Page 56 of Stiletto's Savior

Yesterday felt like a blur.

I caught a glimpse of her—curled up under those thin sheets, eyes fluttering shut.

I wanted to shake her awake, to tell her things, but sleep took her.

As I park, I glance at my reflection in the rearview mirror.

Dark circles line my eyes.

I scrub a hand over my face, fighting back the weight of everything.

Stepping out of the truck, I make my way through the sliding glass doors.

The smell of antiseptic hits me hard the second I enter the hospital.

I push past the receptionist downstairs. After all, she’s seen me day after day.

I seldomly go into Song’s room, usually when she’s sleeping.

We need to have some conversations, but now isn’t the time for them.

Licking my lips, I take the elevator upstairs.

I come up to another receptionist’s desk, ignoring the woman’s polite smile.

Instead, my focus is on her room.

When I reach her door, I take a breath.

It’s now or never. I knock lightly and push it open.

“Hey,” I say, forcing a smile as I step inside.

Her hair spills across the pillow, fiery red against the white sheets.

Those hazel green eyes light up when she sees me, and it’s like a punch to the gut.

That’s the Song I know—a spark that refuses to be dimmed.

I close the door behind me, blocking out the noise from the hallway.

In my hands, I clutch the duffle bag Siren packed—her favorite clothes, I hope.

And then there’s the hot matcha tea, still steaming in the cup.

I can’t stand the smell, but it’s what she loves.

“Look what I brought.” I hand her the matcha, careful not to spill any.

Her fingers brush against mine, and a spark ignites between us.

“Matcha?” She raises an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “You really went all out. Where’d you get it?”

“Well, I know how much you love it. Tara told me to get it from Tart, so that’s where I went.”

“Good, they’re the only ones who make decent matcha in the whole State of Montana.” She takes a sip, and her eyes light up.

For a moment, the weight of everything falls away.

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