Chapter 172

He drops the pot with a hollow clang, then tucks his hands back into his pockets like nothing happened.

Adam jerks upright with a loud gasp, eyes wide, disoriented. He scans the room. “Wha—” His gaze finds me, and something in him breaks. “Flower…”

I’m already leaning in, cradling his face. “You’re okay. I’m here. You’re okay.” My eyes sting. I don’t know when I started crying.

“What happened?” he croaks.

Behind me, Jax moves again. Picks up the pill bottle from the desk. Looks at it once. Then hurls it at Adam’s chest. It bounces off and lands on the sheets.

“You idiot,” Jax snaps. And this time, his voice cracks. Pure, raw anger. Not the cool version he always wears. This is rage...but there's something human and honest about it. “I told you about those. I fucking told you.”

Silence.

Jax exhales, scrubs a hand down his face like he’s restraining himself. Then he turns to me.

“Watch him,” he says. “If he starts seizing or foaming at the mouth....scream or whatever.”

And then he walks out. The door clicks shut behind him.

And I’m left kneeling beside the man I love, soaked to the skin, heart in my throat, and completely wrecked.

I watch him shift slowly, almost gingerly, like every motion tugs at something beneath the skin. He plants his feet on the floor and drags a hand down his face. That hand trembles slightly. I don't think he's aware.

The room’s dim, his damp shirt clinging to the lines of his chest. He’s clearly still chilled from the impromptu ice bath Jax threw us into.

Then he glances at his wrist. Checks the time. His brows furrow, lips part.

“Shit,” he mutters, voice rough and groggy. “I was supposed to call you.”

I blink, surprised. “That’s hardly important right now.”

His gaze lifts, lands on me. And for a second, there’s something boyish about the way he looks at me, like he’s not entirely sure I’m real.

“You’re really here,” he says, quiet.

I nod. “I really am.”

Silence settles again, heavy and full. It makes the walls feel too wide, the room too still. I want to go to him but I’m also afraid to move, like I might shatter something fragile in the air between us.

I swallow, try to find my footing in the moment. “Are you okay?” I ask, carefully.

He opens his mouth like he’s going to answer. But nothing comes out. His shoulders rise, then fall, and he just...shakes his head.

That’s enough. I reach for my phone, already fumbling through the screen with clumsy urgency. “I’ll order an Uber. We should go to the hospital. Just to be sure—"

His hand shoots out, catching my wrist, not rough, but firm.

“Flower.”

I turn back. He’s looking up at me with that same desperate weight in his eyes. His hand finds my waist, and something about the way he clings...not just touches, but clings...knocks the wind out of me.

“It’s not working,” he says, low.

I freeze. “What’s not?”

He swallows hard. “This… break. Or space. Or whatever the hell it is. It’s not working.”

His voice cracks at the edge, and he doesn’t look away. “I know you said you needed it. But I don’t think I can bear it. I’m trying, but I’m fucking losing it.”

God.

I step forward before I can even think about it, every cell in my body screaming to be near him. He exhales as I pull him in, and he rests his head against my stomach. I hold him there, run my fingers through his damp hair.

“I know,” I whisper, pressing my lips to the top of his head. “It’s not working for me either.”

He exhales shakily. One of his arms wraps around my waist, the other remains limp at his side.

We don’t speak.

I glance around, trying to bring myself back to earth. The room is freezing, or maybe it’s just him. Either way, he’s still wet, and if he stays like that, he’s going to freeze to death. My eyes land on the wardrobe. It's tucked into the wall like a secret.

“I’m getting you something warm to change into,” I mutter, more to myself than to him.

The space is far too big, like it was built for someone lonelier than even he knows how to be. I open the wardrobe and sift through a row of greys, blacks, and whites. I find a soft-looking grey sweater and a pair of black sweatpants, the kind that look like they’ve never been worn. Probably haven’t. I pull them out and make my way back to the bed.

He’s right where I left him, sitting on the edge like gravity’s too heavy.

I place the clothes on a dry part of the bed and kneel beside him, reaching up to feel his forehead. He’s still clammy. My stomach won’t stop twisting.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask, softly, like raising my voice might shatter something between us. “Jax said… he said you probably took too many of those pills. Something might really be wrong.”

His eyes stay on me, heavy and dim, but clear enough to meet mine without wavering. “I’m fine,” he says, “I feel… down. But it’ll pass.”

I nod slowly. I don’t know if I believe him. I want to.

“ You need to change.”

He looks at me, then down at the hoodie I’m wearing, he feels it with the back of his hand. “So do you,” he says.

“I will,” I promise, reaching for the buttons on his shirt. “Let me just...”

He lets me.

My hands tremble as I undo the first few. He’s still shivering slightly, even as his eyes burn into me like they can see right through the shaking. I take the shirt off slowly, carefully, trying not to think about how lifeless he felt under my hands not too long ago.

“Towel,” I mutter under my breath. The bathroom door is still cracked open, I pad over and grab two dry towels, swallowing the thick knot in my throat.

When I walk back, he’s standing. Completely naked. And for a second, just a second, I freeze.

There’s a weary kind of tension in the way he holds himself, but even now, even in this stripped-down, vulnerable state, he’s dreadfully beautiful. His body is sculpted in that quiet, powerful way, and the dim light shadows the sharp cut of his jaw, the tired hollows under his eyes, the curve of his mouth that still manages to make something in me twist. He’s still so painfully magnetic I almost forget to breathe.

I set one towel aside and start gently drying him off with the other. My fingers can’t seem to stay still. My hands brush over the plane of his chest, his shoulders, arms, legs. I can feel his eyes on me, but I don’t dare meet them. There’s too much there, remorse and weariness and something else I can’t name without falling apart.

I reach up to dry his hair, standing on my toes to get the ends. His hands come up and catch my wrists, gently.

“Hey,” he says softly.

I finally look at him.

And just like that, I’m back in that moment. Walking into his room, seeing him limp on the bed. My eyes sting.

I open my mouth to speak, but the words won’t come. “I—” I shake my head, frustrated. “ I thought....”

“I know.” His voice is thick as he leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead, lingering like he’s apologizing through it. “I’m sorry.”

I wrap my arms around his waist and hold him tighter. Maybe I can’t fix anything tonight, maybe I can’t even make sense of what just happened, but I can hold him. I can do that.