Page 83 of Midnight Whispers

He’s been by my side the entire week, only leaving the hospital in search of food or a shower and always promptly returning. We haven’t discussed the breakup or what it means that he’s stayed with me and mentioned love. It seems like an unspoken agreement that we won’t broach the subject until life has returned somewhat to normal.

But I’m tired of waiting. In many ways, the not knowing feels worse than knowing he may have forgiven me, but he still doesn’t want to be with me. Maybe he was just freaked out when I almost died, and with every day that passes, he realizes that his feelings aren’t as strong as he thought they were.

He pushes the wheelchair into my room first, not his, and my heart sinks. I’ll sleep alone, and I’m back where I started when I moved here—in my own room.

I try not to let my disappointment show. He’s already done so much more for me than he had to, and I’m grateful. I’m not going to guilt him into wanting to be with me.

He helps me up from the wheelchair, and I wince.

“You okay?” he asks.

I nod. “Yeah. Just give me a sec.” I take a few deep breaths and nod that I’m good to get into the bed. He helps me get in, then stuffs pillows behind me so I’m sitting up on an angle. “Thank you.”

He meets my gaze. “Of course.” He stands awkwardly, shifting his weight. “Guess I’ll let you get some rest. You must be tired and sore from the trip home. I’ll put your phone on the bedside table.” He pulls it out of his pocket and sets it down. “If you need anything, just text or call me, okay?”

I press my lips together and nod, trying to keep the words in my mouth that want to spill like jelly beans out of a jar.

He nods and turns to leave the room.

But as soon as he’s crossed the threshold, I call out for him. “Nero. Wait!”

He must hear something in my voice because he turns right around and rushes back to the bed. “What’s wrong?” His eyes skate over me from head to toe, assessing.

“I need to know what’s going on with us. This limbo stuff is killing me.”

His shoulders sag. “I think you should heal some more before we have this conversation.”

There it is. We’re not getting back together.

“Because I’m not going to like the outcome?” My eyebrows raise.

“Because the most important thing is that you get better. That should be your focus.”

I shake my head before he’s done speaking. “No. I’ll get better whether we have this conversation or not. I need to know if you forgive me.”

He sits on the side of the bed and takes my hand. “I do forgive you. I do. And I have my own apology to make. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. Yes, I had a right to be upset, but to completely cut you off like that and not consider how you were feeling wasn’t right. But for you to understand why I reacted the way I did, there’s something I have to tell you.”

He makes it sound ominous, and I brace myself for whatever he’s about to say. My stomach bubbles with nerves. “Okay…”

Nero sighs and pushes his free hand through his hair. “I found out something when I was younger. The day my dad died actually. Something that everyone in my family had been keeping from me my entire life.”

I squeeze his hand. “What was it?”

“Ramsey Voss was not my biological father.”

I gasp, and my free hand flies up to my mouth. “He wasn’t?”

He shakes his head. “No. Apparently my biological father was the man my mother had a long-time affair with. The one who killed her.”

“Oh, Nero.” I squeeze his hand harder, wishing I could sit up and pull him to me. “How did you find out?”

“My father—the only one I ever knew anyway—threw it in my face that day as a barb. Apparently, my brothers knew the whole time and had tried to protect me from it. They were always trying to protect me. But Ramsey was cruel and liked nothing more than to inflict pain, both physical and emotional, so he used that knowledge to hurt me. Knowing him, he was probably salivating for years, waiting until the truth would have its greatest impact.”

“How did you feel when you found out?”

“At first, I was angry at my brothers for hiding the truth from me. I was angry with my mom, too, though that feeling was more complicated because she had already passed away. Eventually, I realized it didn’t make a difference who my biological father was. Both he and the father who had raised me were dead, as was my mother. And my brothers never treated me any differently than they treat each other. It’s not like I think I could’ve lived a better life had I known earlier and spent time with my real dad. He murdered my mom. He wasn’t a good person either.”

“I’m sorry you had to find out that way.”

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