Chapter 173

Chapter 173

ADAM'S POV

The sweater swallows her frame, one of mine, the collar a little stretched, sleeves too long. She looks so small in it. Fragile. The kind of fragile that makes my chest ache. She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and turns to face me, standing still just a few feet away. Doesn't come closer.

I hate that I’m the reason she’s hesitating. That I cracked open tonight, lost grip of the edge, and she had to see it. The mess I spend every waking second trying to keep sealed.

I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, hands dangling between them. My skin feels too tight. My head’s a battlefield of silence and static. But she’s here.

She’s here.

And I want her like air. Like the thing that makes the rest of this chaos even remotely survivable.

“I called you,” she admits quietly, her voice rough from crying. “I talked to my mum and it didn’t go well. So I called you.”

Fuck.

I lift my gaze to hers, and the guilt punches straight through my chest.

“I wasn’t there.” My voice is hoarse. “I let you down.”

She shakes her head slowly, soft blonde waves shifting against her shoulders. “Jax said something.”

I frown. “What’d he say?”

Her eyes flicker, lashes trembling. “He told me I wasn’t a junkie. That I couldn’t detox you out of my system.”

“He said that?”

She nods once. My lips twitch, not quite a smile, something sadder. Something gutted. She looks away for a moment, then back at me, something raw in her eyes. “He’s right.”

I reach for her, “Come here.”

She does. Steps over like her bones remember me. And when she’s close enough, I pull her down into my lap and wrap both arms around her like I’m afraid she’ll vanish. I bury my face into the crook of her neck and breathe her in...sweet citrus and safety.

“ I’m addicted to you though,” I murmur, words soft against her skin. “ It's like you’re a drug... or some kind of beautiful poison.”

I pull back just enough to look into her eyes.They glisten and I hold her tighter, like I can fold myself into her and disappear from the rest of it. The chaos. The noise.

I breathe in, then ask, “Did your mum say something? Because I’m really looking for somewhere to channel my frustrations, and she seems like a solid candidate.”

She chuckles. God, it’s a broken little sound, but it cracks light into all the dark corners of this room. “No. She didn’t say anything, I did....”

She doesn’t elaborate. Doesn’t have to. I understand. The things we say when we’re falling apart hit harder than the silence.

I sigh, forehead resting against her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Her fingers find the back of my neck, gentle. Grounding. “Significantly better now that I’m with you.”

I close my eyes. I want to freeze this moment, preserve it in amber. She’s my calm. My reminder that not everything is rotting from the inside out.

“You wanna talk about it?” I ask quietly.

“Eventually. Not tonight,” she says. “We’ve had enough hell for one evening.”

I nod, and then she goes on, “When I called you… someone at a behavioral center picked up. Said you'd left your phone there.”

My jaw clenches. She’s looking at me carefully now, not accusing. Just bracing.

She doesn’t ask outright, but I see the question written in her face.

I don’t want to lie to her or give her another reason to worry. So I speak, softly. “It’s where my mum is. I went to see her.”

Her brows draw together, a flicker of surprise, then something gentler, sadder. She nods like she gets it. Because she always does.

Her hands slide up my arms and she leans in again, resting her head against mine. We sit like that, heartbeats stitched together in the quiet.

“I guess it didn’t go well,” she softly says and I nod because what else is there to say?

Her voice drops. “How… how is she? Is she still…” She doesn’t finish.

“Sick?” I offer quietly.

I don’t know how to answer that. I run a hand through my hair and search for something honest. Something that won’t ruin the quiet stillness that’s managed to settle between us.

“She’s better than she used to be in some ways,” I say eventually. “Worse in others.”

Layla’s eyes meet mine then, wide and cautious, waiting. I feel the words push up my throat like a wave that’s waited too long to crash.

“She looked haunted,” I whisper. “Like something in her never came back.”

I don’t know why I say it. Maybe because I need her to understand what it took out of me to see that.

I lower my voice, not because I mean to, but because the memory itself demands it.

“She tried to kill herself.”

Her breath catches, and her gaze softens with something so raw it makes my chest ache.

“That’s horrible. Despite what she did...it's sad, ” she says quietly. I reach up and trace the pad of my thumb along her bottom lip. I don’t even realize I’m doing it at first, it’s just instinct. Her lips are warm. Soft. She still trembles when I touch her, like she’s trying not to.

“She asked me to do it for her,” I add. “She looked me dead in the eyes and begged.”

Her eyes glass a little. Before everything, I’d have buried this shit deep. Would’ve let it rot in my stomach and turn me inside out. But something about telling her now feels like air rushing back into collapsed lungs.

She leans forward and gives me a brief kiss, then another. Her lips say what words can’t. I can feel her fear, her worry, her relief. I drink it all in.

“Have you eaten?” she murmurs, her forehead resting against mine. “I’ll order something. Anything you want.”

I smile, just barely. Look around the sterile, cold room. Then back at her. “Can we go home?” I ask. “I’ll lose my mind if I stay here any longer.”

She straightens. Nods, like she’s been waiting for me to say it. “Of course.”

Then she touches my face with both hands, firm, almost commanding. Her brows knit in determination.

“I’ll take care of you,” she says.

I huff a quiet laugh, not because I don’t believe her, but because of the way she says it. Like it’s a mission she won’t let fail.

“What?” she asks, frowning at my reaction.

“Nothing,” I say, brushing her hair back gently. “I’m glad you called.”

I let the meaning behind the words sink in.

“Even if I didn’t pick up,” I add. “You still called. That counts.”

She nods slowly. “Well. Prepare yourself.”

“For what?"

"Now that I’ve found the mental capacity to do so,” she says, voice dry but soft, “your life’s about to get significantly harder.”

I smirk. “I can’t wait.”

She leans in, forehead to mine again. Our breaths tangle.

“Let’s go home,” she whispers.

“Let’s,” I reply.