Page 871 of Coal Hearts

I smiled back, holding Henri’s hand. I squeezed his fingers so damn hard, hoping he knew I was here, waiting. “I’ll be better when he wakes.”

“Mind if I sit?” she asked.

“Of course.”

Dragging a chair from the window, she sat and studied Henri. He had more colour in his cheeks than he did in Tuscany. When he’d thrown that grenade and Franco snatched me and bolted, I didn’t know if Henri had killed himself.

When the smoke had cleared and he’d spread his arms, inviting anyone to shoot him, my heart had utterly broken.

I’d always known he carried such darkness.

I’d hoped I’d been able to heal that a little.

But until now, with him unconscious despite all the care and healing he’d received, I hadn’t understood. Not really. I’d never been truly alone. Never been hated. Never been judged or feared or mistrusted.

But he had.

And it’d changed him on a molecular level.

I was out of my mind with worry.

I paced the room and begged him to wake up. But I never once thought of ending my life because I knew the power of love.

My parents called twice a day. Krish messaged me often.

I had their support.

I knew I would be missed.

I just needed Henri to realise he had that gift too.

Q visited him often but didn’t say anything.

Suzette, the housekeeper, seemed particularly distraught and even Franco—the man who looked as mean as any Master on Victor’s island—squeezed Henri’s shoulder and told him to fight.

“You’re not alone anymore,” I’d whispered last night. “You have a family who really, really wants to love you, Hen. So please...open your eyes and live.”

Laughing a little under her breath, Tess grinned. “You know...I thought I had it rough when I first fell in love with a Mercer, but you?” She shrugged. “You win.”

I appreciated her attempt at joviality, but I couldn’t quite muster a laugh. “He’s definitely been...tricky.”

Leaning forward, she clasped her hands. Her fitted jeans and cute pink jumper made her look younger than she was, but her blue eyes spoke of hardship and wisdom, flashing with inner strength. “If you ever need to talk about what happened. About what he did and—”

“I’m fine.” I shook my head. “Truly.”

She nodded. “I won’t overstep but I will give you one piece of advice.”

“Okay...” I glanced at Henri’s face.

Was it my imagination or were his brows knitted. His eyes flickered beneath his closed lids. His black lashes shivering with dreams or...waking up?

Hope—that annoying emotion that’d tortured me so badly in Joyero—sparked.

I clung to his hand, my heart skipping as his fingers flinched in mine.

A waterfall of relief chased away the last of my worries.

I sagged over the bed and grinned. “He’s waking.”