Page 96 of False Heir

“Delaware is where we should have been all along,” I insisted, my words slurring slightly as my body waged its silent war against the creeping numbness. “None of this—none of it would’ve happened if we hadn’t come back to Boston.”

She glanced at me, her eyes reflecting the streetlights that flashed by in a steady rhythm. “Alright, Delaware. Hold on for me, Tristan. Just hold on.”

The darkness outside mirrored the one closing in on me. I could feel parts of my body starting to fade, a terrifying numbness spreading from my toes up through my legs. I reached into the glovebox, fingers fumbling until they closed around the bottle of hardcore medication the doctor had prescribed earlier—pills meant to stave off the worst of the pain from the gunshot wound that still throbbed angrily beneath my blood-stained shirt.

“Here,” I said, dry-swallowing a couple of pills. “These should help.”

“Tristan, be careful with those,” she warned, but there was no time for caution. The only thing that mattered now was making it through each excruciating moment.

“Keep talking to me,” I urged between shallow breaths. “Tell me about the twins. Did we decide on names?”

“I do like Callum,” she said. “Callum and Catherine, that’s nice, right?”

“Callum and Catherine Callahan,” I replied. “Kind of sounds like a fancy law firm.”

“Maybe they’ll be lawyers,” Adriana said.

“Yeah, big family legacy of lawyers,” I said, laughing dryly.

“Guess we’ll find out soon enough.” She reached over, running her hand through my hair in a soothing motion. “I think you’re going to make an incredible father. You just need to stay with me, okay?”

“Thanks, Ade.” A ghost of a smile crossed my lips as I leaned back against the seat, letting the medicine pull me under.

The darkness welcomed me like an old friend, offering a reprieve from the pain and the relentless march of my thoughts. I clung to it, letting the uneasy sleep wrap around me until the gentle hum of the car engine and Adriana’s occasional murmurs faded into silence.

I woke to the soft patter of rain against windowpanes, the early morning light barely making a dent in the gloom of the safehouse’s interior. I blinked slowly, trying to orient myself in the stillness that was so at odds with the chaos we had left behind. Delaware’s quiet suburbia felt like another world compared to the fraught battlegrounds of The Callahan Domain.

“Tristan.” Adriana’s voice cut through the haze, her tone laced with worry. I turned to see her leaning over me, her short dark hair framing her face in a way that made her keen observation skills seem almost palpable.

I smiled at her. She was okay, the twins were okay–I didn’t know how long she had driven for, but it didn’t matter.

“Are you okay?” she asked, searching my face for signs of consciousness.

“Ah—“ I began, nodding. But as I attempted to shift my body in response, a jolt of panic struck me. There was no familiar tingling of pins and needles, no discomfort from lying in one position for too long. There was nothing.

“Tristan, talk to me. What’s going on?”

“Nothing, love,” I said, trying my best to stave off the panic blooming in my chest.

“Doesn’t look like nothing?”

I sighed. “I think I’m okay. I just...I just can’t feel my legs.”

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