Nice to see you all again! Thanks so much for 500k !

— Chapter 97 —
All the Strings Cut

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E L L I O T

He's dead.

The first time I heard those words, I'd only just come up for air.

Another splash had split the horizon. A body, familiar at that, plunging off the side of a burning ship. Kicking against the currents, I'd waded out into the inky depths until I'd found him. With one arm hooked into black fabric, I'd dragged us both towards the shore. It was no easier the second time around.

I first heard those words with my frigid body splayed across solid ground. I heard them as my lungs wrestled for oxygen. I heard them as my brain exploded in pain and my nails buried into soaked gravel.

There'd still been water in my ears, and I wasn't sure I'd heard things correctly.

He's dead.

Even after gathering my senses, it'd taken me long enough to recognize Han's garbled voice—speaking those words into reality, instilling my thoughts with the worst horrors they could provoke.

It took me longer to realize that he wasn't talking about Noah.

He's dead.

Midas. I killed him.

...

Three days had passed since that night.

"Thought I'd find you up here again."

Angela's voice was a gentle ripple through the early-morning breeze.

On the rooftop terrace of the hospital, the two of us were the only souls in sight. It was my hiding place—the same spot Noah nearly died, and the same spot he first told me that he loved me.

Coincidentally, it also happened to be where all the nurses in residency went for their smoke breaks.

Angela happened to be one of them, except she only came up here for the express purpose of finding fresh air. She wasn't quite used to the hospital smell yet—something I found out when she first discovered me up here two days ago.

Closing the stairwell door behind her, Angela tilted her head towards where I was bundled up on the ground.

She sighed.

"Still not talking to anyone, huh?" A flash of pity crossed her tone. "Maria's been asking about you. Chains, too. He says you've been avoiding them all like the plague." She slowly murmured, "It's been three days, Elliot."

Three days since Noah died.

He bled out within an inch of his life and then he died. Right here, in the hospital. On the operating table. Surrounded by a mass of desensitized surgeons with their scalpels and their defibrillators. Surrounded by strangers who didn't even know his name. Surrounded by people who couldn't save him.

He died.

"Here." Pushing a steaming styrofoam cup into my peripheral vision, she explained, "I made you tea. It's from the waiting room table, so don't expect anything fancy, but... I guess it's better than nothing."

I hadn't had anything to eat or drink since that night. Nothing that stayed down, at least. Still, I unfurled the nails out of my ragged palms and took the cup from her—if only to warm my perpetually shaky hands.

It was all my fault.

For three and a half hopeless minutes, Noah Black was legally dead.

Angela had explained it all to me. How his heart stopped; how his lungs deflated. When his death was declared in the operating room, the onlooking medical team had no choice but to put down their equipment. It wasn't until they were preparing to throw a sheet over his head that every machine in the room started beeping.

Somehow, someway, by some miracle or divine blessing—his heart rate spiked. His fingers twitched. Signs of life returned.

The staff didn't even have time to process their shock before resuming his surgery. They stitched him up, did whatever else they could to stabilize him, then moved his comatose body into the intensive care unit.

He'd been there ever since.

Not really dead. But not really alive, either.

Just... there.

I hadn't stopped by his room. I hadn't spoken to his family when they flew down last minute to be by his side. I hadn't uttered a word to Chains, who'd spent the last three day in quiet shock—the quietest I'd ever seen him—and I hadn't dared to rear my head around any grieving Stray Dogs.

I couldn't begin to explain to everyone that I was the reason this happened. Noah was on his deathbed because of me. And even if he did wake up, he still wouldn't be out of the water, because all of that blitz smoke he inhaled would've surely done irreversible damage. Nevertheless, my hopes weren't high. Every chance pointed to him never waking up again.

Which was why I needed to be as far away as possible.

I was bad luck. This hospital had proven that once already.

Noah didn't need me anywhere around him.

"If it's any consolation, I um, I've been in your shoes before. Noah, he..." Angela sucked in a breath, then sighed. "He's seen his fair share of hospitals. In and out of them, back in the day. Just... fighting his own demons. Drowning. And he never let anyone in enough to help him—not even me."

Tucking her hands away, she took a moment to stare out into the blissful peace of a pale blue sky.

"But..." came her whisper, "I'm glad it was you."

A gnawing sense of guilt nestled deep in my chest, burning the barren ducts in my eyelids. But I'd already cried them raw. There was nothing left anymore. The world around me was a monochrome grey and my will to go on was destroyed.

I was an empty husk and I'd been dead for three days.

"You're good for him in ways I'll probably never understand. He trusts you, maybe even more than he trusts himself, which is rare for someone in his position. People usually depend on him, you know, not the other way around. So, after everything he's suffered through, I'm relieved that he's healed himself up enough to believe in someone again. I'm relieved that he has you."

But what good was I to him, in the end?

