Chapter 107
Lena's POV
The first thing I registered was the headache—dull, persistent, like someone had stuffed my skull with cotton and squeezed. The second was the smell: antiseptic, sharp enough to cut through the fog. Hospital.
I blinked against the overhead lights, vision swimming into focus. White ceiling tiles. The steady beep of a monitor somewhere to my right. My mouth tasted like chalk and something bitter underneath.
Slowly, carefully, I turned my head.
Rowan sat in a chair pulled close to the bed, slumped forward with his head propped against one hand. Asleep. His shirt was wrinkled, the top button undone, tie loosened and hanging crooked. I'd never seen him look so disheveled. Even in the early mornings at Lakeview, he'd been put together—controlled.
This wasn't control.
His other hand rested on the edge of the mattress, fingers slightly curved as if they'd been holding something and let go. The angle of his body suggested he'd been sitting there for hours.
I looked away before the tightness in my chest could spread.
On the foldout cot across the room, Emily lay on her side, still wearing yesterday's jeans and sweater, phone clutched in one hand like she'd fallen asleep mid-text. Her hair was a mess, dark circles visible even from here.
They'd both stayed.
The thought settled somewhere behind my ribs, uncomfortable and warm at the same time.
I forced myself to take inventory. My left arm ached—IV site, tape residue where they'd removed it. The hospital gown was scratchy against my skin. My head throbbed in time with my pulse, but it was manageable. Everything was manageable.
Except the creeping unease at the edges of my memory.
Harbor Café. Nora's handwritten invitation. Her voice, softer than I'd ever heard it, asking to talk. To find peace.
Then the dizziness. The way the walls started tilting.
I pressed the heels of my palms against my eyes, trying to force the fragments into something coherent, but they slipped away like water through cupped hands.
The need to move became overwhelming.
I eased the blanket back, moving in slow increments to avoid rustling. My legs felt shaky when I swung them over the side of the bed, but I could stand. Barely. The floor was cold under my bare feet.
I didn't look at Rowan or Emily as I took the first careful step toward the bathroom.
Three steps. I could do three steps.
My hand found the wall, steadying myself. Then another step. The room tilted slightly but I kept going, focusing on the sliver of light beneath the bathroom door.
Neither of them stirred.
Good.
---
The bathroom light was brutal. I squinted against it, gripping the sink edge as I steadied myself. My reflection looked worse than I'd expected—pale, hollow-eyed, a faint flush across my cheekbones that didn't match the rest of my coloring.
I turned on the faucet, letting cold water run over my wrists. Breathe in. Count to four. Breathe out. Count to six.
A memory surfaced: Nora handing me a second cup of coffee. Insisting. You look tired. Let me get you something stronger.
My hands started shaking.
Another memory, sharper now: being half-carried out of the café. Nora's arm around my waist. Then a taxi. The backseat smelled like stale cigarette smoke. My limbs wouldn't cooperate.
The hotel room had been dim. Someone else was there. A man I didn't recognize. And Nora standing near the door, phone in hand, face twisted into something that might have been guilt—
My grip on the sink tightened.
Stop. Don't go there. Not yet.
I splashed water on my face and when I looked up again, the flush had faded slightly. My eyes were still red-rimmed, but at least they were dry.
Control. I could do control.
---
The walk back was harder. My legs felt weak, uncoordinated, and I had to brace one hand against the wall to keep from stumbling.
The sound must have been louder than I thought.
"Lena?"
Emily's voice, scratchy with sleep. I heard the rustle of sheets, quick footsteps.
She was beside me in seconds, hand hovering near my elbow. "Should you be up? How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine." The words came out automatically. "Just needed the bathroom."
Her expression said she didn't believe me, but she didn't push. Instead she guided me back toward the bed with one hand near my back, not quite touching but ready to catch me if I fell.
"Easy," she murmured as I lowered myself onto the mattress. "You're still shaky."
"I noticed."
The dry tone made her lips twitch despite the worry on her face. She perched on the edge of the bed, close enough that I could see the exhaustion in every line.
Behind her, I heard the shift of movement. A sharp inhale.
Rowan jerked awake, straightening in the chair so fast it scraped against the floor. His gaze went immediately to me, scanning my face with an intensity that made me want to look away.
For one unguarded second, something raw flashed across his expression—relief so profound it looked like pain.
Then his eyes moved to my hand braced against the mattress, the way Emily was hovering close, and his jaw tightened.
"You're awake." His voice came out rough, barely more than a rasp.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up even more. The wrinkled shirt, the loosened tie, the shadow of stubble along his jaw—I'd never seen him like this. In two years of marriage, I'd never seen him anything less than perfectly composed.
"How long—" He stopped, cleared his throat. "How long have you been awake?"
"A few minutes." My voice sounded steadier than I felt. "I just needed to..."
I gestured vaguely toward the bathroom, the explanation trailing off into awkward silence.
Emily glanced between us, something unreadable crossing her face. Then she stood abruptly.
"I'm going to get food," she announced. "There's a place two blocks over. Lena, you need to eat something, and I need coffee that doesn't taste like battery acid."
"I... Okay," I nodded, pushing down my doubts.
"I'll be back in thirty minutes." She was already pulling on her jacket, not looking at either of us. "Text me if you need anything."
She was gone before I could argue, the door clicking shut with a soft finality.
Leaving me alone with Rowan.
---
The silence stretched. The monitor beeped steadily. Outside the window, early morning traffic hummed.
Rowan hadn't moved from the chair. Hadn't looked away.
I pulled the blanket higher, suddenly conscious of how thin the hospital gown was, how exposed I felt under his gaze.
He seemed to realize he was staring and dropped his eyes, jaw working like he was trying to find the right words.
Finally, he leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, and when he spoke his voice was careful. Controlled in a way that felt fragile.
"How are you feeling?"