Page 7 of Lords of Ruin: Cherished

Failedus.

The weight of love, real love, is heavy. Maybe too heavy. I thought I could handle it, thought I could hold all of them inside me and still have room to breathe. But my body revolted, reminding me that even love has limits, and mine isapparently cardiac arrest and my body rejecting the heart transplant I got from Rosemary years ago.

The door creaks open, and I don’t have to look to know who it is. Lindsey’s been my nurse since I was admitted, and I’ve come to recognize the light shuffle of her steps, the way she always announces herself with the softest sigh.

She steps into my line of sight, her blonde ponytail swinging as she moves toward my IV stand. Her scrubs are a different shade today, a muted blue instead of the lilac ones she wore last night.

“How are we feeling today, Willow?” she asks, her voice gentle as she checks the tubing.

Like I lost something I never got to have. Like I almost hadeverythingand then woke up in a hospital bed instead. Like my body gave up on me when my heart was the fullest it’s ever been.

I let my gaze drift to the ceiling, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “Like I should be dead,” I murmur.

Lindsey pauses, then gives me that same small, knowing smile she always does when I say things that should probably concern her more than they do. “Well, you’re not,” she says. “So I guess that means you have a second chance.”

A second chance. I don’t know if that’s a gift or a punishment.

I stare at the ceiling, counting the tiny imperfections in the white tiles, searching for something to anchor me when everything inside feels weightless, untethered. A second chance. Like I’m supposed to be grateful. Like I should be relieved that my heart, after betraying me, decided to keep steady for me to live but not strong enough for me to leave this hospital room.

I turn my head slightly, catching her watching me with that careful, measured expression, like she’s seen this before. The half-dead, the almost-gone, the ones who wake up and don’t know whether to thank God or curse Him.

“What’s the point of a second chance,” I ask, my voice quiet but raw, “if the first one was finally starting to mean something?”

Lindsey sighs, her fingers deft as she checks the IV drip. “I don’t know, Will. Maybe it’s about figuring out what you missed the first time around.”

I huff a laugh, but it’s weak, barely there. “I didn’t miss anything. I had everything. And then I lost it before I could even hold onto it.”

Lindsey’s hands still for a moment, and when she looks at me again, her expression softens in that way only someone who cares too much can manage. “You think love disappears just because you almost died?” She tilts her head. “That’s not how it works.”

She goes back to adjusting my IV, like she didn’t just crack my chest open with those words, because she knows all about Vincent, Damien, and Cast. I told her once when I was hopped up on too many drugs to function and just cried about the three men I love.

I don’t answer.

She sighs, “Vincent Beaumont is in the lobby again.”

“ Did you tell him that I am not putting him on the visitors list?” I mutter, twisting my waffle blanket between myfingertips.

“I did.” Lindsey’s voice is even, with a tinge of disappointment like she’s silently judging me while adjusting the flow of whatever’s keeping me from slipping away. “And he looked about five seconds from burning this place to the ground.”

A pang lances through me, sharp and deep, but I swallow it down. I don’t have the luxury of indulging in pain when my body is already so fragile, when every emotion feels like it might be the thing that pushes me over the edge. “Then he can waste his time all he wants,” I say flatly, twisting the blanket tighter between my fingers. “I’m not changing my mind.”

Lindsey exhales sharply. “You’re a stubborn little shit, you know that?”

I almost smile. Almost.

“Vincent is suffering, Willow,” she continues, her tone softer now. “He’s not just your fiancé—he’s yourperson. You really think keeping him away is protecting him?”

I close my eyes, because I can’t look at her when she says things like that, when she sayshis namelike it still belongs to me. “I think making him watch me die would destroy him.”

Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy. I open my eyes just in time to see Lindsey press her lips together, debating something, before she finally sighs.

“Love isn’t about protecting someone from pain. It’s about letting them be therethroughit.”

I want to argue, but what’s the point? We both know I’m not going to let Vincent in. Not now. Not when all I can offer him is heartbreak.

Instead, I turn my head toward the window,watching the afternoon light shift against the glass. “Tell him to go home, Lindsey.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, and then she nods. “Fine.” She picks up the empty IV bag and moves toward the door. “But I’m not gonna lie to him when he asks if you’re getting worse.”

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