"I don't know," she backtracked. "Maybe I'm seriously overstepping. Sorry."

Kindness. Though I didn't deserve any, it radiated so naturally from Angela in every possible way. That boundless empathy would do her wonders. Especially in a career like this.

"Anyway, I guess what I'm trying to say is, he always claws himself back to the surface. It's just... taking him a little longer this time. But he'll be back." Leaning over, she placed a tender hand on my shoulder. "Trust me on that. He's going to be okay."

They said the same thing about my mother, and she was buried in the dirt six months later.

"And you need to be okay too," she continued. "Because he's going to need you when he wakes up, and you can't help him if you haven't helped yourself first. You need to see someone, Elliot. I don't know what you went through that night, but you've avoided every doctor and nurse who's tried to see you since. It's worrying."

As considerate as her statements were, my own body wasn't.

I hadn't eaten. I hadn't slept. I was running on empty, without energy or purpose. My insides had rotted. My brain was dead in the water. If nothing else, I was probably nursing a fever.

If I tried to stand up now, I'd probably collapse like a puppet with all its strings cut.

Completely useless.

Rubbing my shoulder, she said, "If you don't want to talk about what happened yet, that's fine. But... let's at least get you looked at, yeah? You need to take care of your health. If not for yourself, then do it for him."

Do it for him.

Peeling my dreary gaze towards her, my focus squinted, soon recognizing Angela's tender eyes and warm expression. Her genuine concern was striking.

"We'll get you in for a quick checkup," she assured me. "How does that sound?"

It sounded horrible. It sounded like probing questions and pitiful stares and medical equipment being prodded into me every which way.

I didn't need a doctor.

I was broken in ways no doctor could fix.

Still, despite every nerve in my body willing me not to, I set down the tea and slipped my hand into Angela's. Her smile widened slightly. Helping me to my feet, she didn't critique me when I stumbled on my ankles and leaned my full weight on her for support.

No doctor could help me, but perhaps I could make something of my time that didn't involve rotting away on a rooftop.

As meaningless as it'll be.

"Okay," she whispered. "Come on."

Hooked to each other's side, the two of us navigated a path back down into hospital halls. Almost immediately, the frigid chill of the morning subsided—but my raw cheeks still prickled and stung.

Everything was ten times brighter in these halls. Glaringly intense. Overwhelming.

It was hardly eight in the morning and the place was already teeming with people. Sick patients, visiting families, doctors and nurses in white moving in all directions. Room by room we passed, and every one was a completely different picture. I couldn't keep up. I could barely see. I hate this place.

Had Angela not been guiding our way, I definitely would've passed out from the sheer mess of it all.

Dread was a shard of ice in every muscle as we neared the very place I was hoping to avoid. Soon enough, however, the two of us were rounding the corner to the hall where Noah's room was.

Except I hit a wall.

No, not a wall. The freckled teenager standing in my way wasn't big enough for that.

"Jasper," huffed Angela in a breathy frustration, "how many times have I told you to stop running about in here?"

The youngest son opened his mouth to speak, but it was instantly silenced by all of the jarring commotion in the hallway behind him.

Something was wrong.

The first red flag was obvious in the Stray Dog being rushed past us with a bloody nose. Second to that was the wave of bikers and nurses throwing themselves through Noah's doorway. Third, and perhaps most concerning of all, all of them were shouting.

Jasper didn't need to say anything. His stark-wide eyes did all the talking for him.

No. No. No.

Next thing I knew, I was running.

"Wait, Elliot, hold on a—!"

Angela's objections vanished into nothingness. Nearly tripping on my own laces, I managed to dodge all of the panicked staff and concerned bystanders in my rush towards his room. By the time I hurtled myself through the doorway, my entire body was shaking and every movement burned.

"Hey, grab his—get his arm!" someone yelled, firing orders over the mob of people circling Noah's bed.

"Oh, thank God!" came Maria's voice. "Thank God!"

It was chaos.

Stray Dogs—at least five of them, including Chains—were wrestling something around the end of Noah's bed. Two male nurses were involved too, as well as Maria and her husband Adrian, who'd come down to Boston to support his distressed wife. All of them were shouting things at each other, and none of them were letting me see what was wrong.

"Sir, you need to calm down!" reacted a concerned nurse. "Where the hell is security?"

"You idiot," snapped Chains. "You're going to rip out your tubing!"

"What the hell is wrong with him?" asked a biker.

In the fleeting intermission that followed, I overheard the mad beeping of Noah's patient monitor. I couldn't see it from here, but I knew that sound spelled disaster. It was blaring off too damn fast for him to still be asleep, much less okay.

Rushing forward, I tried to get a better look, managing to talk but being drowned out with every word. Nobody was listening to me. I may as well not have been here.

Just let me see him.

"Honey, you're scaring us," stammered Maria. "What's the matter?"

