Page 99 of Claiming Pretty

I pressed my forehead to hers, needing the contact, needing to feel the heat of her skin and know she was still here.

I rocked her gently, my arms around her, though my own chest heaved with uneven breaths, my shirt clinging to my back with sweat.

The tension in me, the helpless rage—it coiled too tight, and I couldn’t ignore how wrong it all felt, how wrong I felt.

“Shh, shh, shh,” I whispered like a mantra, as if the words could drown out the storm inside us both.

“I saw something.” Ava’s voice cracked, a faint, haunted whisper cutting through the stifling silence.

“Quiet now,” I said quickly, my lips brushing against her temple. “Don’t speak.”

“But—”

“You don’t have to relive it.” My words came in a rush, my mouth moving to hers, the kiss meant to silence her, to comfort her, to stop her from spiraling any further. “It’s not too late. We can still run. We can leave it all behind. Just you and me, Ava. We can still—”

“No,” she said, her voice firm despite her soft sobs.

“What do you remember?” Ty interrupted, his voice flat, almost clinical, as though the weight of what she’d done hadn’t rattled him in the slightest.

I turned on him, fire blazing in my eyes. “You bastard. This is your fault. Can’t you see she’s suffering?”

Ava’s voice broke through the rising tension. “I remember the hospital room… the overhead lights, so bright… the doctor’s face covered with a mask.”

I froze, my hands stilling against her shoulders as her words stabbed into me.

She was clawing through her memories, unearthing things I wanted to keep buried for her sake.

I hated this. Hated Ty for making her do it. Hated myself for being unable to stop her.

“What else?” Ty asked, leaning forward, relentless.

Her knuckles pressed against her eyes as she shook herhead. “Nothing. Just… I just want them to stop.”

“Did you see any faces? Hear any names?” Ty pressed.

“Alright, that’s enough,” I barked, my voice shaking with barely contained rage as Ava shook her head, her tears starting again.

“Anything,” Ty continued. “An eye color? A tattoo? A scar? A view from a window? A sign?”

“No!” Ava’s voice rose into a cry, the sound tearing through me. “No, there’s nothing else. Nothing—”

The air in the room grew heavy as her breath caught, and for a moment, she didn’t speak, her body stilling against me.

I froze, and it appeared, so did Ty, one of us leaning in with hope, the other bracing for the worst.

“A sign,” she whispered, her voice distant, her gaze unfocused.

Her fingers reached out, and mine instinctively brushed hers. I couldn’t tell if she even knew it was me.

“Yes, a sign,” she said, her voice growing stronger. “As I was being wheeled into the operating room…”

“Yes, Ava,” Ty urged softly, his voice low and coaxing. “Good girl.”

I clenched my jaw so hard it ached, but I didn’t interrupt. My anger warred with something else—an unbearable fear that Ty might actually get her through this.

“The name,” Ava murmured, her voice nearly drowned out by the frantic pounding of my heart. Her lips parted as if the words were too heavy to speak.

She blinked slowly, her eyes refocusing.

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