Page 118 of When Hearts Ignite

“Grace,” Ryland greets me, his voice somber, his slate eyes roving behind me, but I barely pay attention because I can barely believe my eyes.

Steven’s beautiful hair is sticking out in all directions, like he hasn’t seen a shower in days. His eyes are bloodshot and glazed over. His breath reeks of alcohol. His dark suit, if you can call it that, is wrinkled, with dirt on the jacket and the pants, the white shirt hanging out, untucked from his pants, a tie nowhere to be seen.

The sixth sense inside me rears to life and my hand flies to my mouth as a gasp escapes my lips.

“My sweet, darling G-Grace,” he slurs before collapsing on top of me, wrapping his arms around me in a vise, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish. “I love you, so, so much.”

“Steven, what’s going on?” Moisture clouds my vision as I hear the anguish in his voice. It’s as if I can feel his pain. He’s drowning in it.

Shakily, he pulls back and curls his hand around my face, his thumb circling my cheek in reverence. Moisture mists his eyes as he stares at me with utter heartbreak. He looks at the living room behind me, his brows furrowing.

“The girls are inside the bedroom,” I answer the question in his eyes.

He nods and sways on his feet. “Do you have somewhere p-private we can talk?”

I glance at Ryland, finding his somber gaze on us. Turning back to Steven, I reply, “I-I guess, they have a private rooftop garden.”

“I’ll be back, girls,” I holler without tearing my gaze off Steven, my heart already cleaving into two at this powerful man being rendered into this person who seems to be only half alive.

Ryland grunts as he hoists Steven against his shoulder while I curl my arm around his waist. Steven grips me tightly against him as we stagger toward the elevators. Minutes later, we find ourselves in a dark, quiet garden and Ryland deposits Steven on a bench and steps away, no doubt to give us privacy.

The garden is normally one of my most favorite places in this building. There are colorful potted plants carefully tended to by Millie and small trees dotting the periphery, the space normally filled with fragrant blooms—a small, private oasis in the middle of the city. It’s usually warm and inviting and gives me a sense of peace as soon as I step foot inside.

But tonight, it’s cold. Stark. Barely illuminated as the moon and the stars are hidden by the thick storm clouds. Only a fraction of the normal light shines through the garden, with the twinkling lights of the adjacent buildings lending to visibility.

The wind is brisk, carrying a thick layer of humidity, and I shudder and rub the goosebumps pebbling my arms. The sounds of the city can be heard from far below—honking of cars, subway trains chugging over metal tracks, but everything fades into thick silence, with only the sound of my clamoring pulse in my ears as I take a seat next to the man I love.

A broken shell of his former self.

My hands grow clammy and I wipe them on my leggings before wrapping my arm around his waist and leaning my head on his chest. He clutches me against him, his heartbeats sure and strong, his warmth surrounding me.

My nose inhales his scent of safety. My home.

Suddenly, the anger from hours ago dissipates, and the rioting pulse inside me calms as we sit in stillness. He threads his hand with mine, and I notice his watch missing from his wrist, his most prized possession, the gift from his father I always see him handling with care. I trace the empty spot with my other hand, my fingers grazing at the tan lines in his muscular forearm.

“Where’s your watch?”

He chuckles, his voice full of pain.

“Mind over matter,” he whispers, and shakes his head. “It doesn’t work. I can’t mind over matter out of this. I can’t lock my emotions away any more than I can stop breathing.”

He clasps his other hand on top of mine. “I don’t want to wear it anymore.”

My heart breaks because I know this is significant. This is one of his father’s rare gifts to him, a token of his affection, something Steven desperately wants but always feels he lacked.

“What happened? Is your father okay?”

“They had him sedated earlier before I left LA. The doctors said he needs rest and to avoid stress.” Steven lets out a mirthless chuckle. “He’ll be fine.”

I frown. “What happened then? Why haven’t you answered my texts? I was so worried!”

He doesn’t look at me, but instead stares into the darkness ahead.

“Steven…you’re scaring me. What happened?”

He stills, his muscles clenched. He tilts his head toward the sky. “A starless night,” he breathes, “of course it’d be a starless night.”

His words make no sense and yet, I sense the answer at the tip of his tongue, the puzzle pieces sifting, trying to combine into a whole.

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