I've been holed up in my bedroom for a week.

Seven days have passed since Connor was knocked out cold on the ice. Seven days since the man I never got to tell I was in love with almost left my life for good. I almost lost him, and no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, I can't get the images of his body hitting the board and collapsing. In a matter of seconds, he went from being focused on the goal to not having a thought at all.

Death can take someone that quickly. My sister went from wishing me to enjoy the party that night to lying in a pool of her own blood on the bathroom floor. I thought I was healing. I thought I was getting over my fears, but watching Connor hit the ice brought everything back tenfold.

Curling on my side in bed, I frown at the mess I've created. A mixture of tissues and ice cream pints litter the floor, and my hair is matted from not running a brush through it. I'm a disaster--a depressed, pathetic coward.

I should have gone to see him at the hospital. I should have been by his side rather than sitting by my phone and waiting for updates from Levi and Matti, but just the thought of stepping into that hospital again after they pronounced my sister dead in that very same waiting room, I couldn't bear it. The memories make my skin crawl with a horrifying, gut-wrenching sensation, and the fear of having to relive that?

My eyes are swollen from the crying—a mixture of sadness and relief. Connor woke up two days after arriving at the hospital, and after another day of observation, he was released to go home. Levi and Matti are helping him out with the occasional support of his parents and siblings. He has the love and support of plenty around him, but the main one who should have been there was me, and I froze. In the moment that mattered the most, I froze.

The sound of my front door opening and closing downstairs has me shooting up in bed. My eyes dart to the mess surrounding me, my heart rate spiking.

Who the hell—

Esme appears in my doorway a few seconds later, an expression of sympathy lining her features. I don't need pity. I don't deserve pity, and right about now, I'm really regretting giving her a spare key to my house.

Then again, I'm not sure what else I expected from her when I ignored her calls for the past week.

"Aria," she whispers, scanning me and the mess that is my room. "God, it's worse than I thought."

I fall back onto my pillows and tug the comforter over my head. "Please, go away. I want to be left alone."

She tugs the comforter off not even five seconds later. "My father is worried about you, and so am I. He says you haven't been to work at all this week."

"I get a week of paid vacation," I snap. "I told him I'm using it."

Esme tentatively sits beside me on the bed and takes my hand in hers. "You need to see him, Aria."

I immediately shake my head. "I can't."

Especially if he has any lingering cuts or bruises from his fall. I don't want to see what could have happened. I don't want to face the fact that I'm a fucking coward who couldn't grow a fucking pair and be by her boyfriend's side. I'm a failure. Always was and always will be.

"You can," she reassures. "I know it's scary, but—"

My eyes meet hers with blazing fury. "You have no idea how scary it is, Esme. You have no idea what it's like to lose a sibling. You have no idea what it's like to have those memories play like a broken record every fucking second of your day. You don't know what it's like to live in constant fear of losing the people you love, and I let myself love him, Esme. I opened myself up, let him in, and then he almost—" I choke on a sob. "He was knocked out cold. He didn't wake up for two days. What if he hadn't woken up? What if he had—" The words die in my throat when I collapse in her arms. I'm an empty shell of a human being, and Esme jumps at the chance to hold me together. It's what she's wanted to do since the moment my sister passed, and this time, I let her. I allow her to hug me tightly, attempting to keep the shattered pieces of me together.

"But he didn't," she whispers through tears of her own. "He's alive and well, Aria. Could it have been a lot worse? Of course, but it wasn't. You can't focus on the negative."

Now that I've shattered, my thoughts can't seem to stop rolling off my tongue. "I thought I was doing better. I thought I was healing, but the minute he fell on the ice I was reminded again of what it felt like to lose someone I love, and I froze. I'll never forgive myself for it because Connor doesn't deserve that. He's everything good in the world, and I'm a failure. I'm a pathetic fucking coward."

Silence stretches between us, and it's so loud it almost drowns out the Lifetime movie playing in the background. "Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?" She asks. When I don't reply, she catches my gaze with hers and says, "I see a strong, powerful woman who bears a grief that isn't her fault. I see someone who fights every single day to overcome her demons—someone who, despite what she thinks, is selfless and kind.

"Healing works differently for everyone, Aria. It's not all uphill. There are times we'll make it halfway up a mountain, almost reaching the top, and then we'll stumble on a rock and find ourselves at the bottom again, but eventually, when we climb the mountain again, we'll learn how to avoid the rocks, and then we'll reach the top and bask in the beauty of it. Healing is a process. It's not something you're going to excel at from the very beginning."

I lean over to grab the box of tissues, releasing an exaggerated sniffle.

"And you aren't a failure. You've been an incredible Big Sister to Monique, right?"

Well, up until this week, I thought I had been. She understood when I told her what happened. If there's anyone else who knows what it's like to battle demons, it's her, and she reassured me she'd see me next weekend for another activity the program plans that we both hate. Arts and Crafts, Soccer, Baking, we've done countless things by now, and each one seems to get worse.

"I get what you're saying," I reply, "and I appreciate you coming over here to check in on me and for your words of advice, but I'm not ready to face the music with him yet. I can't bear to see the hurt in his eyes or the disappointment."

Esme smiles softly, brushing some strands of hair back from my face. "He's not disappointed, and he's not hurt."

I scoff. "And you know this how?"

"Well, I may or may not have been speaking with Levi, and he informed me that his best friend is not hurt, but slightly impatient to see you."

My heart palpates in my chest. "He's not angry?"

"Not angry, but...as I said, impatient. The doctor has him bedridden for two weeks until his concussion subsides, and he's going out of his mind not being able to leave. Levi has to have someone watch him at all times to ensure he doesn't leave to come see you."

"That's...ridiculous," I reply. "He can't risk his injury like that. Does he want to have to stay in bed longer?"

The thought of him fighting his way to come and see me doesn't make me giddy or swoon for him. It just makes me more disappointed in myself for making him that antsy in the first place. He's going to risk worsening his concussion for me, and I can't bear another ounce of guilt. I don't think my mind would be able to tolerate it.

"He's an idiot," I say, shoving the comforter back. A sly smile tugs on Esme's lips when she rises beside me.

"Well, he knows what the fall did to you. He understands why you've been here and haven't gone to work. He's concerned for you. We all are."

"That doesn't mean he can risk making his concussion worse! Doesn't he realize the magnitude of his injury?" I huff in disbelief, kicking a tub of ice cream to the side. "You can all stop worrying. I've snapped out of my funk now, and I'm going to go over there and make his ass stay in bed."

Esme grins wider. "I thought you might say that. Why don't you go and clean yourself up, have a good shower, and I'll take care of this monstrosity of a bedroom?"

A lump forms in my throat, but I quickly swallow it down and offer a small smile. "Thank you, Esme. For everything. I couldn't ask for a better best friend."

"No thanks needed." She waves her hand, ushering me toward the bedroom. "Please, do everyone in our friend circle a favor and get your man back so we can be happy again."

"I will," I reply. "Oh, and Esme?" Her eyes meet mine with curiosity. "Tell your man I said thank you for keeping an eye on Connor this week, but he's officially off duty. I'm taking over."

"Levi is not—"

"Whatever you saaay!" I laugh and shut the bathroom behind me, and as the shower starts up, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. It's an effort not to cringe, but looking past my appearance, looking into the depths of my soul, maybe Esme is right. Healing is a process, and maybe this is part of it. Getting over my fears enough to go and see Connor. To see with my own eyes that he's okay, and to lecture him to the ends of the earth for threatening to fuck up the doctor's orders.

My demons tried to kick me down, but this time, I'm fighting back.

I'm going to get my man back.