A flailing of limbs was her only reply—elbows into ribs, kneecaps into sides, then the pained yelp of a biker caught in the crosshairs.

"Ouch! Fucker!"

Chains hurried, "Elliot, get out of the–"

Frustrated, I shoved him away, pushing myself to the front of the crowd. Then, with whatever strength I had left, my abrupt shouting silenced them all.

"I said, move!"

Hands lifted off. Bikers stepped away.

Passing them all the glare they deserved, I waited until the room found some semblance of calm before turning my attention back to Noah.

One look at him brought every beautiful color of the universe exploding back into my life.

He's awake.

More than that—he was alive.

My heart was a firework in my chest. Setting aside my immediate relief, I steadied myself enough to understand what I was looking at. A pale Noah, shuddering and shaken, digging his nails into the skin of his arm and looking around for an escape. Gasping, like he'd spent the last three days holding his breath and had just been allowed to surface.

His silent sobs filled the space between us. For a moment, I was stunned into a breathless stupor—staring at him, staring at his bandaged shoulder and the wounded arm tucked into a loosened sling, wondering how any of this was possible.

Was this real? Or had my exhausted mind finally reached its limit and plunged me into a dream?

Either way, He's panicking.

A protective sense of annoyance flared up within me.
Noah was having a panic attack, and the first thought these idiots had was to dogpile on top of him. They were lucky that a firm shout was all they got.

Hesitantly, I brushed my fingers against his arm.

Noah flinched at the gesture. His stressed gaze lolled upward, pinpointing me in a teary, bloodshot haze.

At last. Golden eyes.

If this isn't real, I thought, if this is just a charitable glimpse into my afterlife with him—then somebody grant me mercy by killing me now.

Please.

I don't want to live in a world where this isn't reality.

Lingering on the sight of me in his bloodshot stare, Noah's spasmodic breaths shallowed, and the room waited in perfect silence as the beeping of his heart monitor began to pulse at a steadier rhythm.

"They're fine," Maria soon announced, reassuring the mob with an awkward smile. "You see? Everything's perfectly calm. Now, let's just give them some space."

Very few people needed to be told twice.

Except a nearby nurse, who quickly objected. "Ma'am, your son's behavior is a serious ri—"

"The only risks you need to worry about are my Valentinos kicking your ass through this door!" Shepherding everyone out of the room, Maria stomped on her lacquered pumps for emphasis. "Now, move it!"

She was the last one out the door, flinging it shut behind her with a dramatic flair.

"Are you real?"

Snapping my head to Noah, the sound of his hushed whisper shot a wave of shivers down my spine.

The question was so profoundly vulnerable, like he was terrified to even ask it, perhaps as though my answer could very well invent or destroy him.

I responded with a careful nod.

His lip quivered. "You're not dead?"

"Not anymore."

Hearing the fragility of my own voice stunned me. Nevertheless, each word resounded with relief, beaten only by my gratitude and utter desperation.

"And Midas?" he rasped.

"Gone," I said, recalling Han's promise. "For good."

That was all it took.

Breaking apart into fully-fledged cries, Noah seized me into his determined arms. I gave into it like sand being washed away by the sea. My empty husk crumbled to ash, and just like that, my most fragile core was wholeheartedly engulfed by him.

Tender hands gripped at my neck, my sleeves, my shirt, my shoulders. Every cool touch was a jumpstart to my battered system of nerves and bones. I savored it. Settling into our gentle warmth, I held him as tight as my trembling limbs would let me. Where his forehead pressed into the crook of my neck, my face buried into his disheveled hair, and neither of us managed to communicate anything more than the unbridled sobs we were stifling into each other's living bodies.

We're okay, I thought, struggling to manage the disbelief of it all. We're alive.

This is real.

All of us are safe.

And perhaps I cried harder once that realization finally dawned on me.

So much time wasted, I cursed in frustration. So much of him that I took for granted. Here and now, as I inhaled the salt of his skin and melted into the passion of his embrace, I knew for sure that I'd been an idiot.

How could I have ever scorned love?

How could I have ever pushed him away, or held him at arm's length, or dismissed his feelings for me?

I wished there was a stronger word for it, because love didn't even feel adequate anymore. I was consumed. Infatuated. Enraptured. Devoted. Obsessed. I loved him more than love itself had value as a word.

I love him.

And now I'd been given another chance.

Shuddering as we pulled apart, Noah cried, "What in God's name were you thinking?"

"I'm s-sorry."

"How could you ever think to do something like that?" he lamented, grasping my wrinkled shirt. "After everything I've told you, all the things we've been through together, every reminder about my heart beating in your chest—how could you ever think that killing yourself was the right choice? Don't you know that I'm nothing without you now? That my life's meaningless if you're not in it? That I'd be just as dead as if you'd turned the gun on me?"

All the air was knocked out of my lungs.

