Page 163 of Before Now

Her lips tip up the tiniest bit at the corner before she nods. She points at the card with her eyes as a reminder, then she retreats through the doorway.

After taking the deepest breath of my life, I slowly exhale. Shaky as shit, but I’m in control again, and I follow her out.

On my return to the private room, Julie’s opening one of the ICU doors. I catch a glimpse of Elvin and Marlo through it, and whatever threat they posed seems far away. I’ll never forget it, probably always sense it to some degree. But the air tastes clean instead of caustic, the mouth of teeth muzzled.

I banished the closet’s shadows. Now for its monster.

* * *

Everything moves quicklyonce I sign the papers, authorizing the doctor to remove the machines. In under fifteen minutes, the doctor’s standing bedside, a different nurse across from her.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a little more time?” she asks.

“No.”

I don’t hesitate with the answer this time. I don’t need to.

All the pretending is over. I’m calling wrap and burning the set to ash. Daniel can burn with it, and he can do it alone.

When I move toward the door, Dr. Sullivan says, “You don’t want to stay?”

I shake my head at her. “I’ve done what I came here to do.”

Without another word, I walk out. I don’t even waste a glance on what’s about to become a body.

A lightness unfurls in my chest, a sense of completion accompanying it. No one ever said beautiful things needed to be tangible. And the sensation of finally leaving all this behind is absolutely a beautiful thing.

There’s no question about who I want to share it with.

Foster won’t be on stage for a while, so I pull out my phone to text him, opening one of the ICU doors. Once through, I look up, and itwhooshesshut behind me as I come to a hard stop. My brow lowers at the sight farther down near the elevator bank.

Colton’s leaning back against a wall, scrolling on his own phone.

“Hi.”

Every part of me free falls at Foster’s voice. My head jerks to the side, and he’s there. Against his own wall, his head tipped back.

“You—uh, what?” It makes as much sense as him being here, honestly.

He cocks a brow, bringing his head up, and I try again.

“Why are you here? What about your concert?”

“Rescheduled it.” He straightens, the bomber jacket he wore in Prague open with a dark tee underneath.

“Can you do that?”

Closing the space between us, he shrugs. “Probably.”

His fingers skim my cheek on their way to push my hair back. They linger, and mine immediately grip the front of his shirt. Leather and cedar envelop me. I stare up at him as his other hand settles against the side of my neck.

“You’re really here,” I whisper.

“Mhmm,” he replies.

I smile, and he kisses me, softly, gently, then he kisses me like the first time wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t. It can’t be with him.

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