Page 33 of Shared

I can’t stop staring at him, my mind replaying the events leading up to this over and over again.How we should have demanded that he come home with us.I want to shout at him—demand that he wake up. I want him to look at me the way he always does—with that cocky grin that says everything is going to be okay. But I can’t. All I can do is sit here—helpless—while I wait. Being strong for him and willing him back to us.

My poor Victoria. She seems to be losing herself more and more by the day. She’s barely left his side since we stepped into thisroom three nights ago. Her cheeks are hollow and her face is pale from lack of sleep. She’s barely eaten a thing. She is a sliver of the Madame I know and love. She’s sinking into a deep well of despair, and there’s nothing I can do. I’m as helpless to stop it as I am of saving Conor.

I’ve tried to pull her from this room, to convince her to eat, to take care of herself, but she’s pushed me away repeatedly. She’s been so quiet and distant. I’ve listened to her cry when she thinks I’m sleeping. Seeing her like this is breaking me, watching her fall apart when all I want to do is hold her.I don’t know how much more the thread she’s hanging by can take.

Shifting in my chair, I try to find a comfortable position. It’s futile after the hours I’ve spent sitting here. I glance at Victoria, who’s curled up in a chair on the other side of Conor’s bed, her arms wrapped around her fragile body. My eyes lock with her teary ones, and a pang of guilt tears at my heart—guilt that I’m not doing more to help her. But I don’t know how.I’m not the strong one.

A soft knock at the door startles me, and I glance up to see Tristan in the doorway. His eyes flick to Conor, then to Victoria, before meeting mine. “We all know he’s a stubbornarse. He will pull through this,” he insists, his voice steady but not quite convincing. He gestures for me to join him, and I take the opportunity to give myself a few minutes of reprieve from the seat.

Walking from the room, I pause in the doorway to look at Victoria, still silent, still crestfallen. She didn’t move when Tristan joined us; her gaze stayed fixed on Conor. She has her hands clenched into fists, her knuckles white from squeezing them as tightly as she has her arms wrapped around her body.

“Have you tried talking to her?” Tristan asks softly, looking through the window to Victoria.

I shake my head. “She won’t listen. She won’t even look at me. She’s so lost in herself that… I don’t know what to do. She leads me… I don’t lead her.”

“You do,” Tristan softly explains. He places a hand on my shoulder and gives me a reassuring squeeze. “She might lead you, butyou,as her submissive, are the powerful one in your relationship. And right now, she needs you to take the lead. She needs you to be the strong one.”

“I don’t know how,” I murmur, swallowing hard, trying to hold back the tears threatening to rise again.

He squeezes my shoulder again, his blue eyes boring through me. “You do. You, better than all of us, know exactly what she needs.” I know he’s right. I know there’s nothing more I can do for Conor except wait for him to wake up. But Vic… I can help her. Tristan’s hand slides from my shoulder, down my arm, and to my hand. He holds it tenderly, his expression softening as he promises, “He’ll wake up. You know he will. He’s a stubborn fuckingarse. You know he won’t go down without a fight, Elena.”

I nod, but his words feel as hollow as my chest. A glimmer of hope that I’m not sure I believe in anymore. I want to believe.God, I fuckingwantto believe. But it’s hard when every passing moment feels like it could be the last.

Tristan tightens his grip on my hand and glances at Vic and Conor. “Let me sit with him for a little while. I’ll keep an eye on him so you can take care of her.”

My legs are stiff from sitting for so long, and every step into the room toward them is painful. I walk to Victoria and kneel beside her. “Vic, baby… You need to take a break,” I gently insist, brushing her hair back from her face. Her eyes meet mine, but she isn’t looking at me. She’s barely there. “We need to take care of you. Tristan is here. He’s going to stay with Conor. Just for a little while, okay?”

Her throat bobs with her swallow, and I know she’s heard me. She’s just… lost. Standing, I press a kiss to her forehead, and my fingers gently encircle her wrists. “Please, Vic. You need to eat. You need to take care of yourself. For you. For me.For Conor.”