He continued, "Do you have any idea how terrified I was? What it was like to sit there, unable to move, unable to do anything other than grapple with the fact that you were about to die?" Quivering wildly, his golden-yellow irises dripped with anguish. "Can you imagine how absolutely maddening that was? Could you even begin to fathom what it was like, having to wonder if I'd see you dead when I opened my eyes again?"

He wasn't shouting, but every word that tumbled through his lips instilled me with a suffocating sense of guilt. The feeling sat on my chest like an elephant and made my mouth run dry.

I'd never stopped to think of it from his perspective.

Of course he was upset with me. His shoulder was one thing—a physical injury, one that could heal—but my actions were another. I'd forced him to relive every horrible memory that he had about his father. Memories that he'd trusted me with, and the same memories I'd thrown right back at his face.

Oh, what was I thinking?

"I've lived through that same picture before. What happened on that ship was all of my worst nightmares made real and seeing you with that gun was torture. It was torture and I thought I was going to lose you. I thought I lost you. I can't lose you, Darling, especially not like that. I nearly broke my own wrists trying to stop you."

Sure enough, his scarred wrists were red and raw from Midas' restraints, and my chin trembled at the sight.

Tears sprung to Noah's eyes again; his wobbly lip curled. "Fuck, I just—you really scared me. Hell and back, you scared me to death."

If only you knew.

Midas may have been the one to pull the trigger, but I was as much to blame for all of this.

"I'm sorry," I whispered with a disintegrating voice. "I'm sorry, I-I didn't know what else to do, I couldn't..."

Noah's shoulder, his wrists, his bruises, the blitz in his lungs and the pain he was feeling—I had a direct hand in all of it. How could I even face him now? How could I live with myself?

"I'm sorry," seeped broken words, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I—"

"Elliot, no, hey."

I hadn't even begun to process the moisture gliding down my cheeks until Noah brushed them with his hand and pulled me to sit on the bed.

"It was all m-my fault," I babbled unintelligibly. "I wasn't strong enough. I couldn't—I made the wrong choice, and you were shot, and you... you have every right to h-hate me. You probably never want to, to see me again. I'm so... I'm so sorry, I—"

"Hate you?" Noah shook his head, frowning. "Alley Cat, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"I thought... I just, I figured—you'd be angry with me. It's okay if you're angry, and if you... if you want to shout at me, and..."

"What? No. No, none of this was your fault in the slightest." Sweeping his fingers through my hair, he clarified, "I'm angry because you were put in an impossible situation. I'm angry that I'm the reason we entered this mess at all. I could never, never, blame you for that, Elliot."

"But you... you're hurt, because of me, and it was just, all I wanted was to help, to keep you safe, and—"

He stopped me. "You did what you thought was right. Yes, I fucking hate the solution you chose, but please don't ever let the thought of my reaction dictate the choices you make. You're too good, too fucking smart for that. And you've suffered far too long at the hands of volatile people to ever be treated like that again. You understand?"

Making sure I felt the impact of every word, Noah held his gaze steady, soothing me with careful touches and a hand on my thigh.

Sucking in a pathetic breath, I wiped down my cheeks in a haphazard rush and huffed the hair out of my eyes.

"C'mere," he whispered.

Pulled toward him, I sank against his torso, feeling his good arm sling over my shoulder and his wounded one grip my side. With pleasure, I thought, nuzzling my numbed face into his warm chest. My fingers curled into his clothes and my chin continued to spasm. His heartbeat in my ears was a gentle consolation.

Combing his fingers through my hair, Noah cradled me, pressing a tender kiss on the crown of my head.

"I love you, Elliot," he murmured. "Your empathy, your stubbornness, your compassion and your conscience. All of it. You're my balance and without you, I'm lost. I'm so fucking lost."

"Please don't let me go," I pleaded, vulnerable.

"Never. Heaven and Hell will be struggling to pry us apart when we're dead."

"Mm-nn," I mumbled. "No more death talk. I've had enough of death and dying to last me three lifetimes."

He chuckled softly. "Alright. You've got a deal."

Practicing my breathing, I held onto him tight, thankful that he refused to let me go. Nobody would ever understand how much I needed this embrace. Resisting the urge to cry again, I rubbed my knuckles down his spine, wishing I could leave this earth behind and live permanently in his ribcage.

"I'm so happy you're okay," was the only sentence I could properly articulate.

Noah kissed me again—this time, my eyelids.

"All thanks to you," he soon whispered against my lips, "for lending me one of your nine lives."

My eyes widened slightly at those words—they meant more to me than any condolences or sympathy I'd received in the last three days.

"Looks like I caught up to you in the end, Alley Cat."

I remembered now. The promise he'd made me, days ago, before the universe came crashing down around us and the maws of hell opened up to swallow us both: I'll be chasing you even in death.

He'd caught me.

We'd faced death together, and he'd caught me.

