Page 83 of Cold Mercy

I try not to spiral, though my stomach twists the entire drive. Since I’m already in New York and in a decent mood, I consider stopping by Elizabeth’s apartment to tease her about changing her mind before the wedding. I barely get the chance to turn the wheel when my phone rings with an unknown number.

My chest tightens immediately. Two years of digging in places I never should have gone left me with more contacts than I want to remember, and for a moment, I brace myself for some contact calling with news I don’t want.

But I answer anyway.

“Mrs. Reed? I’m calling because your husband has been admitted to the hospital after a car accident,” a calm voice says.

The world blurs so violently I grip the steering wheel just to stay anchored.

I can’t speak, not a sound leaves my throat.

The only thing in my head is the unbearable image of him lying somewhere alone, hurt, maybe dying, or already gone, and all the walls I’ve built crumble with one sentence.

Dead, dead, dead, the street is red, another man you couldn't save. Another foot inside the grave. The noose is pulling, the end is near, everyone you love will disappear.

“Is… Is he okay?” I finally manage to swallow the lump in my throat.

I'm not concerned about the ‘Mrs. Reed’ part. I don’t care what story he gave them or why my name is attached to his. All I care about is whether the man I’m barely brave enough to want is still breathing.

I reach the same hospital where I heard Noah was dead. And for a heartbeat, I feel like I’m reliving the worst moment of my life. My legs barely carry me to the reception desk.

“Thomas Reed,” I manage. “Car accident. I… I’m Sophia Reed. His wife.”

The words scrape my throat raw, not because I don’t want them.

But because saying them out loud feels like stepping into some alternate reality where we’re something we’ve never been allowed to be. If I tell the truth, that we argue, crash into each other emotionally and physically, I don’t know whether he wants to strangle me or kiss me, the receptionist will never let me through those doors.

She gives me the room number immediately, and I laugh. Half-sobbing, half-hysterical, because of all the impossible things I imagined happening today, this wasn’t one of them. I run down the corridor, past nurses, past rooms, my vision swimming. I slow only when I reach his door, terrified of what I’ll see on the other side. I push it open slowly, and he’s lying on the bed, turned toward the other side, face bruised and swollen, arms mottled with dark fingerprints of impact. My hand flies to my mouth.

“Thomas?”

He turns his head just enough for our eyes to meet, lashes heavy, his voice low and hoarse.

“Hi, princess.”

I rush to him, tears already spilling down my cheeks, and take his hand as gently as I can, laying my fingers over his like I can shield him from the pain.

“Oh my God… you’re alive,” I whisper, brushing my thumb across the back of his hand.

“What happened? Why would they call me? Why am I your emergency contact?”

He exhales, slow and weak.

“It’s nothing serious. They asked who to call, and I gave them your number. Thank you for coming.”

He can barely speak, every breath clearly hurting him, and the sight of it shatters me. I touch his cheek with my other hand, my voice trembling.

“You’re alive… I’m so happy you’re alive…but don’t you ever do that to me again. They called me and said I was your wife, and at the reception I had to say I was Sophia Reed.”

He watches me through swollen eyes, lips lifting into a bruised smile.

“I like it.”

My heart stops for a second. I blink, stunned, a disbelieving laugh breaking through my tears.

“Do I look like a Sophia Reed to you? I’d have to turn into someone far more bitter and violent. You know, someone who picks fights with everyone on sight.”

He lets out a laugh that immediately turns into a wince as he grabs his ribs.