Her eyelids flutter, and finally, she looks up at me. Her eyes are dull—devoid of their usual sparkle—full of heartache. But the pain in her eyes is enough to let me know she’s still there.I haven’t completely lost her, too. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she lets me pull her to her feet. She’s so fragile that I practically carry her as we walk to the door.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

ELENA

Stepping into the hallway, I pull the door to Conor’s room shut behind us, silencing the beep and soft hum of machines. Carrying the bulk of Victoria’s weight is nothing compared to the emotions I’ve been harboring for days. “Just a little further,” I murmur, keeping my voice steady as Vic leans her head on my shoulder. She blinks at me, her dark eyes tired and distant. Holding her against me, I can feel her trembling beneath the thin fabric of her shirt, and it’s nearly too much.Enough to break me.“I’m here, Vic”—I tighten my hold on her and force her to take a few more steps—“I’ve got you.”

I guide her down the hallway. Her feet shuffle against the floor, her body and mind both too tired to lift them. We reach a private room at the end of the hall, and I push the door open with my shoulder as I lead her inside. Passing the bed—where someone graciously left us both a change of clothes and takeout—we step into the adjoining bathroom. It’s small, but it’ll do. I pull her up to the counter of the sink for balance. “All right. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Her eyes fall shut, the weight of exhaustion obvious. The lines under her eyes are darker than they should be, and she’s like a broken doll in my hands. I step away for a moment to grab a towel and turn the shower, giving the water a second to warm as I strip us both out of our clothes.

She takes a few shaky steps as I lead her into the shower. Once under the spray of the water, the tension in her shoulders loosens a little. Gently, I press a damp washcloth to her face, wiping away days of sweat, exhaustion, and the remnants of tears still staining her cheeks. She doesn’t flinch as I rub the terry linen over his skin. Instead, she stands before me like she’s too tired to care.About anything but Conor.

“It’s gonna be okay,” I whisper, more to myself than to her. She needs it, even if it only echoes in this shower. “I’m here, Victoria. You’re not alone.”

Her lips part slightly, but she stays silent. I add an orange-scented soap to my cloth and continue to work it over her skin in slow, rhythmic motions. I clean every inch of her as though I’m trying to wash away the weight of worry and fear she’s shrouded in. Adding more soap, I use the same cloth to quickly clean myself before joining her under the warm spray. My arms wrapped around her, I hold her for a moment as the water washes our fragrant suds down the drain.

Turning off the shower, I help her step on the bath mat. I wrap a towel around her, and then one around myself, before gently drying her. “You’re doing so good,” I whisper as I run the towel over the water on her legs.

When both of us are dry, I lead her from the small bathroom and into the room. I hand her a soft pair of leggings and a loose shirtwhen we reach the bed. They’re nothing fancy, but they’re clean and will hopefully make her feel a little more like herself again.

“Do you need help getting dressed or…?” Her eyes glance up at me briefly, the look behind them unreadable, but it’s enough to give me pause. I allow her a moment to answer or begin dressing, but I don’t get either. “All right. I’m here. I can help you.”

Carefully, I pull the leggings up her legs and slip the soft shirt over her head. I can’t help but notice the way her bones feel as I dress her. She’s too thin, too fragile. The last few days have taken everything from her. With my hands on her waist to steady her as she sits on the edge, I put on her socks before taking the seat beside her.

“I’m so proud of you,” I praise, reaching behind her and opening one of the takeout containers to find a BLT and chips. Lifting half the sandwich, I hold it in front of her. “But I need a little bit more from you.” I expect resistance, but she opens her mouth and wraps her hand over mine. She pulls the sandwich toward her mouth and takes a child-sized bite.Good girl…I don’t push, letting her take what feels like an eternity to eat most of the sandwich. Grabbing a napkin, I clean her face and clear the bed of the remaining takeout containers.

I draw back the covers, and Vic slowly falls toward the pillow. I slide into the bed beside her before covering us both. I wrap my arm over her and roll, curling into me and resting her head on my shoulder. The room falls silent, except for the soothing hum of the heater, our soft breaths, and the occasional shuffle of footsteps in the hallway.

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