Shuffling in his grasp, I moved to cup my hands around his cheeks. Forehead to forehead, nose to nose, heart to heart, I kissed his lips—deeply, passionately, with every intention of spending the rest of my life with him. He traced the tattoo in my mouth with his piercing. I nipped him gently in return.

Mine.

"I love you," was my solemn promise. Noah's starry eyes shone back with a thousand similar words.

A sudden voice split the air.

"Well, that was the most romantic thing I've heard in months!"

My heart slammed through my sternum. I shot away from Noah in a violent fright.

"Goodness, are my cheeks flushed?" asked the invisible stranger, her voice chiming across the room. "Your grandfather used to speak to me like that, you know. Quite the poet, that one. He had a splendid way with words—just like them."

We're not alone in here.

The curtains, I realized. To the right of Noah's bed and opposite the door, an ivory set of curtains split the room in half. He was sharing the room with another patient.

The woman continued, her accent prominent. "Speaking of romance, do you ever plan on finding a nice girl to settle down with? Or are you simply going to wait until I die of old age? I'm not getting any younger, you know, and I'd like to leave this earth knowing you've at least planned to have children of your own. Are you listening to me, Han?"

I didn't need to hear anything else. Shuffling over the bed, I reached for the flowing divider, peeling it back to confirm my wildly churning suspicions.

"Jesse?" I gasped.

It was like looking into the face of a miracle. Another one. There she was, in the matching hospital bed, smiling with frail eyelids and wrinkled cheeks like the entirety of Boston hadn't been upturned in search of her.

"Goodness, Elliot!" she exclaimed joyfully, cupping her mouth. "Is it really you? What a coincidence! How are you, dear? How's your friend?"

I blinked back at Noah for a brief moment. His expression was just as bewildered.

"What are you doing here?" I asked the elderly shop owner. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, this?" Pointing to her bandaged forehead, she explained, "It's embarrassing, really, but I'm fine! Silly me; I slipped and bumped my head while mopping up a spill down at the store."

"Slipped?" I echoed.

At that moment, I finally turned to acknowledge the other person in the room.

Han. Sitting on a chair to the right of his mother, he was slumped over her legs, gripping tightly around her hand. The sight of him was surreal. Dressed in all black, his scarred face was concealed behind a disposable mask and the gloomy shadow of an old trucker cap.

Seemingly disinterested in us, he barely offered more than a slow, inscrutable blink.

"Blame it on my bad back, I suppose," said Jesse, waving off the thought. "Anyway, the next thing I know, I'm waking up in the hospital—getting a lecture from my cranky little grandson about taking better care when I'm working."

She patted his shoulder tenderly; Han hid his face in his arm and said nothing.

She doesn't know the truth.

Jesse didn't slip at the store, she was abducted. And perhaps Midas had been telling the truth. Perhaps he'd drugged her, and she'd been unconscious the entire time she'd been missing. Perhaps, once Han woke her up and realized that fact, he'd fed her a little white lie to protect her from reality.

It was the only explanation that made sense, and from the look on Noah's face, I could tell he was thinking the same thing.

Where the hell did Han find her? I wondered.

Jesse rambled on light-heartedly. "He thinks he's onto something, this one, telling me I should consider retirement. Over my dead body, I said. After all, you know me—nothing passes the time better than being useful."

Pushing aside my myriad of unanswered questions, I decided to focus on the positives of the situation.

"Han's coming from a good place," I said with a genuine smile. "You're precious to him; he cares about you a lot. I'm sure he just wants you to look after yourself."

Jesse laughed. "Well then, what's he for, if not to look after me?"

Han didn't stir.

Ignoring him, my eyes softened towards his grandmother. "I'm glad you're alright, Jesse."

"Aw, dear, you're too kind." Adjusting her IV tube, she assured us, "Don't you worry—I'll be back in tip-top shape in no time! Isn't that right, Han?"

There was a quiet grumble from somewhere inside Han's unmoving heap, but not much else. He must be exhausted.

Relieved, but exhausted. Much like the rest of us.

I said warmly, "We'll let you get back to it, then."

"Yeah," added Noah. "Great seeing you again, ma'am."

Jesse giggled and waved us away. I pulled the curtain back into its rightful place, closing us all off for the peace and privacy we deserved.

A hand gripped the back of my shirt. Tugged me backward. Protected my spine as I fell back onto Noah's bed in a fit of silenced laughs. Feeling his arms wrap around me, I grinned up at him, and the love in his eyes assured me that he understood all of the emotions I was feeling.

Noah was alive. Jesse was okay. Midas was dead, and Han had his grandmother back. Four golden blessings that made life seem a little more bearable.

Right here, in this little hospital room of all places, all was right in the world.

This is my happiness.

===

The rest of the morning was a blinding flurry that I struggled to keep up with.

