Page 104 of Before You Fell

She touches Willow’s hair first, smoothing it back from her face with trembling fingers. It doesn’t need fixing. But I get it. I fucking get it. Sometimes your hands have to do something.

She lowers herself into the chair beside mine. Her hand rests on the blanket near my arm. “Phoenix.”

I make myself lift my head and meet her gaze.

The tear tracks on her cheeks have dried, but the worry remains, carved deep around her mouth and sitting heavy under her eyes. She looks tired in a way sleep won’t fix.

“You love her,” she says quietly. “I can see that.”

I draw in a deep breath, trying to force the tension out of my body.

“But love is not what you feel when someone is dying,” she continues. “It is what you do if they wake up.”

The words hit so hard that my thumb stills over Willow’s knuckles.

The whole room seems to narrow around them.

“I don’t know how,” I tell her.

It costs me to say it. More than I want it to.

“Then learn, Phoenix.”

I stare at Willow’s hand in mine.

Learn. As if it were that simple. As if I could unlearn every selfish, dirty, cowardly thing that made me choose ego and fear over her.

But maybe that is the fucking point. I don’t get to sit here, praying for her life, and still cling to the asshole I became because he is familiar. Losing Willow is not something I can survive.

I nod. “I will.”

Elise watches me, then glances at the untouched sandwich. “You need to go get something to eat.”

“No.”

“Phoenix.”

“I’m not leaving her.”

“She is not going to wake up because you starve yourself in a chair. Go get me a coffee, Phoenix, and bring it back.”

This time, I understand. She needs me out of the room. Needs one minute with her daughter, without me sitting here with all my guilt taking up space, as if I have any right to make her pain share a chair with mine.

I lean down and press my lips to Willow’s hand.

“I’ll be right back,” I whisper.

I force myself to let go and it feels wrong the moment I do. The second her hand leaves mine, panic claws up my throat, but I stand anyway. My legs are stiff, my back screams, and every step toward the door is like walking away from her all over again.

Graham follows me out, arms crossed again—a guard dog with bloodshot eyes and every reason to bite.

The waiting room is quiet. Jax paces near the vending machines. Jett sits with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. Cruz leans against the wall, arms folded, jaw set. Graham moves to the window, looking out at nothing.

None of the guys have left since we came here yesterday. They all glance my way when I enter.

Jax looks at me first. “Anything?”

I shake my head.