Chapter 220

Aiden

The week slid by in the blink of an eye, not because time was kind, but because we were all too numb to feel it. Hospital visits, whispered check-ins, uncertainty hanging over us like a storm cloud we never escaped.

Noah and Lexie had come to see Micah almost every day—but never alone. There was always some chaperon from William’s camp around them, hovering, listening, pretending not to notice.

Micah got to see them; I didn’t. I hadn’t laid eyes on Noah since the morning after the accident—since the few hours we held each other in my apartment and made love like we were trying to stop time from moving. Since then, there’d been distance, walls, separation. Not because either of us wanted it. Because William made sure of it.

We still messaged, though, every day. They weren’t fine. No one was.

Micah had good days, bad days, and in-between days where he stared at the ceiling and seemed to be fighting some battle in his own head.

Today, he looked more alert—more himself—just not quite himself.

I sat next to him on the too-white hospital bed in bright contrast with his shimmery red brand-new robe. He was staring at his hands like they belonged to someone else.

“Aiden… I’ve been having… issues.”

I sighed, leaning back. “I’ve noticed, sweetheart. But that’s normal right now. You’ll remember. It’ll come.”

He shook his head. “It’s not the remembering I’m struggling with. I do remember. I remember the people. I remember my apartment and my routine. I remember now the club and training. I remember… most things.”

He looked at me, helpless in a way I had never seen in him.

“It’s what I don’t understand about what I remember.”

The words hit harder than I expected.

I sat up straighter. “Explain.”

Micah took a breath. “I was looking at the pictures Master Hale showed me. Of me and you and Master Hale…. From the club. And… holy shit, Aiden. I was… suspended from a net… Like, two meters off the ground, tied up and totally naked—in front of people! There’s like, a whole damn audience just watching, and I’m there like it’s nothing.”

I whistled low. “Well alright, that might’ve been a bit of a shocker for image number one.”

His eyes got wider.

“But yeah,” I added casually, “you kinda love that.”

Micah blinked. “…I do?”

“Oh yeah.”

“And the… whipping?”

“Yeah, baby.”

“And the… the public displays of… umm… ‘affection’?”

“Especially that.”

Micah hid his burning face behind his hand. “Oh my God. Wow, I'm so freaking cool… But then, why do I feel like prude-Micah from an alternate reality?”

“You’re not prude. You’re just rebooting, sweetheart. Your confidence will catch up to your brain.”

He shifted, restless. Then, softer: “What about Lexie?”

I waited. He continued.

“When I remember things about her, I feel… warmth. That’s the closest word I have. Not just attraction or romance. More like… something new and awesome. Something important. Like she really matters. Does she still—does she still love Noah?”

I shook my head once. “Things between Noah and Lexie aren’t romantic. They’re only getting married because of William.”

His face fell.

“They’re… still getting married, though?”

I exhaled. “Yes. In a few days.”

Micah stared ahead. His eternal optimism—the bright ridiculous spark that made him Micah—was flickering. He looked smaller, sadder, quiet in a way that wasn’t him.

“I hate that for them,” he whispered. “I hate that for you. And I… I kinda hate it for—for me.”

The room buzzed with machines and silence because I understood that kind of loss.

He wasn’t the only one losing pieces of himself.

Lexie visited nearly every day. She sat beside him like she was afraid to leave him alone. She smiled for him, laughed for him, tried to last the hour for him. Noah told me they came home drained, Lexie now quieter than usual, like she’d lost the part of herself that used to shine loud.

And Noah…

Noah tried to lighten the mood, tried to carry conversations, tried to pretend he was fine—but my boy was cracking. He was walking around with the weight of the world on his shoulders while pretending he could still breathe. Hale had seen that, Micah had seen that, and I could see it in his messages.

The day before the wedding, Micah leaned against me, slow and tired, unable to joke for once. “Aiden?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“What if this isn’t temporary? What if I never get back the version of me everyone remembers?”

I kissed his forehead. “Then we’ll learn who you are now. Together.”

He closed his eyes, let that settle, let it comfort him.

But the truth slipped cold into my chest:

We were all losing pieces of ourselves, one quiet day at a time. And after that wedding, I wasn't sure I would ever be who I once was.

Saturday came clear and warm, sun pouring into my windows like it didn’t understand that some days didn’t deserve light.

Birds chirped. Fresh breeze. Blue sky.

A perfect morning.

And the calmest kind of hell.

I’d started to dread phone calls after the accident. The sound of my ringtone felt like someone dropping ice into my chest.

But when my screen lit up with Noah, my heart jumped before I could stop it.

I didn’t hesitate. Not for a single second.

“Hey,” I breathed.

His voice came raw and cracked. “Aiden.”

We were silent for a heartbeat that felt like a lifetime.

“It’s today,” Noah whispered. “I’m getting married today.”

I closed my eyes and pressed my fist against my mouth, trying to keep the emotion in. “I know.”

He sniffed. Then he tried to laugh, but it broke halfway. “Why do I feel like I can’t breathe?”

“Because you’re trying to survive something no one should ever live through.” My voice shook despite every attempt to steady it.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so fucking much.”

I let the tears run. No pretending today. “I love you too, Noah. My heart will be with you—every second of that ceremony, I’ll be standing right next to you in spirit. You won’t be alone.”

He sobbed once, quietly. “I’ll say every word to you in my heart. Remember what I promised you. Every word, every vow… it’ll be for you. It has always been for you.”

I pressed my forehead to my palm, shaking. “I know, sweetheart.”

“Promise you’ll be okay today,” he whispered.

“I’ll try,” I said honestly. “You do the same.”

Silence. Then the softest, most broken:

“I love you, Aiden.”

“I love you too, Noah.”

We didn’t say goodbye.

We just hung up.

Because sometimes the last word hurts too much to speak.

I got dressed with hands that barely felt connected to me. I needed to move. I needed to do something, anything, before the grief swallowed me whole.

Micah needed me.

At least I could be there for him.

I grabbed my keys and headed out the door.