It wasn't long after Noah woke up that a barrage of doctors and nurses came to evaluate him. Asking him questions, checking his charts, running tests, poking him with various tools, then running more tests. Like a science experiment or an animal in an enclosure, everyone was eager to figure out just how he'd managed to come back from the dead.

He kept me near him at all times. Glued to the chair at his bedside, I did my best to comfort him while trying to understand what the doctors were saying. One of us had to understand, at least, because Noah didn't seem the slightest bit interested in their conclusions. Hopped up on drugs and strong painkillers, he was too busy rubbing circles into my scabbed palm and messing with his sling.

Unlike him, I didn't want to miss anything important. So much was still up in the air, and I needed to know exactly how bad the risk to his health was.

Thankfully, the nurses seemed optimistic.

Once the medical staff finally drew away, his family was allowed in to see him. That included Maria and her husband, as well as Jasper and Emma.

"I'm sorry for making you come all the way down here," Noah told them, sitting up into Maria's tender embrace.

"No, no, don't apologize." Careful not to squeeze him too tight, she brushed his hair back and patted his cheek. "I'm just glad to see you're alright. You gave us such a scare. Is your shoulder in any pain? Are you comfortable?"

Jasper poked his curious face out from behind her. "We heard you got shot."

Noah nodded. "They've got me on enough painkillers to down a horse. Don't worry—I'll be fine in a few weeks." Pulling out of his mother's grasp, he looked at the older gentleman standing at the foot of his bed. "Adrian. You takin' good care of my mother?"

Noah's stepfather was a broad-shouldered man, healthy for his age, with wise eyes and deep lines on his forehead. Dressed in smart pants and a comfortable sweater, he wore very few accessories beyond a leather wristwatch and black-framed glasses. He extended his hand for Noah to shake.

"As best as I can," answered Adrian. "Glad to see you're well."

Maria smiled, then turned to call for her youngest. "Emma, come say hello to your brother. You remember him, don't you?"

Emma, a short little girl with caramel hair and giant brown eyes, curiously tiptoed her way to the front. She looked like an exact replica of her mother, except her features were painted with her father's color palette, and her sweet gaze brightened at the sight of Noah.

He smiled warmly at her, offering a gentle wave. "Long time no see, troublemaker."

For a moment, she plainly gawked, and Jasper's words from that awful dinner resounded in my head. I tried to dismiss them. Maybe she's just shy?

Her attention turned to me.

"You're pretty," were the first words she spoke. "Are you his boyfriend?"

My mouth fell open. Noah smirked. Jasper snorted.

"My name's Elliot," I greeted kindly, managing to pull my timid self together. Leaning down, I offered out a fist for her to bump. "It's nice to meet you."

"I saw you kissing earlier." Thwacking my knuckles, she stated, "Mama says people only do that when they're married. Are you married?"

Scratching my neck, I could only offer up an awkward laugh, fully aware that Noah was engrossed in the conversation now.

"Not yet," was my stuttered reply.

"Why not? That's silly."

Noah nodded along with her, teasing me. "I know, right? You'd think he'd have proposed ages ago. I'm practically dying over here." Hand to his forehead, he fell back on the bed dramatically.

I passed him a look. "Very funny."

I don't need marriage to know how I feel about you.

"But you can't kiss if you're not married," argued Emma. She looked to her father, who'd moved to sit on one of the chairs. "Papa, why can Noah have a boyfriend, but I can't?"

Adrian gave her a look. "Because boys are gross, and your brother is old enough to make his own decisions. You're not. Wait until you're older."

"But papaa," she whined, signing with her hands.

"She's upset because we said she couldn't date," explained Maria, amused. "There's a boy in her class—Tommy, he's called, and he keeps leaving flowers on her desk. Emma has a crush."

"That's cute," I said, chuckling.

Jasper interrupted with a huff. "Don't encourage her. We already said no dating."

"But that's not fair!" she said loudly. "My friend Nina has a boyfriend, and her dad's fine with it!"

"Yes, but you're Emma, and your dad says no. End of story." Unfurling the newspaper he'd brought in, Adrian adjusted his eyeglasses and remarked, "Someone should have a very serious talk with Nina's father."

"Then how come Jasper gets to have a girlfriend?"

Maria frowned, shooting her son a glance. "Girlfriend? What girlfriend?"

"She's lying," the middle child countered. "I have no idea what she's blabbing about."

Noah stifled a smile.

"Yes he does!" said Emma. "Her name's Mikaela! She sneaks into his room when you guys are asleep; I saw them! And they always eat all of my snacks!"

Jasper glared at her, signing something curtly.

"Means snitch," Noah quickly translated for me. I nodded, amused by the bickering. Part of me wondered what my house would have been like with siblings.

No, I thought, I wouldn't wish that on anyone.

Maria, displeased, put her hands on her hips. "If that's true, then Jasper's been naughty, and he's going to be in very serious trouble when we get home." She patted her daughter's hair. "You should listen to your father, dear. You're a smart girl, so you won't copy Jasper, right?"

