Chapter 265 Whole Again
ADRIANA
Elijah pulled me in before I could decide whether I was ready, and I let him, and I stayed very still in the circle of his arms for a long moment, not crying, just feeling the reality of it. The weight of him. The warmth. The way he held me that nobody else in the world did.
I felt complete again. Alive, like I hadn’t felt in months since that dreadful moment that I watched that knife slice into his skin.
“I heard you,” he said into my hair. “Every time you came to sit with me. Every time you talked to me like you thought I could hear. I could.” His voice was thick with emotions, his hand stroking my back like he needed the comfort as much as I did. “All of it, Adriana. Everything.”
That broke something in me.
A sound left my throat before I could stop it, and I tightened my grip on him, my fingers curling into the back of his shirt like if I didn’t hold on hard enough, he would disappear again.
“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known,” he said. “And I’ve known some impressive people.”
“Stop,” I managed with a broken laugh, my face pressed into his chest.
“I mean it.”
“I know you do.”
I pulled back and looked at him, really looked, the way I hadn’t let myself in the doorway when Thomas was still in the room and I needed both hands and all my composure.
He looked exhausted. Too thin. Pale in a way that made something in my chest ache.
And completely, undeniably alive.
“You have a terrible beard.”
He almost smiled. “Leo said the same thing.”
“Leo’s right.” I lifted my hand to his face and felt him lean into it slightly, like he was relearning the feeling of being touched by someone who wasn’t checking vitals or adjusting machines. His eyes closed briefly at the contact, and something about that nearly undid me again.
“Seven months, Elijah.”
“I know.”
His voice was quieter now. Thinner.
Up close, I could see the strain under the surface, the effort it was taking him just to sit up, to stay present, to hold me.
I swallowed.
“You don’t get to do anything yet,” I said softly, brushing my thumb under his eye. “You just woke up.”
He exhaled, almost like he was about to argue, but the fight didn’t quite make it.
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.” My voice steadied, slipping into something firmer. “You’ve been unconscious for seven months. Your body is going to think it’s been run over repeatedly. You’re going to eat, and then you’re going to take whatever they give you, and then you’re going to rest.”
He didn’t say anything. Good, I wasn't going to relent, “You’re ordering me around.”
“Yes.”
He released a soft sound. “…okay.”
That almost made me laugh.
I reached for the call button before he could change his mind.
It didn’t take long for one of the nurses to come in. She checked his vitals, rehooked the IV, and asked him questions to assess orientation. He answered them all.
They brought in food and I watched him more than I breathed while he tried to eat.
Even that was effort.
His hand wasn’t as steady as it used to be. His movements were slower, more deliberate, like his body and mind were still reconnecting.
“Adriana,” he murmured at one point, glancing at me.
I realized I had moved closer without noticing, my hand hovering near his like I didn’t trust the space between us.
“I’m here,” I said immediately.
“I know.”
He finished what he could, which wasn’t much, and the nurse administered something through his IV. “This will help with pain and rest,” she said gently.
Good.
He needed both.
When they left, the room fell quiet again. I helped him settle back properly against the pillows, adjusting them until he exhaled in something like relief. Then I hesitated for half a second before climbing carefully onto the bed beside him.
He watched me the entire time.
Like he couldn’t believe I was real either.
“Come here,” he said, voice rough.
I didn’t hesitate again.
I went into him, fitting against his side carefully, mindful of everything and nothing all at once, and he wrapped an arm around me.
We didn’t speak. I just lay there with my head against his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat.
“I missed you,” I whispered, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
His arm tightened slightly around me.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t,” I said, lifting my head to look at him. My throat tightened again. “You don’t know what that was like. You don’t know what it was like to sit here every day and not know if you were ever going to open your eyes again.”
His gaze softened, something deeper moving through it.
“I heard you,” he said again, quieter this time. “I couldn’t move. Couldn’t respond. But I heard you.”
That did it. Something in me gave way completely.
I pushed up, my hand sliding from his chest to his face, fingers trembling slightly as they traced over him like I needed to map him again, his cheekbone, the roughness of his beard, the warmth of his skin under my palm.
He watched me without moving, he let me explore him
Like he knew this wasn’t something to interrupt. He understood this was me making sure he was real.
My thumb brushed over his lower lip, and his breath shifted slightly, but I felt it. That small change. That quiet intake. And it hit me all over again.
He’s here. Before I could think too hard about it, I leaned in and kissed him.
Soft at first, a little careful. Like I was afraid he might break, or disappear, or wake up and this would all vanish into something cruel and imagined.
His lips were warm.
Real.
At first, he just breathed against me, like he was feeling it the same way I was, like his body needed a moment to catch up to something his mind had already decided was real.
Then his hand moved, slow and deliberate.
It came up to my face, fingers brushing against my jaw, slightly unsteady, and that almost undid me right there.
I leaned into it instinctively, pressing closer, deepening the kiss just a little.
A quiet insistence. A need.
His lips parted against mine, his breath uneven, and when he kissed me back properly, it was with intent, recognition and something that felt like coming home.
A broken sound caught in my throat, and I shifted closer without thinking, one hand sliding into his hair, the other bracing against his chest like I needed to feel his heartbeat under my palm.
I pressed into him more fully, and the kiss deepened.
I could feel the way he was trying to meet me there, even through the weakness, even through the exhaustion. The way his fingers tightened slightly at my jaw. The way his breath kept catching like this was as overwhelming for him as it was for me.
But I didn't stop. I couldn’t.
I tilted my head, kissing him again, slower this time, drawing it out, feeling every second of it, every brush of his lips, every uneven breath, every fragile, deliberate response.
I had missed this.
God, I had missed this. Missed him. Missed us.
When I finally pulled back, it wasn’t far. Just enough to breathe.
My forehead rested against his, my eyes still closed, my hand still holding his face like I didn’t trust the world not to take him again if I let go.
“You feel like home,” I whispered, my voice barely holding together.
I felt his breath against my lips.
Then his thumb moved slowly, brushing lightly against my cheek, catching one of the tears I hadn’t even noticed falling.
“You are home,” he said.
And something inside me finally, completely settled.
I exhaled, the tension leaving me in a way that felt almost physical, my body was relearning how to exist without bracing for loss.
I leaned back into him slowly, carefully, letting my head rest against his shoulder this time, my fingers still loosely curled into his shirt.
He shifted slightly to accommodate me, his arm wrapping around me again.
I listened to his breathing as it evened out again, felt the rise and fall of his chest under my cheek, and for the first time in seven months—
I wasn’t waiting.
I was just… here with him. I was whole again.