Page 133 of Fracture

Even as thick black starts to pull me under, I ask them where Dylan is. I ask them over and over, until I go to sleep.

The warm hand is still there.

But it’s quiet now. So quiet.

The hand squeezes mine gently, and there’s a small sound, like a sob.

I try to open my eyes. Slowly, slowly, my left eye opens.

“Levi?”

I know that voice. I squeeze the hand holding mine, hoping to god it belongs to that voice.

The hand squeezes back, and there’s another, louder sob.

“Levi?”

I try to focus on the figure sitting beside me, on the honey-coloured hair that’s backlit by a dim lamp. I try to turn my head towards her, but there’s wires and masks in the way.

“Don’t move,” she says softly. “Baby, don’t move. Just stay there. I’m here. It’s OK.”

“Stella?”

“I’m here, Levi. I’m here.”

The relief that washes over me is fleeting, and my hand tightens around hers.

“Where’s Dylan?”

Stella doesn’t answer, just starts to sniffle, her other hand curling around mine. Panic grips me.

“Stella,” I plead, my voice like gravel. “Stella, please, where is he? Please, please…”

“He’s still in surgery.” Zee’s calm voice sounds from my other side, and their hand rests on my arm. “We don’t know anything yet.”

Surgery. That means he’s not dead. That means he could still make it. Surgery is good. It has to be good. He’s strong, he’ll make it. He won’t die. He can’t.

“I’ll go see if there’s any news,” Zee says softly, giving my arm a squeeze, and their footsteps pad out of the room.

I can see better now, I can focus on Stella, sitting beside my bed. She’s still in a hospital gown, her face peppered with fading bruises. She’s in a wheelchair.

“What are you doing out of bed?”

She smiles softly, tears glistening on her cheeks. “You think they’d keep me away from you?”

“You should be resting.”

“I’m fine,” she assures me, reaching out to stroke my cheek. “I promise, I’m fine.” Her smile fades just a little, and her eyes flicker to the door. “Don’t say anything,” she murmurs. “The cops are sitting outside. If they ask you anything, you don’t say a word.”

Of course, the cops.

Even if Dylan makes it, this whole shit show is going to come raining down on us. There’s no ashes or flames to cover what we did in that house. I close my eye, and take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, Stella.”

She shuffles onto the bed beside me, burying her face in the crook of my neck. My arms are too heavy to lift, so I can’t pull her close. But she lies against me, holding my hand and crying softly.

“It’s going to be alright,” she murmurs. “I promise. We’ll make it alright.”

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