Jasper scowled at the nine-year-old. "Thanks a lot, butthead."

Emma made a face at him.

Just as the room transitioned back to doting on the eldest son, I was distracted by the sight of a familiar silhouette strolling past in the busy hallway. His tall build, raven-coloured hair and piercing black gaze were impossible to mistake.

James.

Soon enough, he stopped by the window, and our eyes locked in silent recognition.

What is he doing here?

Turning towards Noah, I murmured, "I'll be right back. Just going out in the hall."

He nodded, his hand tensing as I let go of it. I excused myself from the conversation with a considerate glance, slipping carefully out of the room. The door shut behind me with a quiet click.

Bundling up into the warmth of my clothes, I skirted around the loitering Stray Dogs, stopping close to where James was waiting for me.

Overcome by hesitation, oxygen stopped its course down my tightened throat.

We hadn't seen each other since that night. Not since I pulled James out of the water. Not since he completely ignored my existence and disappeared after the fact. Not since I betrayed him, offering him up to Midas in a disturbing nightmare that had played on repeat in my head for days.

As concerned as I was for his wellbeing, I also knew his frustration for me was bubbling under the surface. His being here now couldn't mean anything good.

"Hey," I mustered breathily.

Contrary to my expectations, he didn't start shouting. He didn't redden in the face, nor did his fists clench.

He looks gone.

The more I observed him, the more obvious it became. The tiredness in his vacant eyes, the paleness of his skin, and the weakness in his stance. It was as if he was separated from his body, like a performer dangling around a lifeless puppet for show. Something within him was seriously broken and I couldn't even begin to know how to repair it.

"Angela called," he slowly began, his voice distant.  "So... I see he's awake. You must be relieved."

"Where have you been?"

The question pierced out of me like a blade. James tensed as he heard it.

"You never came by," I clarified, hiding my unsteady hands. "After I helped you and Han out of the water, you just... you left."

"Can you blame me?"

"I was worried."

"Don't do that."

"Do what?" I huffed.

"You know what." Chin raised, he spoke matter-of-factly, "You made your choice, Elliot, and it wasn't me. Clear as crystal. So, don't. Don't confuse me with any more empty words."

My chin trembled. "I wasn't trying to hurt you."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"It was an impossible choice to make, James."

"Was it?" he asked, his angled eyebrows colliding. "Because you seemed pretty damn certain when you looked me in the eyes and surrendered me... to Midas. You made that choice." Lowering his voice, he said, "After everything that bastard put me through, you deliberately decided to let him have me again. You destroyed me with that decision like it was nothing; and if we're being honest, between that and death, I would have preferred the bullet."

"That's not fair."

James shook his head. "I suppose the saddest part is that I don't even blame you. No... how could I? You haven't done anything to hurt me that I haven't done to you a hundred times over."

No, this is different.

I was trying to protect you. Digging my nails in, I crumbled as the bad thoughts surfaced. I hurt you all, but all of you are still alive. Memories of that night were flickering in my mind now and it was taking all of my strength not to collapse. 

James, staring off to the side, seemed plagued by an equally horrible sequence of thoughts. It was as though he had a million things he wanted to say to me and didn't know where to begin.

"Just ask me why I did it," I told him. "Ask me what you really want to know."

James's voice crumbled.

"Why did you pick Han over me?"

I inhaled deeply. Adjusting my weight, my mind considered each word before they were spoken into existence. "I... I didn't pick him because I was upset with you, or because I thought his life was more important than yours. I picked him because his life was the only one that wasn't guaranteed." Meeting his stare, I mumbled, "Midas never would've killed you. He would've killed Han without hesitation. I bet on those odds, and..."

And all the people I care about are safe.

James sank backward.

"You were trying to save everyone," he breathed, allowing himself a moment to process. "Even me, after all the things you heard me say."

I didn't need a reminder. Those words were scarred into my brain: My love for you destroyed your life.

"Don't think for a second that I blamed you for any of this." Hugging my arms around my chest, I spoke deliberately. "Midas tried to destroy my life, yes, but he never even gave you a chance to live yours."

Affected by those words, a glimmer of redness appeared in the whites of his eyes.

He's hurt.

Stepping forward, I placed my hand on his chest.

"You have a lot of rage in your heart, James. But despite what you may think, there's kindness in you, too." Avoiding the path of a rushing nurse, I continued, "You just need time to figure yourself out. To decide what kind of person you want to be. Somewhere away from Midas, away from all this misery, and... away from me. As much as I'll always worry for you, we weren't meant for a life with each other. But I don't regret the time we spent. Not even for a second."

"You think redemption exists for me?" he muttered, visibly doubtful at the notion.

