Chapter 217

Aiden

I woke to the sound of a phone vibrating against my nightstand.

For a second, I didn’t know where I was.

The dark room. The weight in my arms. The soft breath against my chest.

Noah.

We’d only slept a few hours, tangled together like two idiots trying to pretend reality wasn’t waiting outside the damn window.

The phone buzzed again.

Noah startled awake beside me, blinking blearily before reaching over my waist to grab it.

“Lexie?” he croaked.

I pushed myself up on an elbow, rubbing a hand over my face while I tried to get my bearings.

He answered. “Hey… yeah. We’re—we’re here.”

I could hear her voice faintly through the speaker. Shaking. Fragile.

He turned the call toward me instinctively, and I leaned closer.

I kept my voice gentle. “He’s stable,” I said. “Still tired. Still in pain. But the surgery went well, and the doctors are optimistic.”

Lexie exhaled shakily. “Thank God… I was terrified. How are you doing?”

“Running on fumes,” I admitted. “But I’ll be back there soon.”

Noah spoke to her a little more—soft reassurance, soft words—until she finally said the part that made his shoulders tense.

“We need to talk. I need to tell my father, Noah… I’ll see you when you get here.”

“Ok, hon. Just wait for me.” She hung up before either of us could say anything else.

Noah slowly lowered the phone, staring at it like it might crack open in his hands.

I already knew.

I felt it before he spoke.

“She wants to tell her father,” Noah whispered. “She can’t keep the lie going. And she’s right… she’s too shaken to fake it. If she goes into that conversation alone…”

He swallowed hard. “Aiden, I need to go to her before she does something impulsive.”

My stomach twisted.

“Baby…” My voice came out hoarse. “I understand—”

“I’ll come visit Micah with her. I promised them both, but I don’t know if we’ll be alone, or if he’ll come with us, follow us, or have us followed,” he trailed off hesitantly. “That’s why you can’t be there. I’ll message you ahead of time to make sure you’re nowhere near the hospital… I can’t risk them seeing you.”

I closed my eyes. Just for a moment.

Because it hurt.

It fucking hurt.

The idea of him leaving this house.

Leaving me.

Walking back into a world that wasn’t meant to have me in it.

He turned to me, crawling into my lap like he always did when he felt too much, and pressed his forehead to mine. “I’m so sorry….”

“I know,” I said. My voice cracked. “I know, sweetheart. And I hate it. Every goddamn second of it.”

His hands slid up my arms, gentle, steadying.

“We don’t have a choice,” he whispered.

No.

We didn’t.

The wedding was days away.

Days.

And after that… he’d be legally tied to a life that wasn’t mine.

I felt the ache rise in my chest—sharp, violent, suffocating.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I confessed, breath trembling. “How to let you walk out that door knowing I won’t see you again until—until you’re someone else’s. Knowing I can’t fucking touch you. Hold you. Protect you.”

His hands came up to my face—those gentle, stubborn hands—holding my cheeks like he was afraid I’d look away.

“Aiden,” he whispered, “the day of that wedding… every word I say, every vow, every promise… they won’t be for her.”

His voice cracked. “They will be for you. In here.”

He pressed his palm to his heart. “It will always be you.”

I felt my breath hitch.

My vision blurred as my chest collapsed under the weight of everything I couldn’t change.

I cupped the back of his neck and pulled him in.

The kiss wasn’t slow.

Wasn’t pretty.

It was desperate—the kind of kiss that comes from needing someone more than you need oxygen.

His fingers twisted in my shirt, his body pressed fully to mine, and for one suspended moment it didn’t matter that the clock was ticking down on us.

It was just us.

Breathing each other in.

Holding on like idiots trying to fight a tidal wave.

He pulled back just enough to whisper against my lips, tears streaking down his face:

“Just hold me, Aiden… just a little longer.”

So I did.

I held him like I was trying to memorize the shape of his soul.

Because soon, too soon, I’d have to let him go again.

Hale met us right outside the hospital.

He looked tired—exhausted, actually—but he still insisted on driving Noah home before getting even an hour of rest.

I stole one last kiss from Noah.

Slow, soft, quiet—the kind you give someone when words are useless.

He cupped my jaw, whispering, “I love you.”

And then he turned, walking toward Hale’s car before either of us could cry.

“I love you too…” I watched them pull away until the taillights vanished.

Only then did I go back inside.

The corridors were dim, the kind of hospital lighting that made everything feel colder than it should. I bought a coffee I didn’t even want and slipped into Micah’s room.

He was still asleep when I entered—pale, hooked up to fluids, but breathing steadily. I, on the other hand, could hardly breathe. God, I hated hospitals…

I don’t know how long it was before his eyelids fluttered, confusion scrunching his forehead, and then he turned his head slightly toward me.

“Aiden…?” His voice was raspy and small.

I leaned in instantly. “Hey, kid. I’m right here.”

He smiled—that dopey, half-drugged smile—but then blinked hard like something wasn’t connecting.

“Did… um… Did we take the bus here?”

I froze.

“The… bus?” I repeated carefully.

He nodded, slow and earnest. “You know… the one with the… the people. The loud one.” He frowned, as if trying to catch a slippery thought. “I think we missed our stop.”

A cold ripple slid down my spine.

I forced a steady tone. “No, buddy. We drove. You were in a car accident.”

He blinked again. Confused. “Oh. Right. Right, right…”

He repeated “right” again, like if he just said it enough times it would feel true.

Then suddenly, his face lit up—a burst of emotion too big for how foggy he looked.

“Lexie!”

He tried sitting up, winced immediately, and fell back. “When’s she coming? She said she’d come. She—she—did I miss her? Tell me I didn’t—”

“Hey, hey,” I soothed, placing a hand on his shoulder. “She went home to rest. But she’ll be back. Noah promised.”

His expression shifted so fast it was like watching a storm change direction—from bright joy to a hollow sadness that made my chest hurt.

“Oh.”

His voice cracked.

“Oh… okay. That’s… okay, I guess.”

He wiped at his cheek. Didn’t seem to realize he was crying.

Jesus.

“It’s just…” he whispered, “she makes everything quiet in my head. She—”

He blinked rapidly. “Wait. Did she… did she bring the cocoa? The one with the marshmallows? She said—she said we were gonna—”

His face scrunched up again, as if something sparked then vanished.

“Wait… did we talk about cocoa?”

My heart sank.

“Yeah,” I said softly. “Last night, you did.”

He stared at me, searching my face for confirmation—like he didn’t trust his own memory.

Then, out of nowhere, he giggled.

Giggled.

Micah didn’t giggle. He laughed like a menace, like someone who knew exactly how annoying he was being. But this? This was… unfocused. Floaty.

“Cocoa…” he breathed, smiling dreamily. “I like cocoa.”

I swallowed hard.

The doctor had warned about the possibility of memory lapses after the first 24 hours, even permanent blackouts or amnesia. But I hadn’t been ready to watch Micah’s bright mind flicker in and out… My stomach twisted.

He suddenly grabbed my wrist weakly.

“Aiden… don’t leave, okay?”

His voice broke again, terrified.

“Please don’t leave me again. I don’t… I don’t like when things get dark.”

Dark.

God.

My throat clenched.

“I’m not leaving,” I said immediately. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

He nodded, relieved, eyes drifting shut again—but even as he faded back into sleep, I kept holding his hand, hoping I could black out too and wake up five years from now.