inside my head go quiet.
She does, and that’s the problem.
Because if Haven is the only thing that steadies me…then letting her go again isn’t an option.
Not this time.
Not ever.
Even if loving her means destroying us both.
Taking a deep breath, my eyes flutter open. Morning light filters through the cracks of the blinds like razors across my face. Pain throbs in all my joints before I can even sit up.
Not the usual kind…the lingering ache I’ve trained myself to ignore. This is bone-deep, like every joint, no matter how small, is on fire, while a knife stabs them at the same time. My stomach coils into knots, and my muscles scream to join the party.
I try to sit up and fail miserably.
A groan of agony escapes my chest. Rolling my head to the side, I glance at the time. It’s late, and I need to get up for rehearsal. But every attempt at moving has me seizing and writhing in unbearable agony. What the fuck is this new level of hell?
Knock, knock, knock.
I keep silent. I can’t yell even if I want to, but I also don’t want anyone to see me like this.
Whoever it is knocks again, then barges in without my permission.
“Come on, you’re going to be late. We have a big day.”
Suddenly, Haven is there, pulling back the curtain. I groan and manage to curl up in a fetal position, covering my head. The pain is so unbearable that I’d swear I’ve been shot.
“Close…it…can’t,” I manage to say through the stabbing pain.
“Cy? What’s wrong?”
“Pain,” I answer through clenched teeth. “It’ll pass. Close the curtains.”
She does as I ask and crosses the room. Haven puts her palm against my forehead.
“You’re burning up.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You’re a fucking idiot if you think that.”
I smirk. “You say that like it’s new information.”
Haven pulls out her cell.
“I’m calling Dr. Stevens. He said to call if there were any changes.”
I grab her wrist. “No. Please. No doctors. No more, I can’t, not today.”
Haven locks eyes with me and sighs.
“Fine, but if this doesn’t ease up or if it gets worse, then I’m calling, and nothing you say will stop me.”
“Deal,” I groan.
I try to swing my legs over the side of the bed, but nausea punches me straight in the gut. She catches me before I hit the floor, arms around me like a safety net I haven’t earned.
“You’re shaking, Cy.”
“I always shake. Gonna be sick.”
Haven helps me stand and shuffle into the bathroom. I collapse at the toilet and throw up everything and nothing. She flushes and rubs my back as tears sting my eyes.
I hand her an envelope of disaster, and she helps me stand. The balance in our dynamic is so off.
Haven flushes the toilet again after I fall to the side and sit with my back against the cool tile. My breathing is heavy, and my muscles are so weak that they don’t feel like part of my body, more like weights tied to my limbs.
She grabs my toothbrush and hands it to me with a glass of water. I do what I can with my limited coordination, rinsing and spitting in the same cup. They disappear again, and I close my eyes.
“Do you want to go back out to the bedroom?”
I slowly roll my head against the wall from side to side.
“Can I get you anything?”
“Pain meds.”
She’s back faster than I can take my next breath with the pills and water. I grab the bottle, pop the top, and dump two into my hand. Before she can object, I toss them in my mouth and swallow them dry.
Haven’s eyes narrow.
“Cy, it’s one pill, twice a day.”
“I need the two, trust me,” I say.
“You’re going to kill me with stress,” she says, rubbing her eyes.
I smirk. “At least you still care.”
She glares at me.
“I shouldn’t.”
“No. You shouldn’t.”
It’s all I can say. Haven sits beside me, her warmth seeps into me, and I sigh, needing this. Needing her.
We stay here until the pain eases and the nausea becomes bearable. The throbbing in my head turns into a dull roar.
“Can you help me up? I need to get ready.”
“You sure? We can cancel rehearsal.”
“And give everyone an excuse to say I’m a loser again? Not a chance.”
“Cy, I know you’re not. The guys know you haven’t taken anything or drunk anything since you were released from the hospital.”
“Do they?” My eyes lock with hers. “It’s all anyone ever sees when they look at me.”
Her stunning green depths soften.
“I don’t,” she says with conviction that warms my heart.
I grab her hand.
“I know.”
With a heavy sigh, she stands.
“Okay. I’ll help you, but if you pass out again, you won’t have to worry about the doctor, because I’ll kill you myself.”
I hold back a smirk as she grumbles and bends over to wrap my arm around her shoulders, and helps me to stand.
“I really missed you, Butterfly,” I say as we inch toward the shower. She glares at me, and it feels like all is right in the world.
“Don’t start this again.”
She makes sure the water is warm for me.
“But it’s the truth.”
“Let’s just get you showered and dressed, okay?”
She whips around as I push down my plaid sleeping pants.
“Jesus, Cy.”
“What? It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”
She marches for the door.
“I’ll wait for you out in the bedroom.”
“You don’t have to,” I say, smirking. “There’s room for two.”
“Not a chance, Vale.”
She keeps her back to me but doesn’t leave as I gingerly step into the shower. The pressure of the water is painful, and yet the warmth soothes my aching joints.
“But what if I slip?”
Picking up the soap, I lather my body and run my hands over my cock that doesn’t seem to care about the pain as it stands.
“Then scream for me,” she says, stepping into the bedroom. “I’ll call 911.”
“I’d prefer if you screamed for me,” I call after her.
“Jerk,” she grumbles and mostly closes the door.
I smile and grip my cock. I know what I’m going to think about as I rub this out.
Haven bent over in front of me as I slip into her hot pussy, is exactly what I need. I groan loudly, hoping she hears it.