"I don't know. I'd like to hope so, but... what I think doesn't matter. Yes, I've seen your rage firsthand, but I've also seen the self-hatred you carry because of it. It's unraveling you; I know it is." Withdrawing my hand, I extended a sympathetic look. "For your own sake, and especially now that you have a real chance... you should learn how to forgive yourself."

"And if I can't?"

"Then... Midas wins. Even dead, he beats you. And all of this would've been for nothing."

Peering to the side, I noticed a hefty duffle bag that'd been placed on one of the hallway chairs. It was packed full, bulky and thick, marked with a tag I only saw in planes and airports. The sight of it was like reality striking me with a sledgehammer.

"You're leaving?" I asked.

With a shallow sigh, James nodded. "I'll be on the first flight back to LA after this."

"So soon?"

"Yes, well... the head of my family is about to be embroiled in the biggest court case of his career. I figured I should be on the other side of the continent long before that happens." He murmured, "Besides—there's nothing left for me here anymore."

"Wait," I stammered, "what court case?"

"I assume you haven't been watching the news. Once the Stray Dogs finished ransacking Midas's storage houses three nights ago, it wasn't long before police arrived. They found evidence in the messes. Files. Invoices. Receipts—all of which linked back to my father. The state will be taking him to court on a number of criminal and corruption charges."

My stomach twisted. "But... that's huge. What's going to happen to him?"

"Who knows." Expressionless, he methodically explained, "In all likelihood, he'll be stripped of his position and sentenced to prison. But I'm not holding my breath. Knowing him, it'll only be a matter of time before he's out again and it's business as usual. Men of his caliber always have a way of evading the consequences."

Saddened by his tone, I tried to get a reading on James' emotions. He never wore them openly, and unlike Noah, trying to figure out his thoughts was like running through a maze with no exit.

Sincerely, I asked, "Are you okay?"

James scoffed lightly. "I've completely destroyed the Kato family name. Who cares if I'm okay?" His voice dropped an octave. "I won."

"And now you're leaving."

James looked briefly at his bag and sighed.

"Don't look at me like that," he muttered, avoiding my attention. "We both knew I wouldn't be sticking around forever."

"No, I know." My fingers brushed awkwardly against my clothes. "It's just... sudden, that's all. Do you need a lift? To the airport, I mean?"

He shook his head. "Jayden insisted on being my ride. I told him I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye to you first. He's waiting for me downstairs."

"Oh."

Before the silence between us got too thick, James reached for his bag.

"There's something else, too." Unzipping the bag open, he pulled out a white envelope and said, "Here, before I forget."

"What is it?"

Stopping only a pace away, he extended the envelope for me to take and spoke uniformly. "I ran into Malcom. He mentioned finding this in his mailbox. Must have been delivered to the wrong address."

Malcom?

The sound of his name was an unnerving toxin. Nonetheless, I turned the card over. Shaped in a square twice the size of my hand, the velvet paper rustled in my shaky grip, and the words printed across its face stopped my heart dead in my chest.

New York University
Stern School of Business

"Thick envelope," he suggested softly.

Chewing my cheek, I tried in vain to calm my pounding heartbeat. "NYU... that can't be right. They rejected me already. There must be a mistake."

James shrugged.

"Perhaps they reconsidered your application," he said, glimmering eyes betraying nothing. "You'll never know until you open it."

As if it was that simple.

As if it was that easy.

As if the contents of this very envelope didn't have the potential to change the trajectory of my life forever. It was already so heavy in my hands. Just holding it felt like I'd been given a precious sliver of the universe—a tiny piece that I didn't know what to do with, but was intent on protecting.

A gentle voice fluttered into my field of consciousness. "That dream of yours—owning a bar—it looks more and more real every day, doesn't it?"

I looked up at James, dazed.

"Well then," he carefully uttered, "if there's nothing else... I guess I'd better get going."

"Wait."

Before he could object, I rushed into him, throwing myself into the hug I knew both of us were too prideful to ask for. Rigid in my grasp, it took a few aching moments for him to adjust to the gesture. I knew the sensation was probably foreign.

"I'm sorry, James." Savoring the last of his warmth, I said, "I wish I could've done more to help you."

His hand found a place against my spine.

"Don't be sorry," he muttered. Faintly, and into my hair, he confessed, "You set me free. That's the greatest gift anyone's ever given me."

"You... you'll keep in touch, won't you?"

His answer, unexpected as it was, managed to be surprisingly reassuring.

"No," he whispered. "I won't."

That's it, isn't it? His promise for a better future. One of healing, understanding, and hope—for both of us. I'd never even realized how badly I needed to hear those words.

Savouring the last of our warmth, I offered, "Don't let him beat you, James."

"Goodbye, Elliot."

Our arms separated, and without another glance, James grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. I held tightly onto the envelope in my hands. Standing sated in the bustling hallway, I watched as he departed and took the weight in my chest with him.

He didn't look back for me. Not even once.

=||A/N||=

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