Page 107 of The Broken Keys

Cash leads me to her door and pushes it open. “I’ll be back. Just don’t upset her.”

I step through the doorway, and the sight of her steals whatever composure I had left. The room is dimmer than before, the lights lowered for sleep. Machines beep softly in rhythm with her breathing.

Livianna lies motionless in the hospital bed, her face pale beneath the bruises blooming across her cheek and temple. Bandages wrap around her head, right above the black eye she has. An IV drips liquid into her arm. She’s so small against the white sheets, so fragile and broken.

My limbs go weak, and I have to suck in a ragged breath to center myself. The sight of her in such a delicate state has me reeling.

Every part of me wants to take her away, find the best doctors that can fix her, and make her remember us. Then the truth hits.

This is my fault. My enemies did this. The people after me found the one person I love more than anything, and they used her to send a message. They took our baby, stole her memories, and tried to kill her.

I tremble as my vision distorts. I can’t process the magnitude of what I’ve lost and what I could still lose if they come for her again.

A suffocating pressure bears down on my lungs. I know this terror. I’ve felt it before.

When I was twelve, I stood in front of three caskets and watched my entire family lowered into the ground. It was then I realized I was alone. I understood loving people meant losing them in the most savage ways possible.

This is history repeating itself. Another person I love being ripped away because of who I am and what I know. Where it used to be my driving force, it’s become my vengeance.

I reach for her hand, because God, I have to touch her and let her know on some level I’m still here. I know I shouldn’t, but I know we both need this. Even if it’s only in her unconscious mind, I know she needs to feel my touch.

Her skin is warm beneath my palm. Her fingers are limp and unresponsive. I lean down and brush my lips against hers in the gentlest kiss. A goodbye I’m not ready to say.

“Mon trésor, I will find whoever did this to you. I will make them pay for every bruise, every memory they stole, and every second of pain they caused you.” The vow comes out low and gutted, meant only for her sleeping ears. “I swear on everything I have.”

I press another kiss to her forehead, careful to avoid her wounds. Then I force myself to release her hand. I stare for a moment, taking her in.

“Jax…” The whisper slips from her lips.

Her eyes are still closed. Her breathing is steady and deep. But she said my name.

And God help me, it’s the thin string that makes me believe she loves me. Somewhere in her heart, she still loves me.

Movement catches in my peripheral vision. I turn and Cash is standing in the doorway, his frame rigid against thedim light from the hallway. His gaze locks on Livianna, then snaps to me.

He heard her.

I start toward the door, but his hand lands on my shoulder, stopping me. “We need to talk before you go.”

I nod once because there’s nothing else to say. The stakes just shifted and we both know it.

We stride away in silence through the ICU, past the nurse’s station, down the elevator, and out into the parking lot. The evening air hits my lungs, cooler than the sterile hospital atmosphere. Streetlights flicker against the sky’s darkened canvas.

Cash stops near a row of cars and faces me. His expression is unreadable, but tension radiates off him in waves.

He gestures toward the hospital. “We need to discuss how to handle telling Livianna about losing your kid.”

The directness of it is brutal, but I appreciate him not dancing around it. “You heard what Dr. Smith said about forcing information upon her, so what are you thinking?”

“I don’t wanna tell her at all.”

“Understood, since it’s in your favor.”

“It’s not that, Jaxon.” He huffs a breath of frustration. “When she miscarried our baby, it destroyed her. She fell into heavy drug use and almost didn’t make it out. She OD’d one night.”

A memory slams into me with viscous clarity. New Year’s Eve when she was nineteen. We were at the same party.

She was drunk and mixing pills with alcohol. I spent the night taking care of her, making sure she didn’t choke on her own vomit.